In Too Deep

by Bradd Chambers

  “Well… Thanks again,” she stands gauchely.

  “Of course,” he extends his hand again. “And, if there’s anything else. Don’t be afraid to contact me. You’ve got my personal Twitter now. But… Er… You know what? Here’s my number.”

  He scrambles around his jacket for a pen, before extracting it and writing clumsily on a napkin, having to redo certain numbers as the material tears. After several attempts, he hands it over to her. She gratefully accepts, blinking through the smile, ignoring the dampness. Though sweat or drink, she isn’t sure.

  “Anything at all, I’d love to be first contact,” he nods at her and skirts out of the room after a hurried goodbye.

  Finishing her glass, Ava decides she’s too far gone to drive. Thinking against contacting Mark in case he asks stupid questions, gets unnecessarily suspicious or makes obscene accusations. She’s already treading on thin ice. She rings a taxi from the office around the corner, who irritably informs her that it’s still early.

  ‘There’s plenty of cars waiting outside, love.’

  Toppling over to the bar, she asks to pay the balance of her tab. The bartender leans lazily against the sink, cleaning an extra deep wine glass.

  “No need. Your boyfriend already took care of it,” he nods towards the door.

  A sudden sense of guilt floods over Ava, as she thanks him and hobbles out onto the street and down the incline towards the taxi office. Why would he do that? Did he think it was some sort of date? Did she make it out that way? Did she give off wrong signals? Or was he repaying her for the solid story he told her his editor had congratulated him on? Either way, Ava decides she’s definitely not going to tell Mark anything about tonight, and thanks the heavens that he’s tied up with this new building that he probably won’t even bother to ask.

  ****

  We stayed outside for the whole night. Just talking. Every now and then, Phil or one of the girls would come out to check on me, before raising their eyebrows and rushing back inside. Maybe it was the liquid confidence, but I just opened up to him in a way I’d never done before. Not even with Robyn or Phil. We talked about everything. My recently deceased parents. How one died of a heart attack and the other followed months later of a broken heart. My career and aspirations. My future. He was a Protestant and he didn’t care that I was Catholic.

  “This whole religion thing is just stupid,” he’d said, lighting a fag. “There’s enough hate in the world without something as stupid as this. Who cares if you go to Mass and I go to Church? I don’t, by the way. Our real hatred should be going towards people that deserve it. Murderers. Paedophiles. All sorts of criminals. I hope I’m alive to see the day when saying your religion gets the same reaction as ‘I’m hungry.’ In Northern Ireland especially. If someone asks you where you’re from, you’re afraid to say in case you find yourself on the receiving end of a lashing.”

  I listened to every word he said. Watched his lips as they formed the words. He was so smart. So articulated. So intuitive.

  Towards the end of the night, he walked me to a taxi and asked if he could see me again just as I was stepping into one. I panicked. He wouldn’t like me. The real me. The uptight bitch with the hair in a bun without a litre of vodka down my gullet. He never waited for an answer anyway. He kissed me until the taxi driver blared his horn, asking if I was getting in or not. Leaving him, I asked to go straight to Robyn’s. I didn’t care that it was nearly one o’clock in the morning, I had to tell her.

  “Fiona, what the hell are you playing at you eejit?” Robyn answered the door all bleary eyed and bed-headed.

  “Rob,” I grabbed her hand wiping the sleep from her eyes and squeezed it tightly. “I’ve met the man of my dreams.”

  Her eyes expanded. I never had time for boys. I stayed well clear of them, if anything. So this was a shock for her. And I never turned up to her house pissed. I barely drank.

  We sat up all night laughing and talking, she even cracked open a bottle of wine. She said she was happy for me. She wished me well. But shortly after, it happened. The inevitable. What always happened the very few times when Robyn and I got drunk together. We cried and clung to each other. Reminiscing about our parents and the year we’ve had since their passing. We raised our glasses to them and talked about what we would do to honour them. That is, until Damien shooed us to bed, calling us a pair of clampetts for waking him up.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Surprisingly, Mark rings halfway through the taxi journey home, just when they’re pulling left at the Culmore Roundabout.

  “Hi, babe.”

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Aye, grand.”

  “No more worrying about those bloody shoes?”

  Ava gives a fake laugh.

  “No, no. Put it behind me,” she lies.

  To be honest, with the recent excitement of today, it had been in the back of her mind, but this gentle reminder has shoved it right back to the forefront.

  “So, it wasn’t Michael who bought you them?”

  “Apparently not…”

  Is this some sort of sick joke? Will he finally admit to it?

  “Well… Must have a secret admirer then,” he chortles. “Or it was the wrong address?”

  “It wasn’t the wrong address. Unless someone else in Woodbrook is called Ava.”

  “And is there?”

  Ava lowers her voice as she sees the taxi man leer in through his rear-view mirror, no doubt fishing for gossip.

  “I’m sure there probably is, aye.”

  “Then just be thankful ASOS or whoever delivered it to the wrong Ava,” he laughs.

  “But it-“

  She bites her tongue. She doesn’t want to tell him that it was hand delivered. She doesn’t even know why she’s opened the flood gates again, never mind giving another reason to make her seem crazy.

  “Anyway, babe. Have you had a drink?”

  Her heart feels like it’s stopped beating.

  “Er… Yeah. Why?”

  “Can tell by your voice, just.”

  She relaxes.

  “Yeah, went out for drinks after work. Why not, right? It’s the weekend after all. And after the success of the story…”

  She had briefed Mark fleetingly by text about the article.

  “Oh, Ave. I knew there was something I was supposed to do. Look, the corner shop’s still open. I’ll run down and gra-“

  “No, Mark. Honestly, it’s fine. I have a copy here and there’s a few more in the office. Going to get one framed and stuck on the wall. You’ll have an opportunity. Don’t get out of bed.”

  She listens as attentively as her tipsy brain can handle about his day as the taxi indicates right into Woodbrook, off the Lower Galliagh Road. She remembers getting lost the first time she came in here. Her friend, Molly, used to live just down the street from where she lives now. Before she pissed off to England for uni and never looked back. Met some rich Cockney and lives with him now outside Luton. She met up with her a few Christmases ago, more out of politeness than actual willingness. Their lives had gone two different ways, but that’s what happens when you grow up. She had used to be in complete awe of the houses here.

  Not that she could claim poverty. Her and her mother lived in quite a nice house just off the Springtown Road. She wasn’t spoilt, but her mum wouldn’t see her stuck. New uniforms every August, and nice treats from the town every payday weekend to keep her happy. What she wouldn’t give to go back to those days.

  “Ave?”

  She snaps out of her daydream.

  “Yeah, that sounds great, babe. Sorry, I’m just pulling up to the house now, give me two seconds.”

  She fishes a few fiver notes from her purse, paying and thanking the driver, before stepping out and clopping up her drive.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I was saying the guy, Paul, from work invited us to a function tomorrow night at the City Hotel. Some charity fundraiser for kids with cancer. He knew
you’d be up for it, and it’d be good to invite some big shots to your event on Wednesday. What do you think?”

  As she clicks off her shoes at the door, she finds it hard to stifle a groan. People with loads of money barely give to charity. They’d rather invite a lot of people and pay as little as possible, so they can just stand with fancy clothes on and talk about their latest holiday to Bermuda or the new car they’ve bought.

  But it was nice of Mark to think of her and her charity in that way. He’s always been much smarter than her. She instantly feels guilty for feeling that way about Mark’s friends. They’d been charitable towards her in the past, and so had Mark and his family. Just because they like the finer things in life doesn’t make them bad people.

  “That sounds great. Thanks, hon.”

  “You’re welcome. You home now?”

  “Yeah, just going to throw on some chicken and head to bed with a film,” she holds the phone against her ear with her shoulder as she clatters into the kitchen, turning the big light on.

  “Sounds like fun… Or… I could come over? I’m not meeting Dave until lunch time tomorrow. I could make you breakfast in bed, or we could go out…”

  Ava doesn’t hear the rest of his invitation.

  “Aye. Babe… Please, get here as soon as you can.”

  “Great, just gonna get a shower and th-“

  “No, shower here. Just… Please. Get here soon.”

  “Ave… What’s wrong? Are you-“

  Ava hangs up the phone and places it on the counter, her hand shaking vigorously. Moving over to the double French doors leading out into her elegant back garden, she violently shakes the key until it clicks, bursting onto the patio. Dropping to her knees, tears in her eyes. There, just outside the door, lies the Londonderry Letter, folded open at page 6. And sitting on top of the picture of her mother is a single lily. Her mother’s favourite flower.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  “What does this mean? Is it a threat? Someone trying to get me to shut up? I’m so confused, Mark… Mark? I’m scared. What am I going to do?”

  Ava laps her kitchen table, occasionally pulling her chair out and back in again, deciding against sitting down. The hangover prematurely setting in. Mark’s still on his haunches at the open doors, gazing down at the surprise.

  “Ave… I don’t think it means anything? Maybe one of your neighbours? Or friends? Or Robyn? Maybe they seen it and didn’t want you to miss it?”

  “But how would they know my mum’s favourite flower, Mark? And around the back? Why around the back? Perfectly good step out the front. And they’d have to have came in through the back gate. Oh… They were in my garden. What the fuck, Mark. They were in my garden!”

  Fresh tears spring to her eyes as she clutches the wooden chair, biting her lip to stop her sobs overcoming her. Mark groans lightly as he stands, a few bones cracking, before crossing the room and pulling her in for a hug.

  “There, now. Babe, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

  “It’s a threat, Mark.”

  “Who would want to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Boyle? Or members of his party, or supporters?”

  “I very much doubt they’d leave a flower, Ave-“

  “But they would. That’s their intention. To shut me up!”

  “… With a flower?”

  She pulls away from him and gazes out of the window. She sounds insane. She knows she does, but she can’t fight the feel of unease that’s battering at her chest.

  “I want to call the police.”

  She turns to see the expected look of shock etched across Mark’s face.

  “Now, c’mon. Ave, don’t be too hasty.”

  “I’m not. I should’ve done it days ago.”

  “Days ago? Why? What’s wrong?”

  “With the shoes, I didn’t order them, Mark-“

  Mark slacks his neck, desperately trying not to roll his eyes as he looks away, his jaw clenched.

  “- And they weren’t delivered. Do you know that? There’s no postage anywhere on them. They were left outside my door, just like these were,” she flails her arms towards the patio doors.

  Mark observes her a moment as she calms down. Nodding, he slides over, taking her hands and lowering them both into chairs facing each other.

  “Look, Ave. I know you’ve been through a lot. You’re going to be sensitive to these kinds of things. But, please, believe me when I tell you. You’re overreacting just a little. This is no big deal. You expect the worst in every situation, which isn’t a bad thing ‘cause you think of what could happen. But it can be hard to switch off sometimes. I understand that. But… Babe, anyone could have done this. It’s not a threat from the politicians or anything like that, I promise you-“

  “How could you possibly know that?” Ava almost chokes on her tears.

  “I just do, Ave. You hear about stuff like that happening through the grapevine. People I work with get threats all the time. Nowhere near as nice as this. Threats are disgusting and vile. Like dog shit or fingers or something.”

  Ava fights the urge to tell him he’s been watching far too many TV cop dramas.

  “This was someone trying to help, I promise. So was the someone with the shoes. Hell, you know what states Robyn can be in sometimes, I can guarantee you that she’s just forgotten to mention it to you.”

  Ava starts to take deep breaths, trying her best to snap out of the panic.

  “Her car… It isn’t in the drive.”

  “Was it here this morning?”

  “Aye…”

  “Well, there you are. She probably came over to get her car, and seeing that you were out, left the paper at the door with a lily. She knows they were her favourite flower.”

  Robyn had been incredible at the memorial service. Organising everything and knowing what she would’ve wanted in a way only a sister could have. Ava was useless.

  “You’re right, you’re right,” Ava smiles, wiping her eyes.

  “And the shoes?” he continues, rubbing her leg reassuringly. “Sure, that’s probably why she landed later that night. To ask you what you thought of them. And you saw the mess she was in. She probably didn’t remember bringing them here herself.”

  Ava nods and beams at him, pulling him in for another hug. She doesn’t dare mention the fact that the empty box lay in the living room for hours, a key to jog Robyn’s memory. Or remind him that the note was signed ‘M.’ He’s trying his best to calm her down, and he probably believes all this himself. But she doesn’t. She knows deep, deep down… Something’s wrong.

  Chapter Eighteen:

  Mark keeps his promise of breakfast in bed the next morning. Ava finally managed to dose off at around 6am, and just after 11 she’s awoke with kisses on her forehead. Grumbling, she pulls herself up until her back is against the headboard, her eyes still struggling to cope with the light. Something heavy is placed on her lap. Yawning and wiping the sleep from her eyes, Ava looks down to see the feast on her mother’s old dinner tray.

  Her mum used to always watch TV in the living room. She was mad about all the quiz shows, making sure dinner was always ready before they started in fear of missing one. She said she dreamed of going on one one day. The board is stitched comfortably on top of a padded red checked cushion, with brown sauce stains still embedded into it no matter how many times they’d both washed it.

  On top of the tray sits a wine glass of orange juice that she knows is about two weeks out of date, blackened toast with clumps of butter resting on top and a poor man’s fry with two, still too pink, streaks of bacon and a solitary burnt sausage. Mark has his strengths, but culinary expertise is definitely not one of them. She smiles regardless and is about to thank him when she notices it. Propped inside a weathered measuring jug half filled with water is the lily from last night. It’s lobbed slightly in her direction. Almost as if it’s looking at her.

  “Oh, hon. Thank you,” she doesn’t take her eyes off the lily. “It’s lovely.”<
br />
  “I never thought you were going to waken,” he smiles, plopping himself down on the bed beside her, a half-eaten slice of toast in his hand.

  “I’ve barely slept the past few nights,” she picks up her fork and wonders what looks the most edible.

  “How are you feeling today?” his eyes transfixed on her.

  “Aye… A little better,” she lies.

  “Good,” he smiles, crunching the last of the toast with his teeth, crumbs falling unceremoniously onto her sheets. “Well, sleepyhead. I’ve to start getting ready for this lunch soon, so eat up.”

  He jumps up and heads for the shower. Picking up the sausage as the lesser of three evils, she bites into it and suppresses a gag. It’s raw on the inside. When she hears the shower and the radio turn on, she slides the tray off, hops out of bed and reaches for the wicker bin in the corner. Lifting out the Tesco bag from within it, glad that there’s only a few lashes that were unsuccessful in sticking to her own in there, she dumps the lot into the bag, before tying it up and lobbing it in the back of her wardrobe. Picking up the wine glass, she frantically searches the room, deciding the window is the best option. Thankfully, grass is below her window, so he won’t see any wet patches when he leaves, as she chucks the juice out.

  That done, she decides now is as good a time as any. She couldn’t do a lot last night as Mark was by her side for the majority of the evening, so now she has a tiny bit of freedom and a window of opportunity. Unlocking her phone, she searches for Dermott’s name. She hasn’t spoken to him since Christmas time, when he’d kindly texted her. She reads it now.

  ‘Ava. Wishing you and your family a v merry Xmas. I know it’ll be hard around this time but you know we’re all here for you. Let me know if you ever want to talk. D x.’

  She smiles at the memory. Mark and her were lying in her living room after finally getting around to buying a TV. He bought it for her but wouldn’t even think of asking for the money. They were watching Home Alone and had mugs of hot chocolate. It had finally started to feel like home for her. Much more than at Robyn’s house, as awful as it felt to think at the time. It was her own space. Somewhere new. A blank canvas. Memories to be made. Sending him a quick text, she tells him that she really needs to speak to him and sends her address just as she hears the shower turn off.