The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  ‘Yes… yes, Sir.’ I say. I can hear the fright in my voice. I try to swallow it down, deep in to my stomach before I speak again. ‘Yes. My mother is Swedish. I got her pale skin, her blonde hair.’

  The policeman doesn’t react; no words, no nodding of his head, no scribbling of his pen. He just shifts his eyes from my face to Ciara’s and then back to mine again.

  He clicks at his pen, then stuffs his notepad into his back trousers pocket.

  ‘I’m concerned that the bus driver had to stop me. He got a big fright, said he had to swerve to miss you and he has about twenty passengers on that bus. Nobody was hurt, thankfully.’

  Ciara reaches her arm around my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

  ‘We’re sorry, officer. It was an innocent mistake. I just didn’t look where I was going. We wanted to cross the road and — silly me — I tried to cross it without using the Green Cross Code and then… last second, Mel here dragged me back. She saved my life.’

  Ciara squeezes me tighter.

  I don’t do anything, except stare at the ground in front of me. I want to stare at the policeman’s face. I’d love to know what’s going on inside his head. But I can’t bring myself to look up.

  ‘And you can get home safely now, yes?’ he asks.

  He’s going to leave us alone. I’m not sure if I feel relief or fear go through me.

  ‘Yes, officer,’ Ciara says. ‘We’re just walking to the bus stop now. Heading straight home. Promise.’

  He nods his head once.

  ‘Kay, look after yourselves, girls. And watch what you’re doing when you’re crossing the road, young Emma, yes?’

  Ciara giggles.

  ‘Course I will, officer. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  He looks at her face, then at mine. I don’t think he’s buying all of this. But he seems done with us. Is almost turning to go.

  ‘One thing I don’t get,’ he says, holding a finger to his lips. ‘If you were crossing the road, why haven’t you crossed it since?’

  I feel my mouth fall open. I look at Ciara. She seems lost for words… for once.

  ‘Well?’ the policeman says.

  ‘Changed our minds,’ Ciara says.

  He stares at both of our faces again, shifting his eyes back and forth as if he’s watching a bloody tennis match.

  ‘Girls… I’d like you to come with me,’ he says. ‘Into the car please.’

  20:55

  Greta

  I’m popping another Malteser into my mouth when I realise the second episode of Heartbeat is about to end. That flew in quick. I look up at the clock. Almost nine.

  My two men are in bed. No idea where my little girl is.

  I chomp on the Malteser, wait on the stupidly addictive Heartbeat theme tune to play over the credits and then sit up straight on the couch. She was only here a couple hours ago, cuddling into me. It’s not unusual she’d be in Ciara’s house, but — I don’t know whether it’s mother’s intuition or what it is — I just have a feeling all is not right. It was something about the way she held her face as she was leaving. She didn’t want to look at me. She was holding something back.

  I shuffle my feet into my slippers and make my way to the hallway. Then I flick my way through our little phone book until I see the Joyce’s number and I proceed to dial it.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Vivian, it’s me… Greta. The girls at your house, yes?’

  There’s a silence.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I thought you were going to be Michael. I’m expecting him to call.’

  Another silence.

  ‘Vivian… the girls with you? Ingrid said they were going to your house to study.’

  I hear her sniff her nose.

  ‘No. Eh… I’m sure Ciara said they were going to your house.’

  Shit. Something is up. I bloody knew it!

  ‘Little rascals are up to something. Y’know, I knew it as soon as they left the house. Ingrid looked… she looked as if she was hiding from me.’

  Vivian sniffs again.

  ‘They’re probably down in Macari’s eating chips,’ she says.

  I sigh. I can’t imagine that’s what they’re doing. They only go to Macari’s on a Friday evening. Nah… something else is going on.

  ‘It’s just they were at that party last night. I’m wondering if something happened at it.’

  ‘Ah… they’ll be fine. They’ll be fine,’ she says; almost as if she doesn’t care.

  ‘Well eh… if they come back to yours, tell Ingrid she has to come straight home. She’s in trouble. They shouldn’t be lying to us.’

  ‘Ah, we all lied to our parents when we were teenagers,’ Vivian says. I hold the phone away from my ear and stare at it as if I’m staring at Vivian, my eyes narrowing. ‘But yeah… I’ll send Ingrid back when they get here.’

  Then she hangs up.

  She really is a crap mother. Always has been. So bad, she had to hire a nanny even though she didn’t even work herself. I know it must be nine o’clock, but I still look up at the clock over the fireplace when I stroll back into our living room to make sure. Maybe they did sneak out for some Macari’s chips. But it seems too much of a coincidence that they’ve gone AWOL the night after they’ve been to a party. I bet they’re meeting boys. I get it. We all start fancying boys at that age… it’s just, I can’t stand the thought of Ingrid lying to me. I love Ciara, but her character is probably becoming too influential on Ingrid. I don’t want Ingrid to grow up. Not yet anyway. I love that she’s quiet. Love that she’s shy. Because it means she’ll never really get herself into trouble. Though that may be wishful thinking. I read a book once that said parents never truly know their own children, because children act differently at home than they do outside the house. But I always assumed that was a bullshit theory when it came to my two. At least I know Sven will never lie to me. He’s not capable.

  I suck on my lips and then find myself taking our stairs two at a time, clinging on to the banister as I go. I peak around the door of Sven’s room and stare at his face; his mouth open, his nostrils whistling a little snore like they always do.

  I walk, almost on my tiptoes, into my own bedroom. Terry’s not snoring, but I can tell by his heavy breathing that he’s already fast asleep. He’d hate it if I woke him. He’s got to get up at five a.m., needs to get into the radio station for six. But maybe I should wake him; our daughter’s a hell of a lot more important than his little show.

  I tip-toe back towards the bedroom door, and shut it behind me. Tight. Fast. Then I hear him… shuffling under the duvet before he lets out a groan.

  ‘For Christ sake, Greta,’ he says, ‘you’ve just fuckin’ woken me.’

  I blink my eyes and feel a little relief wash itself through my body.

  ‘Sorry, dear,’ I say, turning around to re-enter the bedroom. ‘Door slipped out of my hand as I was closing it. I eh… I’m glad you’re awake though. I’m eh… worried. About Ingrid. And Ciara. They’ve gone missing.’

  20:55

  Ciara

  He presses at the top of my head as I get into the back of his car, then does the same with Ingrid.

  I feel frightened. Though I’m not sure why. He’s hardly arresting us for walking out in front of a bus, is he? He’s just worried for us. Is doing his job to protect us. But he won’t. There’s nothing he can do that’ll save our lives. Even if he delays it by an hour or two, even if he calls our parents to come pick us up from some police station, me and Ingrid will eventually get around to doing what we want to do. I try to slow my breaths, reminding myself that there’s no need to be frightened.

  When he shuffles his way into the driver’s seat, he reaches for a button that turns off the blue lights. Then he turns around to us, his hand resting on the top of the passenger seat.

  ‘No need for you to take the bus, I’ll get ye home,’ he says. ‘Where is it ye live?’

  I feel Ingrid about to speak up, about to rattle off her address, so I place
my hand on her knee; my sign to her that she should leave the speaking to me.

  ‘Connolly Gardens, in Inchicore,’ I say. ‘Number fifty-one.’

  The officer winks at me, then turns around and starts the car.

  I feel Ingrid turn to face me. I’d bet any money her eyes are wide. But I don’t look at her. I don’t want to give the officer any clues that we have lied our asses off to him ever since he started asking us questions. So I just stretch my fingers towards hers and grip on to her. I can feel the sweat on her palm. Bet she can feel the sweat on mine too.

  ‘How old are you girls?’ the officer asks, staring back at us through his mirror.

  I cough before I answer.

  ‘Eh… thirteen, both of us.’ That’s the first answer I’ve given him that isn’t a lie.

  ‘Does eh…’ he says nodding his head in the mirror, ‘does Mel not talk, no? Cat got your tongue?’

  I squeeze Ingrid’s fingers.

  ‘She’s just quiet is all,’ I say.

  ‘That right?’

  We don’t answer and the car falls silent as we turn onto the canal road.

  The officer made me forget what happened back at Debbie’s house for a few minutes. It starts to play at my mind again. That slap. But to hell with it! I can’t let what Debbie does affect me. I thought she was bigger and better than doing bleedin’ drugs though. But I guess I don’t really know her as well as I thought I did. I can hear the slap over and over in my head as I stare out the car window and every time I do I feel the sting of it inside my hand. She deserved it though, I s’pose. And besides, that’s only a tiny bit of pain compared to how she’ll be feeling in the morning when she’s told the news. I don’t really wanna hurt Debbie by dying, though. I don’t want to hurt Miss Moriarty either and Ingrid sure as hell doesn’t want to hurt Harriet. That’s why we were visiting them this evening, to let them know that we called by to say our final goodbyes. We wanted those three to know they meant something to us. But instead of a long hug to say goodbye to Debbie, I ended up slapping her across the cheek. And now here we are — both of us — in the back of a bleedin’ police car.

  I squeeze Ingrid’s fingers again and then we both turn to face each other. I wink an ‘it’s all okay’ at her and she gives me that half smile thing she does. She seems to be taking being in the back of a police car better than I ever thought she would. She’s not crying, anyway. Unlike last night. Jesus, she could have filled a swimming pool with the amount of tears that came out of her eyes.

  I twist her wrist a little so I can look at her digital watch. 20:59. Just a few hours until all of her pain is gone away. And mine. We’re almost there. As soon as this officer drops us off, we’ll be back on track.

  ‘I love you,’ I mouth to her. And as she does the same we squeeze each other’s fingers even tighter.

  ‘What school do you go to, girls?’ the officer asks.

  I think quickly.

  ‘Goldenbridge.’ I’m so good at lying. It’s almost as if the lie comes to my mind before the truth does. That seems to be how my brain works. I’m sure I got that skill from my dad. I knew I had to say the name of a school that was close to the wrong address I gave him. I know Harriet goes to Goldenbridge. She’s actually in her last year this year. Is doing her Leaving Cert in June.

  ‘Ah… I know it well. I went to Junior Infants in Goldenbridge. Grew up in Inchicore until I was seven meself,’ he says.

  Neither me or Ingrid say anything back to him. We both just turn our heads to look back out of the side windows.

  Hopefully he gets the message. We don’t wanna talk. We just want you to drop us off.

  The streets are too dark. I can’t quite make out where we are, though this area is a bit unfamiliar to me. Ingrid would know it better than me. She hung around here a bit when she was younger. I assume we’re in Inchicore by now. It shouldn’t have been that long a drive.

  ‘Okay, so which one is Connolly Gardens?’ he asks, eyeballing me in the mirror.

  I turn to Ingrid. She coughs.

  ‘Eh… next turn right and then it’s the eh… I think it’s the second turn after that,’ she says.

  I look at him in the mirror, notice his brow go all wrinkly again. Shit. I hope he isn’t getting suspicious.

  ‘Yeah, this turn here,’ Ingrid says.

  Now I know where we are. I’ve been here a few times with Ingrid. It’s a quiet little cul de sac. The type, I’m sure, no drama happens in. Not like the road we live on.

  ‘That house there,’ I say. And then I unclick my seatbelt.

  He turns around to us after he stops the car.

  ‘Ye want me to walk ye up to the house?’

  ‘Oh… no thank you,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to give my dad a fright. It’d be his worst nightmare if I showed up at the door with a policeman.’ I reach my hand towards his shoulder and pat it gently. ‘Thank you, officer.’

  Then I open the door and hop out.

  I can sense him watching us as we stroll towards the house and push at the gate that leads us into the tiny garden.

  He’s pulling away slowly as we knock at the door. I know he’s waiting to see if anybody answers. It doesn’t take long until he gets what he wants.

  ‘Wha’ you two doin’ here?’

  ‘Ah, Uncle Brendan. We just wanted to see Harriet. Is she in?’

  Ingrid’s uncle pushes his door wider to allow us to walk in to his hallway. And as we do, I turn back and offer a wave of my hand to the police officer.

  ‘She’s inside watchin’ the tele. Your mother know you’re here, Ingrid?’ Brendan says.

  Ingrid turns to face her uncle and then nods her head slowly.

  ‘Course she does,’ she says, her cute little smile wide on her face. But I know that will have hurt Ingrid a bit. She hates lying.

  21:00

  Terry

  So I’ll just cut to the chase, Terry. The reason we called you in here was not to marvel at your successes so far, and not to meet you and see that big, handsome smile of yours. We asked you here for a very specific reason. We need a new Saturday night prime time entertainment show on RTE television, something that’ll get the entire nation tuning in. And, we know of no better man to front that show than the great Terry Murph—

  My eyes shoot open. I let out a groan.

  ‘For Christ sake, Greta, you’ve just fuckin woken me.’

  It’s not like her. She’s normally very careful when I’m sleeping. So I know she closed that door with a bang on purpose.

  I turn my face to look at the clock. 21:01. Jesus, I’ve only been asleep an hour.

  She pushes the door open and looks around it sheepishly at me.

  ‘Sorry, dear. I’m glad you’re awake though. I eh… I’m worried. About Ingrid. And Ciara. They’ve gone missing.’

  I try to clear my mind of the annoyance by squeezing my eyes closed. I fuckin hate being woken. Then I rub a hand over my face.

  ‘What do you mean missing?’

  She perches her butt on the end of the bed and looks over her shoulder at me, her arms crossed.

  ‘Ingrid said she was going around to Ciara’s house to do some studying for that exam they have coming up. But I’ve eh… I’ve just rung Vivian and they’re not there.’

  I rub my face again with my hand.

  ‘What did Vivian say?’

  ‘She eh… she said Ciara had told her they were coming around here to study.’

  I sigh as loudly as I can and then sit up in the bed, leaning the back of my head onto the top of our wooden headboard.

  ‘Something’s going on, Terry. I know it. I said it to you as soon as they left the house this evening. Ingrid could barely look at me as she was going out the door. That’s not like her.’

  I hold each of my forefingers to my temples; not so much to think through where Ingrid might be, more to stop the annoyance of being awake from scratching through my mind.

  ‘She’ll be back soon. She knows she has school in the mornin
g,’ I say.

  I scoot myself back down in the bed, until my head is resting on the pillow again.

  ‘Call it mother’s intuition or whatever Terr—’

  ‘Jesus, Greta. She’ll be home soon. And when she walks through that door you’ll be annoyed with yourself that you woke me up for no fuckin reason.’

  I sit up sharpish. Because I know that was a little harsh.

  ‘Sweetie, it’s Ingrid. She’s incapable of doing anything wrong.’

  ‘Except for lying.’

  Greta’s standing now, her hands on her hips.

  ‘What do you mean lying?’

  ‘Well, lying about where she was going.’

  ‘Ah,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘That’s a little white lie. She’s thirteen now. Isn’t that what teenagers do?’

  ‘I hope it’s just a boyfriend or something. They probably met boys at that party—’

  ‘It fuckin better not be boys,’ I say, sweeping the duvet off me. I take one step over to our window and pull at the curtain so I can stare up and down our street. Then I look back at my wife.

  ‘Jaysus, I always loved that Ingrid was really pretty, but now that she’s a teenager, I wish she had a face like the back of a bus.’

  Greta shoots a little laugh out of the side of her mouth. That’ll do me. She’s obviously not as concerned as she seems to be letting on.

  ‘Sweetie, she’ll be back in a while,’ I say, tossing her hair. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to her when she gets home from school tomorrow. If she’s messing around with boys, she’ll have an awful lot of explaining to do.’

  I jump back into bed and pull the duvet nice and snug around me again.

  ‘Now,’ I say, turning on to my side. ‘I’ve got a big show in the morning… Close the door gently this time.’

  The kids across the street all cock their heads up again at Helen as she strolls away from the police car, the phone to her ear.

  ‘I know you’re crazy busy, won’t keep you long, Eddie. I was just, y’know, lying here on the sofa and thought I owed it to you — owed it to our marriage — to be totally honest and up front with you.’