‘Long story.’
The taxi man opens his mouth to ask more questions, but manages to bite his tongue. Instead, he just stares at Lenny through the mirror, noticing the passenger’s irritation pour from every nuance of his body language; the constant blinking, the scratching at the back of his neck, the sharp breathing. He wants to advise him to call the cops but is beginning to think Lenny might be caught up in something he doesn’t want to get involved in, so he remains mute. He doesn’t have far to drive, another few minutes and he’ll be dropping this drenched passenger off at the entrance to Tallaght Hospital.
Lenny presses buttons on his phone again, brings it to his ear. He can sense the tone ringing in sync with the throbbing in his head.
Still no answer.
He doesn’t overreact this time. He just brings the butt of his phone back to his mouth and begins to chew.
‘Fuckin Jesus bleedin Christ,’ he mumbles to himself.
The taxi man flicks his eyes back up to the rear-view mirror, doesn’t say anything.
Lenny fumbles with his phone again. He doesn’t like sending text messages – they take him too long to type out – but he feels he’s been left with no choice. His phone is so dated that he has to punch a couple of times at each number to produce even one letter of text. After a couple of minutes he’s done.
Answer your phone. Please.
He wanted to add an exclamation mark after ‘please’ but didn’t know how to. He’s also wary of Gordon’s delicate situation and doesn’t feel as if it’s fair to vent his frustrations at him specifically.
‘Ye want the A&E or will I drop you at the main reception?’
Lenny looks up, realises they’re already inside the hospital grounds.
‘Main reception.’
Lenny stares at the meter. That’s another twelve euro spent. He hands over a tenner and a fiver; waits for his change.
The rain has tempered somewhat, it’s just lightly spitting now, but Lenny is still kicking up puddles as he races across the zebra crossing. He allows his breathing to slow down once he’s inside and then rolls his eyes back into his head. He’s trying to think through how he should play this with Gordon. Should he go in all guns blazing, demanding that he is paid his expenses so far? Should he be angry at Gordon for getting him in this mess in the first place? Or should he forget his misfortune, start talking about his fortunes instead? After all, Lenny found out for definite that Betsy wasn’t in Barry Ward’s house. Surely that was enough for them to trigger their agreement; that Gordon’s home would be left to Lenny in his will should he not make it through his surgeries. By the time he’s reached St Bernard’s Ward, his mind is made up. He needs to be fair to Gordon, fair but firm.
‘Sir,’ a female voice calls out, just as Lenny reaches a hand to push at Gordon’s door.
He spins around to be met by the pretty nurse – the same pretty nurse who showed him to Gordon’s room earlier this morning.
He smiles at her, waiting on her to explain why she called out to him.
‘Are you visiting Mr Blake again?’
Lenny nods his head, then mutters a ‘huh-huh’.
‘Would you mind if I gave you a small note?’
Lenny squints, takes a step towards the young woman.
‘It’s just – as you likely know – Mr Blake’s situation is very delicate. He would largely benefit from relaxing ahead of his surgeries. Any… any sort of rise in heart rate this morning could prove fatal to him later.’
‘I’m not here to cause Gordon any stress,’ Lenny says. ‘Just here to support him.’
Elaine smiles.
‘Good… it’s just that—’ Elaine stops talking; Lenny has already turned away from her, is entering Gordon’s ward. Gordon is sitting up in the bed, almost as if he had anticipated Lenny’s arrival.
‘Gordon, Jesus Christ, I know you’re not having the best day of it yourself, but those fuckin savages just slashed every tyre in my car. I’ve had to get a taxi here to see you.’
Gordon holds a finger to his lips.
‘Who?’ he then asks, raising his voice.
‘Fuckin’ Keating and that Barry Ward fella.’
Gordon stares at Lenny, can see the confusion stretching across his brow.
‘Well, at least I think it was them. Can’t have been anyone else surely. Listen…’ Lenny says, then pauses as he whips off his hat and puffer jacket before sitting back down on the blue plastic chair. ‘You’re gonna have to pay me some expenses. I’ve already paid out thirty-two quid on taxis and… Gordon, I just don’t have the money to be splashing out left, right and centre. Unless…’ Lenny pauses again, stares up at Gordon, his eyes tense. ‘Unless… you said if I found out something brand new for you today that you would leave me your house in your will.’
Gordon nods his forehead forward once.
‘Well… I confirmed for you that your Betsy isn’t in Barry Ward’s home. He isn’t holding her captive.’
‘That’s not really new to me,’ Gordon says as he reaches for a book on his bedside cabinet. Then he clicks at a pen and continues talking as he scribbles on a blank page.
‘Keating and Ward are just two gangsters who happened to be in my life when Betsy went missing, so it was always obvious that they would be suspects. After all, I didn’t hang around or know anybody capable of crimes… but they’re not so bad, Keating and Ward. Not really. I never really believed they had taken my Betsy.’ Gordon continues to scribble away as he talks. Lenny pivots his head, so he can try to make out what Gordon is writing.
Keating’s hiding in my toilet cubicle.
Lenny turns back, stares at the bathroom door.
‘Keating may be interested in controlling street affairs and drug distribution in Dublin but he’s harmless really when it comes to hurting people. I don’t think he’s capable of hurting a four-year-old girl. I really don’t…’
I was getting your calls and your text messages, but didn’t want to answer while he was here. I knew Betsy wasn’t in Barry’s because I’ve been in Barry’s house before. I broke in. A couple of times. Went looking for any trace of Betsy, but there was none.
‘…I just wanted you to rule them out once and for all. Given what you’ve told me, that they welcomed you into Barry’s home to help you with the investigation, I am content that they haven’t had anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance.’
Lenny keeps twisting his head from Gordon’s scribbles, to the door handle of the toilet cubicle. He’s not even listening to a word Gordon is saying, he knows he doesn’t have to; that Gordon is just talking for the sake of appeasing a listening Keating.
‘…What else was I supposed to do, just lie here and die? I hired you to…’
If you clear Jake Dewey, I will leave you the house. I promise.
‘…look again at the suspicious people who were around me, around my family at the time of Betsy’s disappearance. I’m sorry you have had to pay out some expenses but I can’t afford to pay you any more. I don’t really have much more money.’
Gordon underlines – with emphasis – the last line he wrote. Then he looks up at Lenny, meets his eyes and winks.
‘I promise,’ he whispers really softly.
Lenny’s eyes almost water. He genuinely believes Gordon. As Lenny is imagining his twins running around a much bigger home, Gordon twists in the bed and removes an envelope from under his pillow.
‘I think it’s probably best if we call an end to the job, Lenny, but I am very grateful for your time. I need to relax ahead of my surgeries and the nurse is getting all antsy because my heart rate’s been high since I hired you…’
As Gordon continues to talk, he removes a letter from the envelope, pivots it so that Lenny can read it.
This is the will and testament of Gordon James Blake.
I hereby wish to leave the home, addressed 166 South Circular Road, Inchicore, Dublin 8, Ireland to Leonard Moon.
Signature 1
Signature 2
Lenny eyeballs Gordon again, then blinks rapidly.
‘My signature plus two witnesses,’ Gordon whispers. ‘I promise that I will have two nurses sign this here today and then I’m gonna leave this will there.’ He nods at his bedside cabinet.
Lenny stands up, places his hand on top of Gordon’s and then gives an affirmative nod.
‘I am so sorry I couldn’t do much more for you, Mr Blake. I’ll get going back to my office. I wish you all the very best with your surgeries this afternoon. I’ll be thinking of you.’
Then he bends down close to Gordon’s ear.
‘Jake Dewey’s address?’ he whispers.
‘I’ll text it to you,’ Gordon whispers back.
‘Goodbye, Mr Blake.’
Lenny never could act. He can’t even lie. And you have to be able to lie convincingly to be an actor.
Although Gordon seemed to cringe a little at Lenny’s acting attempts, they both feel as if they did a good enough job. Lenny picks up his yellow jacket and hat, then strolls out of the ward and heads straight towards the lift. After the lift doors close, Lenny produces a little dance – the type of dance a fourteen-year-old girl would do if the boy she’d had a crush on for months text her to ask her out on a date. He believes Gordon, genuinely believes that if he can eliminate Jake Dewey from having any involvement in the Betsy Blake disappearance then he truly will be left a million euro house.
‘Who else is he gonna leave it to?’ he says to himself in the mirror of the lift after finishing his dance. When the lift doors ping open, he heads straight to the shop next to reception.
‘It says ATM on the window?’ he says to the young girl behind the counter.
She doesn’t answer verbally, she just points. Lenny paces down the back of the shop, takes his debit card from his wallet and places it in the machine. He then taps in his pin number and selects ‘View Balance’.
€1,166.
The grand Gordon transferred into his account this morning would keep the Moon’s heads above water this month; but in a more pressing way, it would allow Lenny to take taxis for the rest of the day, would help him get to Jake Dewey’s home, help him eliminate him from Betsy’s disappearance and – ultimately – help Lenny come into possession of a million euro gaff.
Lenny removes the three twenty euro notes at the same time his phone pings. He checks the screen. A text message from Gordon Blake’s number.
Jake’s address: 49 Woodville Road, Terenure, D 6.
Lenny smiles to himself. Then tucks the notes and his phone inside his jeans pocket and heads straight towards the rain.
Fourteen years ago
Betsy
I roll back over in my bed. Onto the other side. I’m trying to make my back feel better. But nothing is working. I stare at the floor. The pages of my books are all ripped. Every time I look at it, it makes my belly sore. It means every part of me is sore. My head, my face, my belly, my back, my legs.
I see the cover of my book Fantastic Mr Fox. It’s silver. Shiny bright silver. I can see my face in the cover. I saw it for the first time a few months ago. It was scary a bit. But now I like seeing my face in the cover. I’m pretty. I think. I have brown hair and brown eyes. And a little nose. A really small nose. I crawl really slowly out of the bed and try to grab at the book but it’s too far away. So I crawl a bit more. My back is really hurting me doing the crawling. But I get the book and then crawl back to the bed. I pull the sheets across me again. Then I look at the book cover. I twist it until I can see my face. I don’t look pretty anymore. My whole face is red. There is a really dark red ball at the side of my eye. I cry again. But even crying is making my back hurt.
I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have screamed. I was silly. I look at Bozy lying on my pillow. I am so glad Dod didn’t rip him up. Just the books. But I’m still really sad. Really, really sad. Sad like the first night I came to this room when I was only four years old. I know Dod is angry Dod and has been angry Dod for a long time. But I think I have been angry and bad too. Bad Betsy. Dod told me to be quiet when I am up the steps. I should do what he says all the time.
Then I hear the door opening. I throw the sheets over my head.
‘No. No. No. Not again.’ I say it really quietly. So just me and Bozy can hear.
‘Betsy.’
Dod says my name nicely. Like he’s not angry Dod anymore.
I take the sheet down from my face a little bit and see him standing by my bed. His face isn’t as red anymore. His hands aren’t closed as if he is going to hit me again.
‘Why did you do that, sweetheart?’
He only calls me sweetheart when he is being good Dod. Maybe he is good Dod again. Good Dod hasn’t been here in a long time.
‘Why did I scream?’
Dod nods his head. I look at Bozy and then back at Dod. I don’t know if I should tell him the real truth. But maybe I should be telling the truth all the time. Maybe I won’t get hurt if I tell the truth all the time. I wipe my eyes and then look up at Dod.
‘I wanted to go to heaven.’
Dod’s eyes get bigger. I think he is going to hit me again. But he just sits down. He puts his back against my wall and then puts his hands on his face. I think he is crying. I look at Bozy. Then back at Dod. Dod’s shoulders are going up and down. I take my sheets away and put one foot out of the bed. Then I put the other foot out of bed even though it really hurts my back. I take one step to be beside Dod and then put my arms around his shoulders to stop them going up and down. It’s like a hug. He is crying. I can hear him now. His cry is getting louder.
‘Don’t be sad, Dod.’
He grabs me. Puts his arms around me and we hug really tight. Really, really tight and for a long time. The hugging is hurting my back a lot. But I feel a bit happier. I am less scared.
‘I am sorry.’
Dod takes his arms away from around me and then he wipes his face with his two hands. He looks at me. There are more tears in his eyes. But they are not coming out.
‘No. I’m sorry.’
He grabs me for another hug. Another really tight hug. It hurts. But I don’t say anything. I just hug him back.
‘I will never, never do anything like that to you again.’ He says it really quietly into my ear. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, Dod.’
I think I do. I read about love in my books. You love people who are your family and your friends and your wife and your husband. I don’t think Dod is any of those things to me. But I must love him. Because him and Bozy are the only people I know. Bozy is not even a person. But I definitely know I love Bozy.
‘I’m gonna buy all those books again. And more new ones. I promise.’ Dod is on his knees now. Staring at my face. ‘And you just need to promise that you will never do anything like that again. The neighbours could have heard you. It’s very dangerous.’
I’ve been really bad Betsy. Screaming was very dangerous. Very stupid.
‘I promise. I won’t make any noises again, Dod.’
He blows out through his mouth. His lips shake as he does it. It makes a silly noise. Like a fart.
‘Look at your eye.’ He rubs his thumb against my face. Up and down slowly.
‘Where hurts you the most?’
I turn away from him. Then I pick up the back of my T-shirt as far as I can. He helps by pulling it up a bit more. Then he sucks in a really big breath through his teeth.
12:35
Gordon
‘You can come out now, Keating.’
The door handle of the toilet cubicle clicks and his fat belly makes its way back to the ward first, followed by the rest of him; his sleazy fuckin grin stretched wide across his face. He wears that grin when he feels he needs to. He was wearing it the very first day I met him.
Our business was doing well. Guus and I had grown it into something really special; turning over a couple a million a year. It didn’t start out that way. When I first began as a freelan
ce accountant, I was only really interested in making enough money to get a roof over my head. After I’d left University, I started to work for a big accountancy firm – Fullams. Three years later I realised for certain that working for somebody else wasn’t for me. So, using just eight loyal clients, I set up on my own. After a couple of years of continued growth, I decided I needed a partner. Guus was the first person I’d thought of, in fact I’d thought of him as a business partner long before I even realised I actually needed a business partner. We’d worked together at Fullams, sparked up not only a great friendship but a perfect working relationship too. His strengths paper over my weaknesses and my strengths paper over his. With my attention to detail on the numbers combined with Guus’s ability to sell our vision to new clients, we were the perfect cocktail. And we thrived. The zeros in our business accounts stretched month on month as soon as we partnered up. But of course, I got greedy. When Alan Keating arranged a meeting with me one Friday afternoon about twenty years ago, I was fascinated by his plan. He was turning over a few mill a year – and we’d get ten per cent if we were willing to cook his books for him. It felt like a no-brainer at the time; easy money. But I was being cocky; I was being a fuckin idiot. Had I not seen the dollar signs in front of my eyeballs and accepted Keating’s proposal that day I’m pretty certain that not only would I still be running my business, but I’d also still have my daughter, still have my wife. Still have my life. This fucker grinning in front of me right now ruined me.
‘So you’ve called off little Lenny Moon, yeah?’
I just nod, still unsure how or even why I’m letting this prick talk to me again.
He opened the door to my ward about twenty minutes ago, began to tell me that he was the one person who could fulfil my dying wish. Then we heard Elaine outside talking to Lenny. Keating said I shouldn’t mention that he’s here, to just get rid of Lenny and that he’d oversee the investigation for me. He hid in the toilet cubicle. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. I still don’t.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 33