Chapter Eleven:
The alarm blares from her bedside cabinet. It needn’t have bothered. She didn’t sleep a wink anyway. Hoisting herself out of bed, her body too sore for a mere 20-year-old, she pads off to the shower.
What a night. She had given Mark a cheery text asking to stay over last night, not wanting to admit that she was too afraid to stay by herself. What would he think of her then? He hadn’t replied until gone 10pm, stating he’d just got home from the new space and was to be up early in the morning to meet contractors. She let on that nothing was wrong. She couldn’t lose him. She’d rather lose herself.
Last night was an uneasy one. She expected Robyn to come and collect her car, but there was no sign of her. Ava guessed she was still lying in her house pissed, and thought against contacting her. Instead, she dug out a frozen pizza she forgot she had from the very bottom of the freezer, under some meat-free chicken and fish she’d bought when she tried, and failed, to be a veggie not that long ago. Firing it in the oven, she manoeuvred herself around the house out of sight of windows. Scaling along walls and dodging behind coat hangers and chairs. Anything to keep herself safe. Keep her hidden.
Of course, when darkness came, it made everything worse. She still has to put blinds up in the kitchen, and she cursed herself for her carelessness as she crept into the dark room on her hands and knees, the only light emanating from the oven. Crawling forward, she checked and double checked the two windows either side of her before her arm swung up to turn the oven off. Scalding her hand on the oven tray, the heatproof gloves too high for her reach, she escorted the pizza to the living room, deeming the confined place her only safe haven with the protection of the thick, blackout curtains.
Even there, the muted TV was the only source of light. So it’s no surprise that cheese and tomato sauce cover the blanket and rug, as she looks down at the scene now in the light of day. Shaking her head, she picks up her purse and escapes from the front door, locking it maladroitly behind her. Although it can’t be more than five metres to her car, it seems like it takes a year. She jumps with fright as Mrs McVeigh sings over to her, waving as she makes her daily commute to the shops down at Whitehouse. She smiles back and gives a lethargic wave, before she speeds off down the Buncrana Road.
She gazes out at everyone going about their daily lives. Commuting to work, taking the dog a walk or going a jog themselves. Who could ‘M’ be? She feels like she’s in one of those stupid teen TV shows based in the states. After everything that’s happened, she vowed she would never live her life in fear, she made sure of that. But now?
Chapter Twelve:
Pulling onto the Foyle Bridge to migrate to the Waterside of the city, where her business rests, she desperately tries and fails to stop herself from taking quick glances at the railings, just like she does every day. She follows the incline up before it settles out, looking at the rows of traffic in front of her accumulating at the Caw Roundabout, whether travelling deeper into the Waterside or going further afield left to Limavady or Coleraine, or even Belfast straight in front.
She comes to a stop behind a jeep, but is still on the bridge. Usually traffic isn’t this bad. She would be much closer to the roundabout at this time of the morning. She cranes her neck to see past the beast of a vehicle, but gives up and turns the radio on, tapping her fingers incessantly on the wheel.
Not being able to drag herself away from the inevitable, she glares at the railings that were so important in her meeting the other day and the interview yesterday. There she’s sat, on top of the suicide hotspot of Derry City. The murderer of her mother. Would it be so wrong to have them higher? After all, it is very easy to lift yourself over them. She gets flashbacks of Rose on the Titanic, dangling over the edge. Then her mother comes into her head. Like she always does. But no matter how many times she tries to shake the image away, it’s there. Her mother gazing down into the unstoppable River Foyle.
How did her life become that bad? Ava tried to be a good daughter. She was a teenager, of course she was going to rebel. But a few puffs of a cigarette at the Nerve Centre that one time and a couple of weekends in Brooke Park with a two-litre bottle of cider couldn’t have sent her mother over the edge. Could it?
The traffic moves at a slow pace. Stop and go. Stop and go. Crawling forward slightly using her clutch, despite having nowhere to go, and having to roll back again. She becomes impatient. Finally, there’s a curve in the road and the jeep no longer obstructs the view. Her heart leaps as she sees the blue beacons. The flashing lights.
She’s unwillingly taken back to that night. Arriving home late from sneaking out to an empty house. Being confused, she returned to her bed and fell into a happy sleep, smile on her face. Only to be woken hours later to a thunder of fists on her front door. Robyn ushering her out. Telling her everything was going to be okay. Police officers nodding to her and asking her questions in stifling hot rooms with nothing spare of a table with chairs and a camera with a blinking red light failing to disguise itself in the corner. The night her life changed. Forever.
Chapter Thirteen:
“Sorry I’m late.”
Ava blushes, jostling herself into the office. It’s her business, for God’s sake. If she can’t show up on time, what example does that set the other volunteers?
“No sweat, pet,” Michael doesn’t take his eyes off his screen. “Was it the accident?”
“Yeah,” she exhales, dropping her bags and kicking them under the desk.
“Bad?”
“Not sure, I never saw any casualties.”
“Did you get a good gander?”
“Well, I was stuck on the new bridge for a half hour. Single lane traffic is always a nightmare. The cars looked smashed up, but the ambulances didn’t leave, and I didn’t see anyone that particularly beat up. Hopefully everyone’s okay.”
Michael nods along, still scrolling with his mouse, eyes sliding from one side of the screen to the other. Ava flops herself down in the swivel chair and turns to the back of the room. Claire and Paddy are discussing the looming weekend in the kitchen, fixing themselves drinks, but Kat’s nowhere to be seen.
“At least I’m not the only one who has been stuck in the traffic,” she says, turning to her computer and booting it up.
“Oh, Kat’s phoned in sick, I’m afraid.”
Ava curses herself.
“Looks like I was then,” she gives a dry chuckle.
“Well, you’re the only one to come from the city side now,” Michael smiles over at her.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, it’s hardly your fault.”
Ava nods whilst she looks at the loading screen. Although this is, essentially, her business, she still finds it weird that these people who work for her can be two, sometimes three, times her age. It’s took some adjusting, but so has everything in her life so far.
“Hi, Ava,” Claire sings as she marches into the room, cup sloshing coffee onto the floor.
“Hiya,” she gives a faint smile as she swivels around to greet her, before her eyes fix on the paper in Paddy’s hand.
“Is that The Letter?”
She tries to hide the tremor in her voice. Afraid of what concoction Cathal has brewed up, another drama to spill onto her lap.
“It is,” he hands it over.
Unfolding it on her desk, she sees a picture of herself, taken from the press release, on the bottom right hand side of the front page.
‘Extending the railings of the Foyle Bridge is a temporary solution to a permanent problem’ – Ava McFeely. Full story page 6.’
“You did well, Ave. Proud of you,” Paddy gives a gummy smile.
Confused, Ava flicks through the first few pages of the newspaper, talking about business closures and sectarian attacks in the city, to find a huge picture of her mother on page 6.
‘Three years after the tragic death of Fiona McFeely, her daughter strives to increase awareness for mental health in the town.
‘
Ava McFeely was only a teenager when her mother entered the River Foyle, but since then she has devoted her life to making Derry City a happier place. Her efforts have included setting up a charity in her mother’s name, Foundation for Fiona, and taking on the likes of Darrell Boyle, Health Minister for nationalist party…’
Ava reads on, in complete shock that Cathal not only took her side, despite initially challenging her, but also could quote what she had said when he wasn’t even taking notes.
“How’s the comments on social media looking?” she asks the room after her third re-read.
“All positive,” Claire beams from over her screen. “A lot of people are agreeing with you.”
Tapping and double tapping the internet icon, impatient to see for herself, Ava has butterflies as her first impulse is to check Twitter.
‘@charles8kelly here here. Thank god someone’s speaking sense.’
‘@lornamichaela56 this brought a tear 2 my eye. I remember waking up to this news. So sad but proud of Ava for doing somefing with her life.’
Ava’s eyes brim with tears. Of course, there’s the same old trolls, spurting out statistics and figures, or cursing her, but she ignores them. She learned to long ago.
“Right,” she smacks her hands, a new lease of life that she didn’t have ten minutes ago. “Wednesday is our absolute focus now. All hands on deck. He mentioned the evening at the end of the piece, so we get it out on all platforms right now. Michael, you’re in charge of that,” she points in his direction.
He nods and waves his hands.
“Your wish is my command, mistress.”
“Claire, I want you to ring around youth clubs, crèches, anything with children or young people. See if you can forward the PDF onto them for them to print out for their notice boards. Kat-“
She stops herself.
“Er… Sorry. Claire, see if we can get any local celebrities, The girl off The Apprentice. Your man who was on Big Brother. If they can make an appearance, we can bet their fans will be there.”
Claire salutes and turns to her computer promptly.
“Paddy-“
“One step ahead of you,” he waves about the posters in his hand, slipping on his jacket with the other.
“Pubs, chippies, shops, bloody lampposts if you can,” Ava smiles at him as he clicks his stapler in confirmation.
Ava sinks into her chair, smiling at the picture of her mum gazing up at her from the newspaper, the room around her bursting to life with sounds of telephone voices and the padding of keyboards. It was her favourite photo of her mum. Ava had taken it herself. In the living room before her mum had gone out for her Christmas do in work. Returning to her computer, she sees she’s received a few more mentions. Scrolling through the hearty comments from strangers, she narrows her eyes at the recently updated notification.
‘@cathaloflahertylderryletter followed you.’
Chapter Fourteen:
Why is she nervous? She has no reason to be. She taps her foot zealously against the wooden frame of the bar before the bartender gives her an irritated smile, too polite to ask her to stop. She sucks on the straw of her cocktail, collecting the icy remnants by manoeuvring it around the glass, before ordering another, ignoring the brain freeze.
“Ava?”
She turns and smiles as Cathal drops his laptop bag on the floor, holding his hand out. She takes it with both her hands and eagerly shakes it.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”
“Of course, no problem,” Cathal coughs, looking a lot more awkward in a bar scene, where he isn’t in control of how the conversation is going to go.
“For your friend?”
The bartender perks his head towards Cathal.
“Er… I’ll have a pint, please.”
The two glance at each other uneasily while they wait for their drinks.
“Want to find a table?” Ava addresses the room in general rather than Cathal once they’ve arrived.
“Aye, alright.”
They find a quiet corner of the room, beside the toilets. They’d agreed to meet in a bar at the very corner of Dungiven Road, where it meets the crossroads. Somewhere close to both of their offices. They sit and sip their drinks, smiling at each other awkwardly.
“I just…” Ava starts.
Cathal sits forward eagerly, his bottom lip covering his top.
“I just wanted to thank you,” she blushes, focusing her eyes on her drink. “After the way we left things yesterday, I thought you were going to tear me apart for being a selfish bitch.”
“Why would I do that?” he laughs, visibly getting a little more comfortable in his chair, the bubbles from the pint taking their effect.
“So many people think it,” she narrows her eyes in case tears start to swell. “It’s hard to ignore it sometimes. You know that saying, if someone calls you something often enough?” she smiles nervously, looking up to him observing her.
“I think what you’re doing is very brave. I have massive respect for you.”
“Then why the hassle? Why bring up San Francisco and such?”
For the first time, his eyes avert.
“To be honest, my editor told me to. Obviously, as a newspaper, we have to be impartial. And going up against Darrell Boyle? We can’t do that unless we want ourselves in the firing line. You have some balls. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he had me on the phone today instructing me to interview him too first thing Monday morning. But, I feel your pain. I see how passionate you are, and rightly so. These politicians, they never have experienced half as much pain as you have. They’ve lived a sheltered life. Breezed their way into a position of power and act like they can speak for us.”
Ava nods along.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Boyle probably has never had relations with anyone who has had suicidal thoughts. Mental illness has a stigma, everyone wants to brush it under the carpet because you can’t physically see it. It’s not fair.”
Cathal nods and barrels into a new rant as Ava stares at him approvingly. Maybe she’s made a new ally after all?
Chapter Fifteen:
The pair talk for a while longer about politics, mental illness and the woes of the city. Three drinks later, and without any dinner or sleep, Ava’s surprised to find herself slurring her words.
“Can I ask you a question?” Ava cocks her head to the side, deciding that Dutch courage will settle this once and for all.
“Aye, of course.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re just so familiar. I don’t understand where I know you from?”
It had been plaguing Ava for the better part of an hour. She would remember his face if he came in looking for help and guidance, and through the chat he’d made no remarks about dealing with mental health issues himself. It couldn’t be school, as she’d attended Thornhill, one of the Catholic all girl schools outside the city. That left friends’ younger brothers, but she couldn’t place an O’Flaherty she knew.
Cathal smirks.
“I interviewed you yesterday, remember?”
They laugh.
“No, seriously.”
Cathal gazes at her a while longer.
“I must admit, I did feel the same when I saw you yesterday. It had annoyed me, but I remembered late last night. I used to hang out at the park a few years back. Drinking with my friends. We used to ask your mate, what was his name? Fuzzy? Fizzy?”
“Fizzbee!” Ava didn’t mean to shout the name, reigning herself in or Cathal, and the bartender, would think she’s a right lightweight.
“That’s the one. My mate Billy knew him from school. He used to get us tins from the offie. Nothing serious, like. Just a few Kopparbergs or something. Of course, we were so young we thought we were steaming.”
The two share a laugh again.
“That’s why I feel like I’ve seen your face before. Brooke Park?”
“Aye, I used to hang around there all the time. Me and my mates. I remember your crowd. You were a few
years older, but I used to fancy the fuck out of your friend.”
Ava is taken aback for a split second. Cursing always shows how comfortable you’re getting with someone.
“Blonde hair… Glasses…”
“Dearbhaile?”
“That’s her. She was so hot.”
“Aye, all the boys fancied her.”
Their chuckles slowly disperse, but they continue to stare at each other, although both eyes are filled with projected memories from simpler times.
“So, a journalist?”
Cathal shrugs.
“It was free to do in the Tech, and I thought, you know what? I could do this. Always been a bit of a nosy bastard. Why not do it for a job? I’m still studying, like. Don’t start lectures for another two weeks. Three days a week. In The Letter twice a week for work experience, Mondays and Wednesdays. Only been in about a month.”
“Good for you,” Ava smiles and nods her head. “Good for you.”
So that means, both yesterday and today, he hadn’t been coming from just down the street, Ava realises. No wonder he’s been late both times. Cathal drops his eyes to his phone resting on the table between them as it lights up with another message. He’d been getting a few over the past hour.
“Do you want to take some of those?”
“No, honestly. It’s fine. I get regular updates from all the other rags,” he laughs, “as well as Sky News and the likes.”
“Busy man,” Ava eyes him. “Look... Let me buy you dinner… As a thanks.”
She hears the grunt of the chair legs as they scrape across the wooden floor, and before she blinks, he’s risen and has his bag swung around his arm.
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to get home. I’ve to make dinner for my little sister. She’ll be starving. But thanks for this,” he indicates the glass as he finishes the last few mouthfuls.
In Too Deep Page 4