Elaine lets out a deep breath, her hand still being held by mine, and then eyeballs me.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ she says. ‘Let’s just keep you relaxed, there isn’t long to go.’ She lets go of my hand, removes her pocket watch and then raises her eyebrows. ‘A little less than an hour. I have to say, Gordon, you are in the best hands and—’
She looks behind at the door opening. Another nurse, dressed in a slightly different shade of purple scrubs, steps inside.
‘Sorry, Elaine,’ she says, ‘but Mr Blake, I have a Lenny Moon on the line. He said he has something to tell you and wondered if you could call him back.’
I feel my heart rate instantly rise. What the fuck has he found out about Jake Dewey? I need to know.
‘That’s okay,’ Elaine says, staring over her shoulder at the nurse. ‘Mr Blake won’t be taking or making any phone calls until he’s come out of his surgeries, isn’t that right, Gordon?’
She squeezes my hand. I look up to her, offer a thin smile.
‘Eh… yes, I eh… I’m prepping for the surgeries now. I won’t be talking to anybody.’
The nurse steps backwards towards the door.
‘Of course, Mr Blake, sorry to have disturbed you.’
Elaine continues to squeeze my hand, then offers me a little wink.
‘We’re a good team me and you, huh?’ she says.
I gulp as I offer her a fake laugh.
‘You’re the best,’ I say.
‘That’s Saoirse; Saoirse Guinness – a new nurse. She’ll put Lenny straight. You can speak to him after you wake up from the surgeries… okay? So, will we turn the TV back on?’ she suggests casually, as if news from Lenny is insignificant.
I nod my head slowly, reach for the remote control under my sheets and hand it to her. She sits in the blue plastic chair, presses at the standby button and proceeds to click through the channels, asking me at every turn whether or not what’s showing on the TV is something that interests me. I continue to just shake my head, even though I don’t know what’s on. I’m staring through the TV, not at it; my mind racing.
‘Oh… that’s all the channels,’ she says eventually. ‘Will I just leave something on? Pick a number.’
I smile with my eyes, wave my hand.
‘I don’t know… number three,’ I say.
We both stare at the screen, a cheesy toothpaste advert showing images of an annoying-looking boy grinning from ear to ear comes on.
‘Is Colgate going to help you relax?’ Elaine says, looking to me.
I sniff a small laugh out of my nostrils, then tilt my head back as a thought comes to me.
‘You know what would help me relax?’ I ask.
‘Go on.’
‘Fruit Pastels.’
‘Fruit Past— sure you’re supposed to be fasting.’
‘I won’t swallow them, just the taste… they’d, I don’t know. I just really fancy some. I have some change here,’ I say, reaching for my bedside cabinet. I open the drawer, shovel some loose change into the palm of my hand then hold it towards Elaine. ‘Please,’ I say, sounding a little bit like a pleading Oliver Twist.
Elaine twitches an eyebrow.
‘If it’ll help you relax.’ She scoops the coins from my hand, then hands me the remote control. ‘You find us something to watch. I’ll be five minutes.’
I click at the buttons of the remote, not looking at the screen but at her as she leaves the ward. When she closes the door, I reach for the drawer of the cabinet again and grab at my phone. I hold down the standby button and wait for the screen to blink on.
‘C’mon, for fuck sake,’ I hiss at it. It seems to take an age for the phone to load up. When it does, I immediately click into my call history, then hold my finger against Lenny’s number.
‘Jesus, Gordon, what took you so long ringing me back?’ he says.
‘Never mind that; what’s the news you have for me?’
Seven years ago
Betsy
My wrist can get sore from writing. I twist it round and round in circles until the pain goes away. Then I lift up my pen again and keep going.
I think my spelling is getting better. I am writing words a little bit quicker. I’ve been nearly a whole year writing Betsy’s Basement and I am on chapter five. This morning I’ve been writing about the time I screamed when I was in the toilet upstairs. That was silly of me.
I wanted to die that day because I thought I would go to see Mummy and Daddy in heaven. Whatever heaven is. A lot of the books I read don’t mention heaven. Maybe it’s not even real. It makes me sad to think that I will never see Mummy and Daddy again. But I can’t talk about it with Dod. Talking about Mummy or Daddy is one way to make sure Dod definitely turns into angry Dod. So instead of talking about it, I write about it in my story. Chapter one was all about me being taken by Dod. Chapter two is about how I used to keep really quiet in the basement when all of the people used to come visit Dod’s house. Not so many people visit anymore. Chapter three is about me and Bozy and how we became best friends. Chapter four is about Dod letting me go upstairs for the first time. And now chapter five is about how I got beaten up by Dod for screaming when I was upstairs. I think my back is still not the same since that beating. It’s sore when I wake up every morning. But even though all of my chapters are about me being here, in the basement, they always have a bit of Mummy and Daddy in them. Not that I can remember much about that time. But writing helps me remember. Or what it does is make sure I don’t forget.
I can’t wait to write the chapters about how me and Dod became really good friends again though. About him buying me lots and lots of books. About him letting me go upstairs to watch TV. And about him letting me look out the window from his bedroom. When I get to those chapters, I’m going to have lots of stories. Lots of stories about all of the different characters I see when I look out the window. There is a woman who lives across the street, in the house with the red door. I call her Mrs Witchety and she is a secret witch. She has fifteen cats and twelve brooms in her house. She is really funny. But scary too. I have so much fun when I am looking out the window and making characters up.
When Dod opens the door, I rest my pen down inside my book, then fold it over. I walk up the steps and hope Dod will let me look out the window today and not watch TV.
‘Whatcha wanna do?’ he asks when I get to the top of the steps.
I just look up at him.
‘You wanna go upstairs, huh?’ He makes a funny shape with his mouth and then nods his head towards the stairs. ‘Okay, c’mon.’
We both walk up and as soon as I am outside his bedroom, I get down on my hands and knees and crawl around his bed until I am at the window ledge, Then I place my hands on the ledge and bring myself up so I can see out the window. I look straight away to Mrs Witchety’s house but she’s not outside, not today. Then I look up and down the street. Nobody’s walking. This happens sometimes. Sometimes I can spend a long time looking out the window and not see anybody. Maybe today is going to be one of those days.
I look around Dod’s bedroom again. There isn’t much in it. A big bed and two really big wardrobes. I often wonder what’s in the wardrobes. But I have never asked.
‘Dod.’ I say his name really slowly.
‘Yes, Betsy?’
‘Do you not have lots of books in your room like I do in my basement? Are they in these wardrobes?’
He laughs a little. That makes me feel good. I was worried he might turn into angry Dod for asking him about his wardrobes. He walks over to the far side of his bed and then opens a drawer.
‘Here are all my books,’ he says.
I’m not sure what he is showing me. It looks like just one book, but it’s grey and skinny. When he brings it closer I notice that it isn’t a book at all. There are no pages. I make a funny face at him and he laughs again.
‘It’s called a Kindle,’ he says.
I keep the funny look on my face.
�
�I have over a hundred books on here. He presses at a button. A light comes on and makes it look like a really small TV. He turns it around so I can watch. ‘See all these,’ he says, ‘they are all the books I have on here and I can choose to read one anytime I want.’
I’m a bit confused. But when I point my finger at one of the books, it opens. Chapter one appears on the screen.
‘That’s magic,’ I say.
But I’m still confused.
‘I buy books and they just download on to here.’
I give him my funny face again.
‘Tell you what, you take a look at this. The books I read are a little old for you, but take a look through the Kindle. I’ve a tiny bit of work to do. So I’m going to go downstairs. I’ll give you twenty minutes up here, okay? Keep your head down, Betsy.’
I look up at him and then nod my head slowly.
‘Okay, Dod.’
He’s never left me up here on my own. I think he thinks that I’m becoming a big girl now. A bit like a grown up. I’ll be fourteen next month. I smile to myself when he leaves the room. I feel really happy that he thinks I can be left alone up here.
I take the Kindle from him and begin to press at the screen. Into one book called War and Peace and then another one called Anna Karenina. There are lots of big words in these books. Dod is right. I don’t think I’d be able to read these. But this is so much fun. I can’t believe all of his books are in here. Mine take up so much room in my basement.
I crawl back towards Dod’s wardrobe so I can sit with my back leaned up against it and continue to play with his Kindle. I would love one of these. Except I think I would miss the smell of the paper from books. One of the first things I do when I get a new book is to flick the pages under my nose and breathe in the smell. I bring the Kindle to my nose, try to smell it. Nothing. It smells like nothing.
I stare over at the drawer Dod took the Kindle from. Wonder what other magical things he has in there. But I shouldn’t look. I’d get myself into so much trouble. If I don’t keep my head down, Dod will definitely turn into angry Dod. And that’s the last thing I want. I look towards the window, then towards the drawer again. Then the window. Then the drawer.
I place the Kindle on top of Dod’s bed and then crawl. I do it really, really slowly. When I reach his drawer I pull it open and then place my hand on his bed so I can pull myself up a little bit. I look inside. There are some pills that look like sweets and an old watch. I hold up the watch and stare at it. The hands aren’t moving. It must be broken. I put it back inside, then close the drawer really slowly, making sure there is no noise. Then I crawl back over to the wardrobe I’d been sitting against. My heart thumps a little bit. That was naughty. I probably shouldn’t have done that. But I can’t help myself. I pull open his wardrobe. See lots and lots of clothes. There are lots of shoes in the bottom of it, lots of shirts hanging at the top. Then I pull open the drawer at the bottom of his wardrobe. Lots of papers. I flick through them to see what they are all about. But there’s too many of them. I lift the top one off and then sit with my back to the wardrobe and begin to read it.
In big black writing at the top, it says “DNA confirms Betsy Blake is Dead”.
14:15
Lenny
A slither of orange is threatening to rid the sky of its greyness by the time Lenny steps out of the taxi, but the sun has a lot of work to do if it wants to make itself known over Dublin today. The rain is still falling, but only lightly now. Lenny stands outside the uneven wooden railing of Guus’s house and just stares at it. It’s a big detached house, yet it’s unkempt; the grass in the garden overly long and peppered with litter, the windows dusty and smeared. Lenny stiffens his nose at the contrast of what he’s seeing. In order to live in this house – especially around here – you’d have to be worth a good few quid. Why couldn’t a rich man afford somebody to at least make their home look good?
When he finally takes his eyes from the garden, Lenny feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He flips it over to see who’s trying to reach him.
‘Ah for fuck sake!’ he rages, stamping on the pavement. He sighs deeply, then presses the answer button.
‘Hey, sweetie,’ he says.
‘How’s work?’
‘Eh… grand. Y’know, the usual.’
‘You seemed quite busier than usual earlier when I rang you.’
‘It’s been a bit of a different day alright, sweetie. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.’
Sally makes an interested huff sound down the line.
‘Okay cool. Will you be coming by the house to pick me up before the meeting or will I see you at the school?’
Lenny opens his eyes wide, then squelches his entire face in to an ugly gurn. He places both hands over the phone, holding it away from his face, them mouths a quiet ‘bollocks’ to himself. He lifts one hand from the phone, stares at the screen to catch the time. 14:17.
‘I eh…’ he stutters as he blinks rapidly. ‘I eh… got caught up in a job. I don’t think I can get to the boys’ school for three p.m.’
He winces in anticipation of Sally’s response. But he doesn’t get one; both ends of the line deathly silent.
‘Sweetie,’ he says eventually.
‘You’ve let me down. No, no… hold it: you’ve let us all down. Me, Jacob, Jared.’
Then a dead tone sounds.
Lenny kicks the pavement again. He immediately begins to fumble with his phone, then holds it back to his ear, a ringing tone sounding.
‘Go on… explain yourself then,’ Sally says upon answering.
‘Sweetie… I can’t tell you exactly what is going on right now. I will when I get home, but I’m on a very delicate job that I can’t discuss over the phone.’ Silence. Again. ‘It’s good news, baby. I got big money for this gig. A guy gave me a grand just to do a tiny bit of snooping but it’s ended up with me out in Clontarf now and I’m just not going to get back in time for the school meeting. I’m sorry. I really am.’
‘The grand that was transferred into the account this morning?’
‘Yeah… yeah, that’s it,’ Lenny says.
‘You told me that was for some older job.’
The line goes dead.
Lenny thumbs his phone, calls the home number again. No answer. Tries again. Same result. He stares at the big old house in front of him and then tips his head back, all the way back so that the light rain begins to fall against his mouth. He’s unsure what to do; whether to take a taxi back home or to follow through on his investigation. Sally has always been his priority, always will be. He should go home, give up the ghost. He spins around, faces the coastal road and begins to nibble on the butt of his phone. He thinks about his wife, about his two sons. About their sad existence.
‘Fuck it,’ he says, bringing his phone down to thumb at it again.
Sweetie I’m really sorry. Please don’t do anything stupid. I’m doing this job for us… for the whole family. Trust me. Call me back when you can. I love you. x
Then he spins on his heels and heads straight for the rickety wooden gate in front of him. He’s beyond intrigued now, the thought of making an impact in Ireland’s biggest ever missing person’s case overriding the concerns he has for his wife. He can barely bring himself to imagine what kind of attention he would get if he solved – in the space of a few hours – a mystery that has plagued the country for seventeen years.
Instead of heading for the front door, he walks to the side of the house, towards an old Volkswagen Beetle, the grass growing thick around all of its deflated tyres. He cups his hands to stare in through the window but sees nothing but darkness. Then he paces around the back of the house, notices that it’s even more unkempt than the front. The grass must be at least three foot in height, going all the way up to Lenny’s waist.
‘Jesus, this place could be so fucking gorgeous,’ he whispers to himself.
He walks further into the back garden, wading through the blades of grass and then pee
rs in through the back window from a distance, noticing a massive, modern kitchen. He squints again – not sure what to make of the place. But he’s enjoying playing detective; his heart rate working at a pace he seems to revel in. He rummages through the long blades, picks up some litter, examines it as if he’s doing something worthwhile and then releases it from his fingers. He picks up dirty ice pop wrappers, empty plastic bottles, a broken picture frame with no photo inside it, an old oil-stained T-shirt and then the arm of a doll.
‘What the fuck?’ he says, staring back at the house. His pulse quickens. He wants to examine further, to go deeper into the mass of land at the back garden, but decides he needs to get inside. He’s not going to find Betsy out here. If Guus Meyer has her, he has her locked up inside his home. Lenny puts the doll arm in his jacket pocket, creeps back through the grass, past the Beetle and then finds himself at the large front door. He looks for a bell, can’t find one. The only thing noticeable on or around the door is a sign reading: ‘No unsolicited mail.’ Then he clenches his fist and rattles on one of the door panels. Nothing. He knocks again. Nothing. Lenny paces backwards to take in every window of the front of the home, to see if any curtains are twitching. But the house seems dead.
‘Bollocks,’ he says to himself. He contemplates ringing De Brun back, letting him know he’s outside Guus Meyer’s house and that he is growing in certainty that she may be inside; the arm of a doll enough evidence to suggest Betsy wasn’t killed by a car on the day she went missing; that she’s been holed up in this gaff all that time. But he knows he’d be laughed at. De Brun would have to be here in person to comprehend the creepiness of it all. It’s only when Lenny looks up to allow more rain to fall on his face that he realises it has stopped raining.
Then his jacket pocket begins to vibrate. He parts his lips, sighs a little and then reaches for his phone, mindfully preparing himself for his apology to Sally. But it’s not Sally ringing. Lenny’s eyebrows rise as he jabs at the answer button.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 42