When Your Eyes Close

by Tanya Farrelly

  ‘Maybe they’ll pay attention now,’ Barbara said. ‘Right on their doorstep.’

  In the last year, homelessness in the city had reached crisis point. Everybody knew that. You couldn’t walk ten paces without coming upon someone in a doorway begging for money. It was the reason Michelle had volunteered. It wasn’t enough to give money. She had to do something more, even if it was just soup and sandwiches. The government had vowed a year ago to provide more beds in hostels, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, the problem had spiralled.

  All the volunteers knew that there was no quick-fix solution to the problem. They weren’t that idealistic. There were the usual addicts on the streets, the ones that couldn’t be helped, but there were others too, the mentally ill who’d fallen through the cracks in the system, the ones who’d taken oversized loans from the bank to buy houses during the economic boom, only for the prices to come crashing down along with the jobs that had just about enabled them to pay their monthly mortgage.

  Michelle often wondered what had happened to the ghost estates, hundreds of houses built around the country with no one to live in them. Some of them half built, abandoned by the builders who’d run out of money halfway through projects. Now everybody talked about the lack of social housing, and the fact that every boarded-up building in the city belonged to the National Asset Management Agency.

  Poor Dan. She knew from talking to him that he’d had some kind of problem. She suspected Asperger’s. Even when he’d made enough money to pay for a hostel room, he preferred to sleep on the streets. Hostels were lethal, he said, too many people shooting up, drinking, fighting. The streets were bad, but he felt safer out in the open. He’d ranted about the state of the country – everyone ranted about the state of the country.

  ‘You okay?’ Conor put his hand on her arm. Barbara was standing, clearing away the coffee mugs. ‘Yeah, sorry. It’s just … poor Dan. I can’t believe it.’

  Conor nodded. ‘I know. He had to die to get attention. I’m surprised you didn’t see it on the news.’

  Michelle wrapped her scarf round her neck and started to help Conor load the wrapped sandwiches into the bags. ‘I didn’t watch it. To be honest, I don’t know what’s been going on around me the last few days, I’ve had so much on.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Conor said. His concern was genuine. She didn’t know much about him, except that he had a good heart. All the volunteers had. She could confide in him, she knew, but she didn’t want to. She would feel like she was betraying Nick.

  ‘Ah, I’m okay. Come on, we’d better get out there. I can imagine what the mood will be like tonight after Dan.’ She put the bag on her back and followed Conor out into the cold night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Nick

  He saw her as soon as he walked in, slim build, dark hair pulled back from her oval-shaped face. Her resemblance, so close to the woman, Rachel, caused his already-shaking hands to worsen. She was in conversation with one of the other musicians who seemed to be tuning a cello. He thought the music would already have begun when he arrived, but they were only setting up. Nick scouted the room, opting for a small table in a corner where he had a clear view of the band. He tried not to look at the woman – instead he attempted to catch the attention of the waitress, and when he did so he, reluctantly, ordered a pot of tea.

  The shake in his hands was still bad despite the medication, but it was anxiety rather than withdrawal this time, caused by seeing the woman, and the fact that this was the first time he’d been in a bar of any kind since he’d started the hypnosis. At the next table, a couple were sharing a bottle of red wine. At another table, a guy was drinking a beer. Nick opened up his newspaper and tried to concentrate. If he had a drink in his hand, he would feel less conspicuous. He reasoned that he could have invited Michelle; he wasn’t, after all, going to say anything to Caitlin, he’d come merely to see her. Michelle was observant though, she’d have noticed his discomfort. She would have noted that whatever was wrong was something more than the urge he felt to go to the bar and order himself a whiskey.

  The waitress smiled as she set down the tray. ‘What time does the music usually start?’ Nick asked her, nodding towards the musicians.

  The waitress glanced at an old-fashioned clock on the wall. ‘About nine. Any minute now I’d say. Can I get you anything else?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘That’s grand,’ he said, lifting the lid from the pot, and waiting until she’d gone before picking up the spoon in a shaky hand and stirring.

  The musicians were talking among themselves. Nick was close enough to hear some of their banter, and he strained to hear Caitlin speak, but mostly a tall, curly-haired guy held court. The others laughed at his jokes, batted witty responses back and forth. The cello player put his hand on Caitlin’s shoulder, leaned in and spoke to her. She nodded and smiled, but she looked tense. He noticed how her eyes flitted round the room, taking in the clientele, and he wondered if she was nervous about the performance, or if she was waiting for someone. Every so often her eyes strayed to the door.

  The music started. The tall guy was the lead vocalist and he sang a rendition of ‘Georgia on My Mind’. Nick sipped his tea, tapped his foot to the music and divided his time between watching the group and pretending to read his paper. He was careful not to stare at Caitlin who was the only woman among them. It was an interesting outfit, besides the cello and the violin, there was a guitarist, a keyboard player and the singer who sat on a Cajon which he slapped with perfect rhythm.

  Nick had played the drums when he was a teenager, something his mother had given in to when his father had built a shed at the end of the garden where they could both practise. He didn’t sing, despite the namesake that so many people commented on, but he had been in a band for a few years until the usual differences of opinion arose from too much time spent together. When his father died, and his mother had sold the house in order to downsize, he’d sold his drum kit, but he’d kept his father’s Stratocaster, which he kept in pristine condition on a stand in the bedroom. Listening now to the music, he had an urge to play, and thought he must tune it up and begin practising again. He’d never considered himself to be a great guitar player, but he was competent, and in his student days, he could pick up a guitar at parties and play a tune as well as anyone else.

  As the band continued to play, Nick began to relax. He tapped along to a mix of swing, rhythm and blues. After about forty minutes, the singer announced that they were taking a ten-minute break. One of the guys took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and headed for the exit. The cello player leaned into Caitlin and then got up to go to the bar. Nick wondered if he might be her boyfriend. But then he noticed the gold band on her finger, not on his. Friends so, though his body language suggested that he was interested.

  Nick was out of tea. He didn’t know if he trusted himself to go to the bar, and he knew he hadn’t figured on talking to her, but it wouldn’t be the worst idea to get talking to the guy, maybe get an introduction to Caitlin that way. Before he could get out of his chair, Caitlin stood up and went to the ladies. Nick went to the bar and stood next to the cellist. The barman was pulling him a beer.

  ‘Great music,’ Nick said.

  The guy glanced at him and smiled. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Do you have a regular slot here?’

  ‘Yeah, every Wednesday.’ The barman asked if the guy wanted anything else and he ordered a red wine. ‘Do you play?’ he asked Nick.

  ‘I used to, years back. Drums mostly, and a bit of guitar. I’m often sorry I didn’t keep it up.’ The musician didn’t appear to be listening any more. His gaze had strayed to Caitlin who had been waylaid by a man on her way back from the ladies. She looked uncomfortable. Nick imagined that the guy was probably hitting on her.

  The cellist took his change from the barman. ‘Better get back,’ he said to Nick, but instead of returning to his seat, he made his way to where Caitlin was cornered by the man. It was the man who had been
sitting alone drinking beer since he’d arrived, and Nick imagined he must have been fairly well on. The last thing any woman needed was a drunk harassing her. Caitlin’s friend had wedged himself between her and the stranger. The guy didn’t seem to care much who he was talking to, and Caitlin took the opportunity to take her red wine, extricate herself from the situation and return to her seat. The man continued talking; he was now doing pitiable air guitar gestures.

  Caitlin was alone now. Nick wondered how he might start a conversation without looking as though he were just another man hitting on her. She was rummaging in her bag, glass of red wine on the floor in front of her. He had an idea, not the best one, but better than trying to start a conversation cold. Passing with his juice in hand, Nick pretended not to look where he was going, his foot caught the glass of wine, and he looked down as Caitlin looked up, startled.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t looking what I was …’

  Instinctively, Caitlin had stood. ‘Don’t worry …’ she said.

  ‘No, really, so clumsy of me, let me get you another one.’ He chanced a look at her face. She seemed to be studying him: she took in the glass and bottle of juice in his hand.

  ‘Really, it’s not a problem,’ she said.

  ‘Even so,’ he said, ‘it was my stupidity …’

  She signalled to the waitress and pointed out the spilled drink; the glass, at least, was unbroken. Nick stooped to pick it up, and almost dropped his own glass in doing so. Caitlin looked amused as he turned to the waitress who had served his tea earlier.

  ‘I’m sorry, it was my fault. Could I get another, please? What was it?’

  ‘Cab Sauv,’ Caitlin told the girl. She looked over at her musician friend, who was still caught by the air guitarist, but he was looking in their direction now.

  ‘You play really well,’ Nick said.

  On cue Caitlin picked up her violin. The other musicians had come back inside and were making their way towards the stage area.

  ‘Do I know you?’ Caitlin asked. She was looking at him hard.

  Nick looked at her a moment. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. He smiled. ‘I’d better let you get back to it. Again, I’m really sorry about your drink.’

  He turned to walk away, best to keep things brief, he thought. He could speak to her again on another occasion.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Nick,’ he said. ‘And you?’

  ‘Caitlin.’ Her friend had extricated himself from the drunk. Suddenly, he was standing next to Nick, eyeing him in a far less friendly manner than he had when they’d spoken at the bar.

  ‘All right, Caitie?’

  Caitlin nodded. ‘This is Nick,’ she said.

  The musician nodded, curtly, but didn’t acknowledge the fact that they’d spoken at the bar.

  ‘This is Andy.’ Andy ignored the introduction.

  ‘We’d better get started,’ he said, taking his seat beside her.

  If he wasn’t her husband, Nick thought, he certainly was protective of her, but in that territorial way that he’d seen some men behave with their girlfriends. And that never ended well, friendship or otherwise.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Caitlin

  ‘Do you know that guy?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Caitlin looked up, distracted, as she put away her violin.

  Andy was standing next to her. ‘The guy who was sitting by himself. You said his name was Nick.’

  Caitlin shook her head, looked to where the man, Nick, had been sitting. He’d left without her seeing, and now the waitress was clearing the things from his table. ‘No, he spilled my drink … we talked for a few minutes. Look, Andy, are you rushing off?’

  He hesitated. ‘I have the van tonight, told Brian I’d take the keyboard. I’m a bit tired, but I could give you a lift home? What’s up? Is everything okay?’

  ‘I don’t know. A few things have happened in the last few days … I’ll tell you about it on the way home.’ Caitlin stopped talking, and smiled as Brian, the keyboard player, came over to talk with Andy.

  ‘You don’t mind taking the keyboard, do you? If it’s any hassle, I can jump in a cab …’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. Plenty of room in the van. And you’re all right with me dropping it round tomorrow?’

  ‘Sure man. That’d be great.’

  Andy helped Brian out to the van with the keyboard. Brian was new to the band. He’d answered an ad that Andy had put on a Facebook group. He didn’t talk much, and none of them had got to know him beyond small talk, but they all agreed that he was an accomplished musician. He played with a New Orleans jazz band at weekends. Andy had persuaded Caitlin to go and see them in the Harbour bar a few weeks before to see if Brian would be right for their group. It was one of the rare nights out that Caitlin had enjoyed recently.

  Now she stood and waited while Andy opened the back doors of the van and the two men carefully loaded in the instruments. ‘Can we drop you anywhere?’ Andy asked, but Brian shook his head and told them he was going to walk. He shared a house, Andy told Caitlin, somewhere around Stoneybatter.

  Caitlin went around to the passenger side and got into the van. Andy started the engine and turned the heater on. He checked the mirrors before pulling away from the kerb.

  ‘Now, what’s up?’ he said. ‘I could tell you weren’t yourself tonight.’

  ‘Someone’s set up a Twitter account in David’s name.’

  Andy turned to look at her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘I got this follower on Twitter, goes by the name of David A. The profile picture is a violin. There’s nothing else, no personal photo, nothing like that … but all the tweets are retweets to do with music. Someone is screwing with me, Andy.’

  ‘Christ, that’s bizarre, Caitie. Did you check – I mean have you got any friends in common, anything like that?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t think so. The account’s just been set up. The first tweet was only a few days ago.’

  ‘Is there anything you can do? I mean can you block him?’

  ‘I guess … but …’

  ‘But what?’

  Caitlin shrugged. ‘I don’t know … maybe it’s better if I don’t. Whoever this person is, he could know something.’

  ‘But what about your information, Caitlin? You don’t want this guy to know about you, do you? What you’re doing, who your friends are …’

  ‘But it’s too late for that. Whoever he is, he’s already seen my profile. He knows about the sessions, for example. That’s why I was so uptight tonight. I was afraid he might be there, that he might be sitting there watching me and I wouldn’t know. When that guy stopped me, the drunk one, I thought it was him. Then you came along, and I realized I was being stupid. He didn’t care who I was, he was just some idiot …’

  Andy was silent for a minute, hands gripping the wheel, looking straight ahead. ‘What about the other guy?’ he said. ‘The one who spilled your drink?’

  Caitlin shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not? He seemed keen on talking.’

  ‘I know, I know what you’re saying, Andy, and I’m not sure why, but I didn’t get that sort of vibe off him. Strange, I suppose, since I’ve been looking at everyone suspiciously recently.’

  ‘Hmm. I wouldn’t be so sure. He was on his own, and I’ve never seen him there before. He tried to start a conversation with me at the bar. Maybe he thought we were together.’

  Caitlin rubbed her forehead. ‘God, Andy, I thought you were going to reassure me, not freak me out. I think that guy was okay, really. I just get the feeling. But apart from that, the Twitter account, I mean, there was this guy in the park. I thought he was watching me when I went on my run.’

  Andy had just turned the van into Caitlin’s road. He slowed down as he approached the house, and Caitlin realized she’d forgotten to leave a light on again, despite her resolutions.

&
nbsp; ‘Jesus, Caitlin. Was there anyone else around?’

  ‘No, I think that’s why I got so nervous. There are normally other joggers. It wasn’t that this man did anything, he was just sitting there on a bench. I cut my run short he unnerved me that much.’

  They’d stopped outside the house. Andy looked at her. ‘Do you want me to come in for a minute?’ he said.

  Usually she’d say she was fine, but this time she accepted Andy’s offer. She didn’t feel like walking into the dark house alone.

  As soon as she opened the door, she felt for the light switch. ‘Would you mind putting the kettle on, Andy. I just need to pop upstairs.’

  She went upstairs, turned on the landing light and then went into each room, turning on the lights, checking that there was no one there.

  Downstairs, she could hear Andy opening and closing cupboards, rattling mugs. He knew where everything was kept. Apart from Gillian, he’d been the only regular visitor to the house since David’s disappearance.

  ‘Tea?’ he asked when she appeared in the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Caitlin sat down at the table. Her laptop was there. She was almost afraid to switch it on, but it would be better to do so while Andy was there, rather than allowing something to freak her out later. Besides, she wanted to show him the account for David A, let him know that she wasn’t just being paranoid.

  Andy moved round the kitchen as she booted up the computer. She logged into Twitter, saw that she had a message notification. She glanced behind her, clicked into her messages. It was from Dar Bryan.

  @darbryan1: Hey Caitlin, sorry I didn’t reply before…

  Caitlin glanced over her shoulder. Andy was coming towards her, mug in hand. She closed the message before he could see.

  ‘Do you want toast?’ Andy asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine, make some for yourself though.’

  She remembered nights when they’d all come back to the house together, David, Andy and herself. Andy had stayed on the camp bed in their spare room most weekends. Sometimes, he got out of bed before them, had coffee ready when they finally emerged. It was never an awkward trio. David knew that she liked Andy as well as he did – and he was never jealous either – even when Andy blatantly flirted with her, David knew he had no reason to worry.