Ciara looks at me. I decide to just drink from my glass while staring up at the ceiling.
‘Wouldn’t you like to be a secondary school teacher?’ Ciara asks, looking back at Miss Moriarty. ‘You’d be great at it — and you could join our school. Be our teacher forever.’
Miss smiles again.
‘Oh you’re so sweet, you two.’
She runs her hand through her wet hair again. I don’t think she likes us being here. We called at a bad time. Her conversations are very short. She’s definitely not her usual self.
‘Who… eh…’ Ciara says, looking back over her shoulder. ‘Who was the man who opened the door for us?’
‘Ciara!’ I say. She can be so rude sometimes.
‘It’s fine, Ingrid,’ Miss says, ‘that’s Jamie. He’s my partner. My boyfriend.’
‘Didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Miss,’ I say.
She smiles again. I miss that smile so much.
‘I don’t tell my students everything,’ she says, patting the top of my head. ‘C’mon, come with me.’
She leads us out of her tiny kitchen, into another room.
‘Jamie, these are two of my former students: Ingrid Murphy and Ciara Joyce.’ Jamie stands up and reaches up his palm for us to high five. ‘Ingrid is Terry Murphy’s daughter.’
‘Ah yes,’ Jamie says, ‘Brigid told me she had taught Terry Murphy’s daughter before. How is your old man?’
I shrug my shoulder.
‘Fine… I think,’ I say and then everyone laughs a little. ‘He eh… works a lot, I don’t think I get to see as much of him as most people get to see their dads.’
Jamie and Miss look at each other and then Miss turns to us.
‘Take a seat,’ she says. All four of us sit in their small sitting room, the tele turned off, just a lamp in the far corner on. The chat goes silent; nobody quite sure what to say.
Then Ciara taps me on the hip. I look at her and see that her eyes have gone really wide. She’s trying to mouth something to me. I’ve no idea what she wants to say. So I shake my head and squint my eyes at her.
‘What?’ I whisper.
She locks her fingers together, holds them out in front of her and tries to mumble something between her teeth.
What the hell is she trying to tell me?
Charlie’s hands are gripped to the top of the steering wheel, his head hanging between his elbows.
‘There’s no need to be that upset with yourself,’ Helen says. ‘I used to be a Detective. I was a Detective for five years before… before…’ she swallows. ‘Before my life got turned upside down. After Scott’s suicide I just… I couldn’t continue working. I was in and out of therapy, in and out of hospital…’ She looks over at Charlie. He still hasn’t lifted his head. ‘I do work at Rathmines Garda station. As I said, my husband runs the shop. He saw to it that I was taken back on in some capacity.’
She hears a puff, the first noise Charlie has made since Helen admitted she wasn’t who or what he believed she was.
‘In what capacity?’ he asks, peeling his back up vertebrae by vertebrae until he’s sitting upright.
Helen sucks air in through the gaps of her teeth.
‘I do admin work.’
Charlie puffs a darting laugh out of his nostrils as Helen reels backwards in embarrassment.
‘Listen, just… just drop me back at your station,’ she says, her face reddening. ‘My car’s there. Please.’
Charlie looks at her, then back out through his front windscreen before he turns the key in the ignition.
‘Admin work,’ he whispers to himself, shaking his head.
He drives in silence, Helen now the one hanging her head; her fingers forming a diamond shape on her lap.
‘I’ll take the blame for everything. My husband will understand. I’ll be able to talk him around,’ she says.
Charlie makes a clicking sound with his mouth.
‘I’m sorry you lost your son,’ he says. ‘And I get it… why you… why you were trying to track down these two girls. Suicide. It can’t be… it can’t be easy to deal with.’
Helen purses her lips at him.
‘It never leaves you,’ she says as she stares back out the window at nothing in particular. ‘I didn’t have one darn clue. Not one clue he was gonna do it. Him and his friends. I guess they were just depressed. But I didn’t see one sign of depression in Scott. Not one bloody sign of it. I know he wasn’t the best kid in the world. His teachers used to say he could get distracted at school. But at home he was just… just normal. A normal teenager. It’s one hell of a body blow to lose your son. But to lose him to suicide… well… the worst thing is I still don’t know why they did it. What I wouldn’t give to know what happened that night. You know what my husband says to me all the time… he says “you never will know”. Imagine having to deal with that your whole life?’
She holds her hand to her face, her shoulders shaking. Charlie reaches a hand over to her, gives her shoulder a light squeeze. She’d already informed him how her husband has dealt with the reality of Scott’s suicide compared to her. It was just as gut wrenching for Charlie to hear the second time around.
‘Don’t cry, Helen,’ he says.
She waves him away. But he keeps his hand on her shoulder, only taking it off every now and then to change gear as he navigates all the way back to the station; not a further word passed between them.
It’s always eaten at Helen that she will never know what happened to her son and his two friends the night they decided to end it all. She’s tried her best to get to the bottom of it. She discussed it with the other two sets of parents. None of them could come up with answers. One of them blamed Scott… argued that he must have orchestrated it all. The frustration of never knowing what happened has always prolonged Helen’s grief. She believes — and has done for a long time — that only a new life in Canada will ever ease her depression.
When Charlie kills the engine outside Terenure Garda station, he waits on Helen to lift her head, but she doesn’t move.
‘Well I guess it was an adventure at least, huh?’ Charlie says, allowing a little laugh to sniff its way out of his mouth. But his joke hasn’t hit its audience.
‘Helen,’ he says. ‘We’re here.’
She wipes her hand over her face, then leans her head back on to the rest.
‘I need to take a leak,’ she says. ‘Where are the toilets in there?’
Charlie cocks his head while taking the keys from the ignition.
‘C’mon, I’ll show you.’
They stroll solemnly across the tiny car park and then into the front desk of the station.
‘Charlie,’ the man at the desk nods, ‘Detective.’
Charlie looks back at Helen then twists his face into an awkward smile.
‘Through here,’ he says to Helen, pushing at a door. ‘The Ladies is in the corner.’
Helen smiles with her eyes at Charlie, then holds her arms out.
‘You’re right, Charlie. It has been an adventure. It was… it was good to investigate with you. You’re gonna make a helluva Detective one day. I’m sure of it.’
Charlie raises his eyebrow as he leans in to accept Helen’s hug.
‘I’ll see ye around, Helen.’
He releases and then turns away, swirling his key ring around his finger as he makes his way back to the desk Helen first met him at three hours ago. She stares at the items on his desk; it feels like a hell of a lot more than three hours since she picked each of them up and inspected them for no real reason at all.
She strolls to the corner Charlie had pointed her towards and pushes at a door that leads into a pokey toilet with two cubicles.
‘Still better than my station,’ she says to no one, before rushing towards the sink. She turns on the cold tap, holds her hands out to form a cup and then fills it, before splashing at her face.
‘What are you fuckin playing at, Helen?’ she says to herself in the mirror as water d
rops from her brow. Then she enters one of the cubicles, pulls at the toilet paper until she has a ball of it in her hands and begins to dab at her face. As she’s leaving the cubicle, she throws the ball of paper over her shoulder, missing the bowl by quite a distance.
She pulls tentatively at the door that leads back into the station, inching it open slowly so she can stare at Charlie. He’s scratching at his spikey hair; looks really disappointed in himself as if he’s cringing inside.
‘Breathe, Helen,’ she whispers to herself. ‘Calm down.’
‘Sorry?’ a woman calls out appearing at the toilet door.
‘Oh… no, I’m sorry,’ Helen says, offering a fake smile. ‘Bloody talking to myself, aren’t I? First sign of madness, huh?’
The woman smiles back, then pushes past Helen and into one of the cubicles. Helen steps out, into the station, and then tiptoes herself towards Charlie.
‘Didn’t wanna leave without another hug,’ she says perching her ass onto his desk. Charlie laughs a little, then reaches his arm around her and takes her closer to him.
‘Our little adventure, huh?’ he says into her ear.
‘Our little adventure,’ she whispers back.
‘If you ever need someone to talk to, to have coffee with, you know where I am,’ Charlie says.
Helen pats him on the shoulder, then stands up.
She walks away, back out through the office floor towards the door and out past reception without paying the man at the front desk any further attention. As soon as she’s outside, she swings the key ring around her finger, and heads straight to Charlie’s car.
She clicks the button, releasing the locks, and pulls at the driver’s door. As soon as she’s inside she eyeballs herself in the rear-view mirror, then looks away quickly; her eyes focusing on the road ahead as the car inches forward.
She knows where she’s going; made her mind up when she was holding her face as Charlie drove back to the station. She also realised then that she needed the police car. It was the only means in which she could justifiably pass as a Detective — it’s a tough lie to carry out if you don’t have a badge to flash. She knows. She’s tried it before.
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ she says to herself. ‘You’re doing the right thing.’
She picks up speed, then reaches for the button that sets off the siren before pausing.
‘Nah… better not,’ she says. She flicks her eyes to look at herself in the rear-view mirror again, then holds them closed.
‘What the fuck am I doing?’ she whispers. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’
She opens her eyes, shifts into fifth gear and speeds down the canal road. She can hear herself breathing, her breaths growing sharper as the digits on the speedometer rise.
‘What the fuck am I doing?’ She shouts it this time, laughing.
Then her pocket vibrates, causing her to blink as she eases off the gas. She takes out her phone and presses the green button.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Eddie screams down the line.
23:00
Ciara
Jamie holds his hand up for me and Ingrid to high five — and we do. He looks nice. But sure… of course he’s nice. He’s Miss Moriarty’s boyfriend. She’s way too lovely and clever to ever have a horrible boyfriend.
‘Take a seat,’ Miss says.
And we all do; me, Ciara and Miss sitting on the grey sofa, Jamie on the tiny green armchair across from us.
I watch as Miss struggles sitting down; pulling the belt of her bathrobe tighter across her belly. Her belly is big; never knew she was that fat… hold on.
I tap at Ingrid’s hip, then try to mumble to her.
‘Id ee egnan,’ I say through my teeth.
Ingrid looks at me as if I’m mad, then shakes her head a little. She can’t make out what I’m trying to say. I hold my hands out over my belly, make a bit of a round shape with them. She’s still shaking her head.
‘Yes, young girl,’ Jamie says. ‘We are pregnant.’
‘What!’ Ingrid says. She reaches her arms towards Miss and gives her a big hug. So I do the same, joining in.
‘Congratulations, Miss. That’s the best news, like, ever,’ I say.
The three of us stay in a hug for ages.
‘Twins,’ Jamie says.
I hold my hand to my mouth as I sit back into the sofa.
‘Yep,’ Miss says. ‘They’re due the end of August.’
I’m so happy for Miss. This is the happiest I’ve been in… jee… I don’t know how long.
‘Ah… two little Moriartys running around the place. I can’t wait to—’ Ingrid stops herself talking, then sits back in the sofa. I know what she was about to say; that she can’t wait to meet them. Until she realised she never will.
‘Two Roses, you mean,’ Jamie says.
‘Huh?’
‘Two Roses… my name.’
Ah… Jamie Rose. Makes sense that he’d have such a nice name. I bet he’ll make a great dad. Better than mine and Ingrid’s anyway. He won’t be stuck at work all the time; he won’t tut at them when they have their first period.
I had my first one late last year, just before Christmas. I didn’t know what to do, had no idea what was going on. I just screamed.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ my dad said, poking his nose into the bathroom. He saw me standing there, staring into the bowl at all of the red that had just poured out of me.
‘What is wrong with me?’ I asked him.
‘Ah, here…’ he said, shaking head. ‘It’s eh… a subject your mam will have to talk to you about… or Debbie. Wait till Debbie gets here in the morning.’
‘Debbie doesn’t mind me anymore, Dad!’ I said. Then I began to cry. He left the bathroom. I didn’t see him again for a few days.
‘You’ll both make great parents,’ I say to them.
Jamie smiles at me.
‘It’s two girls,’ Miss says, rubbing her belly.
Me and Ingrid squeeze each other and let out little squeals.
23:10
Miss Moriarty
The two of them cling to each other and produce a cute little high-pitched squeal.
I love Ingrid and Ciara; always have. My heart has always gone out to them. They never really palled around with anyone in primary school, apart from with each other. And me. They’d try to include me in their plans for lunch and would spend break time trying to make sure I didn’t get any work done. Even though I’ve a lot going on, I still kinda miss them. It’s a shame they’re not enjoying secondary school, but I can’t get involved. At some stage you just have to let kids grow up. They have to take responsibility for themselves.
‘You’ll both make great parents. They’re going to be lucky girls,’ Ingrid says.
How adorable. Ingrid’s going to an impressive woman when she grows up. She’s intelligent, pretty, comes from good stock. Her mam used to be a model — made quite a big name for herself in Sweden back in the day. And her dad’s a bit of a national treasure. He used to be a personality on tele; now has his own radio show. She’s a little bit sensitive though; conjures mountains from molehills with way too much ease. But once she grows out of that, she’ll be grand. I’m not so sure about Ciara, though. Ciara’s parents aren’t up to much. I’m sure her mam is too fond of the drink. She used to turn up for parent-teacher meetings a little squiffy. At least she turned up though; not like her husband. I tried to ring him a couple times over the years, just to let him know how Ciara was getting on at school. He always claimed he was too busy to talk. He runs Fullam’s insurance and accountancy. I’m sure the business gets more of his attention than his family does. Ciara always seemed to focus on the negatives in life; her glass was always half-empty. I’m not surprised though; if parents show a lack of belief in their kids, then it’s inevitable that the kids themselves won’t have much belief. No matter how good a teacher is, there is only so much impact we can have. I’ve often worried about Ciara over the years. But having In
grid as a best friend is good for her. She’ll be fine.
I hold my hand to my mouth and yawn.
‘Sorry, girls,’ I say. ‘I’m so tired.’
I’m not lying to them; not trying to rush them out of my house. It’s just ever since I fell pregnant I’ve been feeling wrecked. And nauseous. Standing at the top of a classroom all day is torturous when you’ve got two little ones growing inside you. They seem to weigh me down that extra little bit every day. And I’ve three more months to go before maternity leave. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through it.
‘Oh sorry, Miss,’ Ingrid says. ‘We know it’s late. Maybe we should let you go to bed.’
‘That’d be great, girls,’ Jamie says, walking towards me and placing his hand on my belly. ‘Brigid needs as much rest as she can get.’
‘Tell you what,’ I say, ‘when the girls are born, why don’t you two call by again? I’d love you to meet them.’
I smile at the girls; knowing how much they’ll love that invite. But they don’t smile back. Ingrid stumbles a reply and then shakes her head. That’s odd.
‘Eh… yes. Okay… okay,’ Ciara says, holding a hand to Ingrid’s knee.
I squint my eyes at them.
‘You two okay?’
Ciara nods, and then Ingrid mirrors her.
They’re probably jealous of the babies; because they’ve seen themselves as my babies for so long. That’s cute. I’ve read an article about that before; students feeling envious when their favourite teacher becomes a parent.
‘So how you two getting home then?’ I ask.
‘Bus,’ Ingrid says.
‘Bus? At this time of the night?’
‘No… no… don’t be silly, Ingrid,’ Ciara says. ‘She’s…’ Ciara winds her finger around her temple. ‘We’re getting a lift from Ingrid’s dad. He’s around the corner in our friend’s house.’
I squint again. These two are up to something. I can sense it. Teacher’s intuition.
‘The friend’s house that you say is around the corner… what’s the family name?’ I stare at Ingrid as I ask this, knowing I can read her better than Ciara. I think Ciara mastered the art of bullshitting from her father. It’s probably the only trait she’s ever picked up from him.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 67