In Too Deep

by Bradd Chambers

  “Ava!”

  She jumps and her stare is broken. Blinking and looking at the woman again, she realises she has no idea who it is. And she doesn’t look familiar whatsoever. Her mind playing tricks on her. Something that happened often in the months after her depression kicked in.

  “Sorry, Cathal,” she resumes her attention to him. “Thought I saw someone I knew, what were you saying?”

  “It looked like you and Darrell Boyle were having quite an intense conversation earlier.”

  She rolls her eyes, looking down at the remainder of the bun in her hands, the red sauce absorbed into the bap.

  “Aye, that man’s a dick.”

  “What all was said?”

  She looks at him, her eyebrows raised humorously.

  “Off the record?”

  “Of course,” he pinches his thumb and index finger together, holds them up to his face and follows his lip line, making a corny ‘zip’ noise, before revealing that he’d been crossing his fingers on his other hand.

  “Naw, I’m wrong. You’re the dick,” she laughs, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

  “No, honestly. I’m all ears and no hidden recording devices.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four:

  After Ava’s caught Cathal up, his face is a mixture of shock and disgust.

  “What a dick!”

  “Oi, that’s what I said.”

  “What does he think he’s going to gain from that? I mean, you could head straight to the press with that. Or his wife. Or his bosses or constituencies. What a sleeze bag.”

  “I think it was more of a threat,” Ava sniffs.

  Cathal glances at her with surprise.

  “A threat? How?”

  “Just the whole ‘I underestimated you, you’re smarter than you look’ getup that he was doing. I just don’t buy into it. I think he was trying to intimidate me.”

  For a second, Ava thinks about indulging Cathal in the stories of the past week. The shoes. The Letter. The lily. The figures outside her house. But then she stops herself. This boy was a complete stranger until a few days ago. How does she know she can trust him?

  “He just means business,” she smiles at him. “And I feel like I’m in his way.”

  Cathal runs off a spiel about how all politicians have too many enemies to count whilst Ava rests her eyes back towards the woman with the dark spiky hair, but she’s already climbing the steps, trailing the girls and far too far away to get a closer look. Listening to Cathal, her eyes move left as she takes in the remaining hangover scenes of the night. Squinting at the man putting a deadbolt on the door into his van, she follows him with her eyes as he calls it a night, travelling deeper into the park towards his car.

  An emerging figure beneath the canopy of the trees takes her by surprise. She must’ve physically jolted or exclaimed, because Cathal stops his story and looks over in the same direction as her. The figure sees the two of them and turns and retreats, disappearing once he reaches the mouth of the trees.

  “Who was that?” Cathal looks at her perplexed, as Ava stands and fetches her jacket and bag from under her.

  “Mark!”

  ****

  Phil and I took the B&B reservation in Dublin. I drank myself stupid that first night. Trying to drown out the feelings. Trying to drown out the situation. Trying to drown out the foetus growing inside me. Waking with regret as well as sickness in my stomach, I made the decision of going forward with it. If it wasn’t shrivelled up and dead inside me. Drenched in every liquor and spirit the bar held. The hangover was a good excuse for why I wouldn’t drink the second night. Not yet ready to tell Phil. To tell anyone. I just knew Chris had to be the first. I owed him that much, at least.

  I asked him over to the house a few days later. At first, he refused, but I insisted. Saying it was really important. When he arrived, he asked what the point of him coming over was, when we both knew we were done? I remember sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my hands. Him leaning against the sink, talking about how smitten he was at the start. How he fell out of love as fast as he fell into it. Not being able to listen to it any longer, I just spat it out.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He continued his rant for a few more seconds before the words settled in. His hand, raised in defiance, falling limp at his side. His mouth agape. It took moments before either of us spoke. We just stared at each other. Gulping sizably, his gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Is…” He coughed. “Is it… Mine?”

  I slammed my fist on the table, making him jump.

  “Of course it’s fucking yours!”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

  He sat down opposite me, reaching for my clenched fists. But I saw red. A blinding light.

  After the assault was over, I leaned against the back door with tears spilling onto the floor. He continued to sit where he was. Bruises forming on every part of his upper body. He hadn’t even tried to stop me. Upon hindsight, I knew why.

  I sulked off to bed, crying myself to sleep shortly after hearing him leave without saying a word. I was desperate for a drink.

  Chapter Thirty-Five:

  “We made 12,000 nip last night,” Michael woops, emerging from the back office where he had been counting their profits.

  A gasp of excitement circles the office, Ava realising too late that she didn’t react.

  “Wow,” she blinks and opens her mouth slightly as her colleagues rest their attention on her. “I’m just so shocked. That’s far more than I could have expected.”

  It is true, she isn’t lying. But with no sleep the night before, she’s finding it hard to keep her spirits up. She had resorted to taking her anti-depressants again. In the depths of the night, when dawn was threatening to break through the clouds, she began to question herself. Her worth. Something she hadn’t done in years.

  Mark must’ve taken a short cut through the trees to the carpark, because when she reached it there was no sign of either him or his car. She tried phoning and texting again, but it was fruitless. Deciding against turning up to his house, she had scurried home in a cloud of shame.

  Lying in bed with her phone opened at a picture of Mark and her on holidays last year in Albufeira. She remembered the Chinese tourist staring at her confused as she excitedly requested a picture overlooking the beach. Her thick Derry accent taking him aback. Mark laughing and asking him in a much clearer voice. Their smiles not only prominent, but real. A real smile that hadn’t been on her face in days. Not even now.

  “That seems an awful lot, Michael,” Kat exclaims. “Are you sure? Like… How can we make that much at just one fundraiser?”

  “Well… Your man from The X Factor’s manager gave us back half of his earnings… And a few of the chippie vans waved away payment,” Michael purses his lips.

  “But that would still not be near enough,” Claire shrugs, biting on the end of her pencil.

  “Alright guys, how much did you say we made?” Paddy sings as he wipes his feet on the mat.

  Typical Paddy. Always late.

  “12,000, Paddy. We’re just debating how we made as much.”

  “Well there was that kid who gave in five grand...”

  Everyone in the room turns to Paddy. He looks from one face to the next.

  “What?”

  “What kid?”

  “This wee lad. Came up to me with a brown envelope. Must’ve been no more than eight. Said this was from his daddy, and pointed in the direction of the stage. Obviously, there were dozens, if not hundreds, of men in that general direction. And he’d ran off towards the bouncy castle by the time I had a chance to look back down towards him. But aye, I had a look inside and it was five bundles of about a grand each.”

  The team share shocked glances before resting their eyes back on Paddy again.

  “Is it legit, like?” Claire narrows her eyes and turns to Michael.

  “Aye. I put the UV light through every note,” Michael shrugs. “I did see the five bundles,
but I just assumed one of you had started counting last night when it had quietened down a little...”

  A few of them shake their heads. Ava stares out of the window, chewing her lip, before she realises all eyes are on her.

  “Er… Well, that’s very nice of them. When Cathal rings I’ll make sure to tell him and maybe say we want whoever it is to get in touch with us and we’ll do something big for a thanks. That’ll attract more attention and, therefore, hopefully more contributions.”

  “Cathal?” Michael frowns.

  “Aye, the journalist from the Letter.”

  Is she imagining it, or did Michael raise his eyebrows and pout in judgement, before turning towards the kitchen again?

  Chapter Thirty-Six:

  Ava’s halfway through composing another lengthy apologetic text to Mark when Cathal’s name bounces onto her phone screen, her ringtone penetrating the quiet office. She feels herself grow red, deciding to take the call out the back for a slither of privacy. After Michael’s look, she’s afraid in case the rest judge her for having a personal relationship with Cathal, especially since he’s ringing her mobile and not the office. She leaves the door as close to closed as she can without locking herself out before she answers.

  “Alright, Ave?”

  Another stab of guilt. Only her close family and friends call her that.

  “Aye, Cathal, you?”

  “All good, all good.”

  The elephant in the room makes Ava cringe.

  “Just out of the court there. Reporting on some petty crime today. Stacks of craic, people forgetting to pay their TV licenses and all. Sorry I couldn’t ring sooner.”

  Ava nods before she realises he can’t see her. She’s sure there were other reasons.

  “Don’t worry about it. Took a while for us to count the haul anyway.”

  “That good, eh?”

  “Very good. Over twelve grand to be exact.”

  Cathal whistles over the phone.

  “My tenner seems measly now.”

  Ava laughs genuinely.

  “Don’t be silly, of course not. Most people paid a small contribution. It all adds up,” she smiles, before coughing and becoming stone faced once again.

  Why is she second guessing everything she does with him?

  “Funny though,” she clears her throat again. “There is a wee favour I need.”

  “Anything.”

  “Some kid handed an envelope in, our Paddy thinks there was about five grand in it. We’d love for you to include this in the article to see if we can get whoever his da is to come forward. It’d make it look good.”

  “You really think a local kid’s da handed in that sum of money?”

  His tone arouses Ava’s suspicion.

  “Well… The kid told Paddy that it was from his da, like.”

  “What age was he?”

  “Paddy thinks he was eight or so.”

  “Kids that age could get it wrong. Maybe there was some sort of fundraiser?”

  “A fundraiser for a fundraiser?” she chuckles nervously.

  “Weirder things have happened. Maybe it was something the parents did at the side… Or a whip around. I don’t know, Ava… I think if someone who could spare five grand to contribute would definitely let everyone know… Don’t you?”

  Ava blows out, her eyes heavy with exhaustion as she turns to look through the window behind her to the office.

  “I can certainly say a large donation was made and if anyone could…”

  Ava isn’t listening. The phone slips from her hand and falls to the ground with a sharp slap. The hand originally holding it migrating towards her mouth, failing to trap the gasp that escapes and echoes off the walls in the tiny yard. Her back hitting off the gate as she retreats a few steps. Because there, hung up and staring at her, is Mr Ted.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven:

  What in under Jesus is he doing here? Swinging from a peg clasped onto a loose wire in her office’s back yard? His eyes directed right at her. She hears the faint sound of Cathal’s calls from her phone on the ground. Meticulously, she steps over it, crossing the space and snatching Mr Ted from his display. Pushing the door open, she holds him behind her back, glaring into the office and side steps into the kitchen. Her eyes dart around for a place to hide him. There are a handful of cupboards, many used up by cups and bowls. Making a quick decision, she conceals him by shoving him into the cupboard under the sink, the one less used. Behind the bleach and washing up liquid.

  Leaning against the work top, she closes her eyes and tries to calm her beating heart. This is definitely a threat. There’s no denying this. No one would take her childhood teddy from his home in Robyn’s house and leave it strung up in her place of work. Not for innocent reasons. Someone was in Robyn’s house. Someone has been outside her house. Someone has been following her. Stalking her.

  She thinks back on last night. To her altercation with Darrell Boyle. Could he be behind this? Frustrated with her vendetta against him and his party? He wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty, after all. A typical politician. She’s sure there’s dozens, if not hundreds, of people who would happily and eagerly do his behind the scenes work for him. Is that why he was there last night? To keep an eye on her whilst someone broke into Robyn’s house? Surely, he’d know that both herself and anyone in her family would be there to support the evening. And Robyn had said herself she was in town all day. Considering the state she was in, Ava’s sure she didn’t go straight home either. But how would they know Mr Ted was hers? Or the story behind him?

  She needs to know. Collecting her phone from the back, she calls out that there’s been a problem with Robyn and she’ll be back soon, as she thunders through the office, her eyes set on the door. She’s had to leave for reasons regarding her aunt numerous times before, but this is the first time she’s had to actually lie about it. Never her strong suit, so she keeps her eyes ahead, leaving her colleagues with nothing but the breeze of the door being swung behind her.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight:

  There’s no answer at Robyn’s door. Hammering on it several times, Ava curses before retrieving her keys from her bag. Jostling with the stiff lock, she manages to finally push herself inside. Throwing her bag on the floor beneath the chair in the entryway, thoughts of someone breaking in through the front door forgotten, she quickly steps forward into the hall, calling Robyn’s name.

  First, she tries the living room. Ignoring the stretch of scenery overlooking the deadly Foyle, she yanks at all the windows, knowing that there isn’t much point. They’re positioned at the very top of the glass, barely big enough for an arm to fit through. But she needs to be certain. Making her way through to the kitchen, she repeats the harassment on its windows, although they’re in similar positions as the living room’s. Finally, she gives the back door a good inspection. But there’s no signs of any damage and the key is still safely in the drawer where it’s always kept.

  Uncle Damien was obsessed with keeping the key there, scared that someone could smash the tiny window pane and reach through to let themselves in if it was left in the door. With no signs of intruders, her adrenaline diminishing, she gives the downstairs WC a languid look, knowing full well that not even a hand could fit through that tiny window, which had been painted shut since before she was born.

  Climbing the stairs, she shouts her aunt’s name once more. Stopping on the landing, she looks into her old bedroom. The empty spot where Mr Ted had sat only days before. Apart from that, the room seems undisturbed.

  She finds Robyn in her own bedroom, still asleep. Retching at the stale stench of drink, Ava pulls the curtains and opens the window. But Robyn doesn’t stir. Perching down at the end of her bed, Ava stares at her. Or what she can make out of her. Her thick, dark hair encapsulates her face, and she can just make out the glistening of her wedding ring on her hand which is pressed against her eyes.

  “Look, Rob. I’m sorry about last night. I am. I just couldn’t have anyone drunk at th
at event. It had to run as smoothly as it could. I’m not saying you would’ve ruined it, but… For Christ’s sake, look at the state of you now. You can’t say you weren’t absolutely pissed.”

  Still Robyn doesn’t move, short of the rise and fall of the duvet.

  “Are you awake?”

  Ava leans forward and pulls back the covers. Gasping and jumping back, she sees the inside of the duvet and sheets covered in thick red vomit. Gagging from the smell and the sight, she just about holds down her breakfast as she bends over the side of the bed to retch. Tears uncontrollably collect in her eyes as she opens them when the initial hit subsides. That’s when she sees the collection of pills scattered across the carpet, an empty bottle inches from her foot. The prescription with Robyn’s name and address imprinted on it. Screaming her name, Ava jolts to her feet and digs around for her phone inside her pocket.

  “I need an ambulance. Now!”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine:

  Ava finds it hard not to slap Robyn in the face as soon as she sees her smiling up at her from the hospital bed. Instead, she bursts into tears of frustration, sadness and joy. Sinking to her knees, crossing her arms on the bed and letting her head rest on them, she cries and cries. Robyn stroking her hair and attempting to soothe her with soft coos. Reminding her of the early days after her mum’s suicide. She’d thought she’d lost her too. And to the same disease.