The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  22:25

  Ciara

  I spin the bus stop timetable round and round the pole after I’ve caught my breath back.

  ‘It says there’s one due at half ten, but ye can never really go by these things, can you?’ I say to Ingrid.

  She’s got her arms folded and is leaning her back against the glass of the bus shelter.

  ‘Nah… they just get here when they get here… normally two or three at the same time,’ she says.

  I stare down the road, waiting to see the light of a bus number coming towards us. Nothing.

  It’s starting to get cold, so I turn around and hug my best friend; for a bit of warmth more than anything. Ingrid rests her chin on my shoulder while I stare at a fuzzy reflection of myself in the glass of the shelter, neither of us saying a word.

  It’s mad that we’re getting close to the last hour of our lives. I know it’s sad that we feel we have to do this. But I feel happy because I know we’re going to do it. Being alive might be good for some people, but it’s never been for me. I was born into sadness… can’t remember either of my parents laughing in our home. Not in each other’s company anyway. No wonder I’m bleedin’ miserable.

  The only person I ever remember laughing in our house was Debbie. And now I know why. She was probably out of her face on cocaine. I can’t believe it. She was the only adult who I ever felt really liked me, really. I’d no idea she was so stupid that she would take drugs. Doesn’t matter anyway. Whether I saw cocaine or not in her house tonight, we were still going to do this; still going to end it all. I just never thought I’d end it all while not loving Debbie anymore. I guess you never really know people — even the ones you love the most. Makes me wonder if Miss Moriarty has any dark secrets.

  ‘You think Miss will be happy to see us?’ I ask, still staring at my reflection.

  ‘She’ll be wondering what the hell we’re doing knocking to her house on a Sunday night but… yeah… she’ll be happy to see us. She loved us.’

  I nod my head.

  ‘Our very last goodbye, huh?’ I say. And then I feel Ingrid nodding her head on my shoulder.

  Her nose sniffles. I bet she’s crying. Her mind better not be bleedin’ changing again. Wouldn’t surprise me. The two of us were giggling our little heads off as we ran to the bus stop. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to be crying straight after I’ve been laughing. I think depression works that way. Does for me anyway.

  I lean off her, place my hands either side of her face.

  ‘You okay, Ingrid?’

  She smiles her eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ she says.

  ‘You sure?’

  She looks downwards, at our feet, and then nods her head again.

  I put my hand under her chin and lift her face towards me.

  ‘Ingrid.’

  ‘Yeah — I’m fine,’ she says, shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘Just over an hour left. Quick visit to Miss Moriarty’s, then a bus ride back to Rathmines…’ I arch an eyebrow.

  She nods again.

  I grab her in for another hug; this time to feel her love as much as the warmth.

  It was almost twelve hours ago that we came up with this plan. Around eleven o’clock last night. I’d never seen Ingrid so upset; had never seen anyone so upset. I couldn’t stop her sobbing, no matter how hard I held her close to me. Her chest, her shoulders, her head — everything was shaking quicker than I ever thought body parts could shake. It took ages for them to stop.

  ‘Here we go,’ she muffles into my ear.

  I turn around and see a bus coming towards us.

  ‘I’m gonna ask you one more time, Ingrid. You sure you are okay?’

  Ingrid looks at me, then looks towards the bus.

  ‘Ingrid!’

  She releases her grip on me, strolls slowly towards the curb and places her hand in her pockets. When she steps on to the bus, she reaches a fistful of change towards the driver.

  ‘Two fares to Crumlin,’ she says.

  The driver stares at both us of us, then taps away at his tiny little machine before scooping the coins out of Ingrid’s hand.

  ‘There y’are, girls,’ he says, passing Ingrid two paper tickets, ‘hope yis are havin’ a good night.’

  We both nod a thank you to him and head up the aisle, towards the back of the bus.

  ‘Ingrid?’ I say again as we sit down.

  ‘Yes!’ she says. She sounds a little bit annoyed. ‘You don’t have to keep asking me, Ciara. Yes. I’m fine.’

  I hold her knee, squeeze it a little and then we both sit in silence as we stare out of opposite windows at nothing because the night is too dark.

  ‘It’s just,’ I say turning back towards her, ‘I don’t want you doing this just for me.’

  She turns her head to face me, then tilts it sideways. But she doesn’t say anything. I hold my eyes closed and try to think everything through as the bus rattles its way down the canal road. I’m one hundred per cent certain I want to do this. And I’m one hundred per cent certain I want to do it this way; me and Ingrid doing it together. But I’m not one hundred per cent certain she wants to do it. I know she’s really sad now. Last night broke her little heart. But she might be okay in a couple weeks time; just like Harriet said. Whereas I know I won’t be. I’m depressed. And I’ll be depressed forever… until I kill that depression by killing myself.

  But I don’t want to keep on asking her if she’s okay and I certainly don’t want to break the pact by asking her if she still wants to go ahead with it. So I bite my tongue. Literally. I hold it between my teeth and try to not say anything more about it.

  The bus heaves over the speed bumps and our bums are lifted up and down on the seats but we keep our faces straight and our mouths closed. I try to look out the window again… see if I can make anything out in the dark. But all I can see is my own reflection staring at back at me. And I can almost hear my mind screaming at the reflection.

  You have to ask her, Ciara. Go on. Ask her!

  I bite my tongue, hard this time; until I can taste a bit of blood. Then my teeth unclench, my head spins around and my hands reach for Ingrid’s pretty little pale face.

  ‘Ingrid Murphy, I love you very much.’

  She squints her eyes, then reaches her hands either side of my face, cupping my cheeks.

  ‘I love you too,’ she says, her eyes heavy.

  ‘I need to ask you — I’m sorry to break the pact.’ She holds her eyes closed and I swallow. ‘Do you want to do this? Do you want us both to commit suicide as soon as we’ve finished saying goodbye to Miss Moriarty? I need to know you’re ready.’

  22:35

  Ingrid

  We sit in silence, except for the roaring of the bus engine every now and then when it struggles over the speed bumps.

  Then Ciara turns to me and places a hand to each side of my face.

  I know she’s going to ask me if I still want to go ahead with this. I know she’s going to break the first rule of our pact. And I get it; she knows me too well. She knows my mind was changing when we were in Harriet’s bedroom.

  ‘Ingrid Murphy,’ she says, ‘I love you very much.’

  I give her one of those half smiles, then hold my hands either side of her face too; just to let her know that it’s okay to ask the question she’s desperate to ask.

  ‘I need to ask you — I’m sorry to break the pact. Do you want to do this? Do you want us both to commit suicide as soon as we’ve finished saying goodbye to Miss Moriarty? I need to know you’re ready.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, without hesitating; without allowing any silence between her asking the question and me answering it.

  Then I open my eyes to see her nodding at me, her lips smiling. She brings herself closer to me, so our foreheads touch and we just hold each other. Until the bus juddering over another speed bump makes my chin slap against Ciara’s. Her teeth crack closed. She laughs at the strange sound it makes and so do I; the two of us bent over at the back
of the bus, laughing on the outside, in pain on the inside. And all my mind is doing is wondering whether laughing at the noise of somebody’s teeth closing actually makes life pretty shit… or whether or not finding the likes of that funny is what makes life pretty good. I’ve never quite understood what parts of life I’m supposed to enjoy.

  I answered her question really quickly. Maybe because I knew the question was coming; I was prepared. Or maybe I answered her that quickly because I’m absolutely certain I want to do this. My mind keeps changing. I’ve just told her ten seconds ago that I’m ready to this. And now I’m not sure I am.

  Suicide seems to make the most amount of sense to me, though. The only way I can get rid of the pain is to end that pain. One thing that’s making me slightly nervy about doing it now is that I think the goodbyes we made to our favourite people have been pretty cold. It was my idea; the goodbyes. It was something I wanted to be part of the pact.

  Ciara found me standing behind a bush at the entrance to that tiny park near Balfey’s house. He was the one who had the free gaff last night. I kept playing what Stitch said to me over and over in my head as I stood behind that bush; tears pouring down my face. It wasn’t really his words that were hurting me. It was the laughter from everybody else that followed his words. It made my stomach turn, my whole body shake. I wanted to throw up. But all I could do was cry. And cry.

  ‘Oh, Ingrid,’ she said when she found me. She hugged me tight and as she did I whispered into her ear.

  ‘I want to commit suicide.’

  She pulled away and stared into my face. She’d been threatening that she would kill herself for years. She said I was the only one keeping her alive. She brought the idea of us both doing it together up a few times before; when I used to agree with her that life was shit and that my parents were just as bad as hers. I’m not sure how much of that I really agree with. I think I was just trying to be supportive; felt I was being the best friend I could possibly be to her if I could relate. But that laughter last night — after Stitch said what he said — it just made me realise I can’t go on. I can’t go to school tomorrow. I can’t do a whole six years in secondary school being known as Fishfingers.

  We spoke for two hours about our pact, on that cold bench just inside the park. Ciara was all up for doing it last night. I said we should wait to do it tonight so that we could have a chance to say goodbye to our families and those closest to us. I wanted to say goodbye to Mum and Dad. And Sven. And I really wanted to say goodbye to Harriet. But I’m not sure I really did that well enough tonight. I’m not quite sure what I expected it to be like, though. How are you supposed to say goodbye to somebody for the last time when you don’t want them to know it’s the last time? I could barely look at Mum and Dad when I was leaving the house; in case they could see right through me. I rubbed Sven’s hair. That’s it. It’s all I did to say goodbye to my little brother. And I hugged Harriet and told her I’d definitely read the book she gave me. I promised I’d catch up with her soon so we could talk. Then I just left in the back seat of Uncle Brendan’s car as she waved at me from the doorway. At least she’ll get the book with my note in it. That’s nice, I guess.

  ‘Maybe we should write suicide notes after all,’ I say, as the bus jumps over another speed bump.

  Ciara wrinkles her face up a bit.

  ‘Really?’

  I shrug my shoulder. I don’t know. We both decided last night that writing suicide notes would be too difficult; not just difficult because of how emotional it would be, but difficult because we’re both not great at writing. Our parents would have that note forever. And I just don’t think we could have written something good enough. That’s why we agreed to spend the day at home with our families to say our last goodbyes, and why we decided to visit the people we truly loved before we ended it all. We felt a last goodbye to all our loved ones would have more impact than a note. Now I’m not so sure.

  ‘Oh… maybe not, I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I think writing that small note in Harriet’s book is making me think it would be nice to leave a little message for Mum and Dad and Sven.’

  Ciara squelches her face even more. She was dead against suicide notes last night. More so than me. She doesn’t seem to have changed her mind.

  ‘Don’t you think… don’t you think our goodbyes were a little… cold?’ I ask.

  She makes a funny face again.

  ‘They were natural weren’t they?’ she says. ‘My goodbye to my mam was like any goodbye I’ve ever given her. Seems about right to me.’

  ‘What about your goodbye to Debbie… I mean you slapped her in the face?’

  Ciara sniffs a small laugh out of her nose.

  ‘What… you want me to leave her a suicide note now?’

  ‘No, no…’ I say, sitting back in my seat and slapping my hands against my knees. ‘I don’t know.’ I realise I must be sounding as confused as I feel. I’m probably doing Ciara’s head in.

  ‘Listen,’ Ciara says, placing her hands either side of my face again. ‘Do you want to go home and say another goodbye to your mum? If you do, we can delay this a little bit…’

  I breathe in deep. To give myself time to think. Then I find myself shaking my head before I’ve thought anything through.

  ‘Nah,’ I say. ‘Let’s just say goodbye to Miss Moriarty. Then we can just get this over with.’

  Charlie and Tommy are well out of sight by the time Helen pushes at the door and steps outside. She had tried to run fast, tried to keep up, but she needed both hands to hold on to the bannisters either side of her as she trotted down the stairs, allowing them to race way ahead of her.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she says to no one when she gets outside. She looks right, then left. No sign of either of them. No sounds either. She reaches for her phone, scrolls through the screen and dials Tommy’s number again; then cocks her ear out for any inkling of that annoying ringtone.

  Nothing.

  She assumes Tommy would have gone left when he got outside. It would have been stupid of him to have run towards the police car. So she walks — in her own unique way — past the row of closed shops and towards a housing estate that looks like a maze of terraced-lined streets.

  ‘Little bollix could be anywhere.’

  She contemplates calling out Charlie’s name, but bites her tongue. He’ll come back to the car soon enough; hopefully holding Tommy Smith by the scruff of the neck.

  She’s wondering why the little fucker ran; is starting to lose hope that her instinct was right all along about the two girls. She shakes her head in an effort to reduce the growing logic from her mind. But nothing she can think of to support her gut — that the calls Tommy made earlier were legitimate suicide concerns — seems to be adding up. They must have been distraction calls; he must be working for Alan Keating.

  She turns back and stares at the flashing sign for Cue. Maybe all of them up there are working for Keating. That’s why the CCTV is gazing down at them. It’s planned that way. Bastards will have a proven alibi all night.

  Helen stops walking, lets out a sigh and then washes the palm of her hand over her face.

  ‘Your instinct was wrong, Helen,’ she muffles into her fingers. ‘There aren’t two girls out there about to commit suicide. Scott’s death hasn’t led you to this moment. Scott died. Get fuckin’ over it already. It’s been twenty-two—’

  ‘Fuckin’ hell.’

  An approaching voice halts Helen’s whispered monologue. She squints into the darkness, sees Charlie approaching her, his hand to his face. He’s on his own.

  ‘Fuck ye, Charlie,’ she mumbles to herself before walking towards him. They meet under a street lamp.

  ‘Little bollix punched me in the nose,’ Charlie says taking his hand away to show Helen the damage.

  She stares at his face, notices a fine trickle of blood making its way to his top lip, then shakes her head.

  ‘What the fuck happened?’ she asks.

  Charlie grunts the stinging pain away bef
ore answering.

  ‘Fucker’s quick, I’ll give him that. I managed to catch up with him, grabbed a handful of his tracksuit top… but he just turned around, knocked me one. I went flying backwards. Stings like hell. By the time I got to my feet he was out of sight.’

  Helen clenches her jaw.

  ‘Christ sake, Charlie!’ she grinds through her teeth.

  ‘What? What did you want me to do? I was assaulted.’

  ‘You’re a bloody police officer; you are supposed to control these situations!’

  Helen turns her back on Charlie, her hands on her hips.

  He looks at the back of her, his arms outstretched in bewilderment at her lack of empathy.

  ‘We’ll get that little fucker for assaulting a police officer. We know where he lives!’ Charlie says.

  ‘I couldn’t give a shit about arresting him for assaulting a police officer!’ Helen barks as she spins back around. ‘I’m only concerned about these two girls. Whoever they are. Wherever they are.’

  Charlie holds his hand to his nose again, then winces in pain before squelching his entire face at Helen.

  ‘If all this little fucker has is information on two girls planning to die by suicide, why did he run away from us? Helen… we’ve got to admit we’re wrong. The rest of the force are out there looking to stop Alan Keating from carrying out something big tonight. This little prick running away from us proves they’re right. He didn’t call two Garda stations because he’s worried about girls he goes to school with. He rang in a distraction call.’ Helen holds her eyes closed, her hands still on her hips. ‘C’mon, Helen, you’ve got to admit that—’

  ‘Shut up, Charlie,’ she snaps.

  ‘What d’you mean shut up? You know—’

  Helen takes a step towards Charlie, grabs him — with both hands — by the collar of his Garda jacket and pins him up against a shop shutter, causing a clang to echo the entire length of the street.

  ‘You listen to me, and you listen to me very carefully,’ she spits into his face.