In Too Deep

by Bradd Chambers

  Ava stares at Mark, genuinely shocked. His fists clenched. Spit on his chin from his rant. Who is this man?

  “Mark… Look, I’m sorry. My phone hasn’t been on all day. I’ve been in Donegal. I went do-“

  “Oh, perfect. Going on wee romantic trips now, are yees? Well, I’m so happy for you. Don’t let me stand in your way. Gone ahead. Be with him. Or is that too easy, Ava? It is, isn’t it?”

  “Mark, you’re not listening, he’s-“

  “Always need a bit of drama, don’t you? Just like when we started seeing each other. Your ma told you I was too old for you, so of course that made you keener. What’s wrong now, eh? No drama for you? So, you decide to make some yourself. Get off with someone your own age. Act the victim when ‘mysterious,’” he air-quotes, “gifts land at your door. And you expect me to just go along with it? Believe you when you pawn them off as fuckin’ threats from Boyle? Awk, sure Ava lost her ma. All load of shite going around her head. She’s still grieving. Doesn’t know what she wants. Abandonment issues. Do you think I came up the Foyle in a bubble? It’s not on, Ave. It fuckin’ isn’t.”

  There are tears in his eyes now, his voice cracking from desperation. Losing the battle with himself.

  “I’m moving forward with my life. I’ve a new building to get set up. I’ve been looking at this old house I’m interested in buying. In renovating and moving into. I thought someday you’d want to live there too. That maybe we could move forward as well. But naw, it isn’t happening. Looks like it’s never going to happen. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, Ava. If it runs in the family or whatever. But I’m not going to be here to find out. I’m sorry…”

  Clearing his throat and looking around him in embarrassment, Mark turns on his heel and marches across the road to his car, perched on the pavement. Revving his engine and speeding off, Ava watches him go until the car’s distorted with her tears. Settling herself onto one of the seats outside reserved for smokers, she puts her face in her hands and starts to cry hysterically.

  ****

  When I first met Emmet, I was drunk. Another great idea, right? Again, I couldn’t help it. It was Teri in work’s hen-do and we were all invited. I debated going, but Ava was staying over at her friend’s and the thought of going back to an empty house depressed me. I wasn’t working the next day, so I thought why not?

  I fairly let loose. Forgetting how much I loved the taste of drink, telling myself it’d only be for tonight. I overindulged myself with the sweet taste that always made me want more.

  We had settled our troops in the Ice Wharf on the Strand Road where I had spread myself across three seats, a few drinks away from falling asleep on my chest.

  “You alright there, love?”

  I looked up sluggishly to see a bald man with his two front teeth chipped, his scrawny arms hanging limply from a navy checked shirt. He wasn’t my type in the slightest. But then again, what right did I have to claim to have a type? And he was the first and only man who paid me any attention all night.

  “Aye, and you?” I’d hiccupped.

  He sat in the chair opposite and we talked a while, before he linked arms with me and thumbed down a taxi. I had no idea who had initiated it. If I’d even consented. I just went along with it.

  As I slobbered into his house, I realised where this was going. But it was too late to turn back now. It didn’t take long until he was on top of me. The slightest of insecurities petered out through the sweat and the alcohol. No longer shaving for beauty, but for comfort, my legs hadn’t been done in a week or so, and I couldn’t have imagined what shape downstairs was in. He finished pretty quickly anyway.

  After an awkward few moments, I pulled my tights up and ordered another taxi. He asked for my number and I was too drunk and exhausted to give him a fake, as I typed it into his phone. A nice phone at that, one Ava was crying out to get for Christmas and Birthdays. A nice phone for quite a dank house.

  I hobbled up my drive and into bed with a sickly feeling in my stomach. The last thing I remember before passing out is the screech of the message tone and the blinding glare of the phone screen as I read the message from an unknown number informing me they had fun tonight and we should do it again sometime.

  Surprisingly, he got in touch not even a week later. I thought about ignoring his text, but that would’ve been rude. And anyway, it was the most attention I’d gotten from the opposite sex in over a decade. I quite liked it. Especially since he probably seen me in one of my worst states. It was all uphill from there.

  So, I entertained the idea. We flirted over text for a few weeks. Then, one night when he was drunk, he somehow convinced me to come and collect him from town and go a drive. I pottered about the house, weighing the pros and cons of the idea, before thinking ‘fuck it.’ I ran up the stairs for a quick wash and slapped on a bit of lippy.

  I collected him from the Diamond, his hand on my leg before I’d even changed into second gear. Ava was in bed asleep, so I didn’t chance her waking. He said we couldn’t go to his, but wouldn’t say why. Thoughts of a wife and kids rolling through my head. Chris’s image flashing warning signals. But they slowly dispersed as his fingers travelled up my skirt.

  So we did it in the car. In my passenger side seat. Where I took Ava to school the next morning. It was just as dirty and awkward as the first time. And I loved it.

  After that, we coined ourselves ‘fuck buddies.’ After he assured me he didn’t have a wife, of course. He told me he was in between homes at that moment, and was staying with his mate. A squatter. I didn’t question him. The sex was too good. And through the sex, everything else seemed to merge together too, until we were meeting up when we were both sober. And one or two times we didn’t actually fuck. That’s when we questioned our relationship. He told me he was falling for me, and although I didn’t want to admit it, I was too.

  Chapter Sixty-Two:

  The smell of the place turns her stomach as soon as she steps foot through the door. She gets a few suspicious looks from the men slouched over the bar as she crosses the room towards them. Standing in between two vacant stools, she coughs politely at the barman, who’s resting against the till, chewing gum while texting. He ignores her.

  “Hi, Macka. Get the woman a drink would ye?”

  One of the older guys nods down the bar towards her after a few moments of silence.

  Macka looks up at her uninterestedly, before pocketing his phone and taking the two steps until he’s facing her. Still chewing on the gum as if it’s supplying him with nutrients.

  “Erm… Hi.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge her greeting.

  “Can I have a gin and tonic, please?”

  Half rolling his eyes, Macka turns and retrieves a bottle of tonic from the minifridge underneath the counter behind him, before grabbing a grubby glass and squirting in a double from the bottles attached to the wall.

  “£4.80.”

  Ava hands him a fiver and lifts the drinks.

  “Thanks. Keep the change.”

  “While good of ye,” Macka grunts sarcastically.

  Pursing her lips and ignoring the sniggers behind her, Ava decides to take the seat closest to the door and furthest from the bar. Secluded in her corner, she takes in the place. It looks like it hasn’t been refurbished since the sixties. The pale wood that takes up the majority of the space is infested with damp. And although it isn’t a cold night, she still feels a chill from out of nowhere in particular. The vibe, and the half a dozen Irish tri-colours, give off the notion that the ancient TV in the corner would be silenced if the English national anthem was being sang before a football match. Now she would never consider herself a snob, but this is one dive, she thinks as she lifts the glass to her lips. The smell of the glass alone is enough to make her gag.

  She checks her phone before eagerly looking towards the door. He’s late. She didn’t know why she’d think he’d be on time. Or be waiting for her. She arrived early to give herself the upper ha
nd. An advantage. She doesn’t even know what he looks like. He could be any of the guys at the bar. He could be Macka. He could be a woman! But she doubts that anyone taking such an interest in her life would leave her at the side like this for so long. A chance she could leave. No, he’s coming. Her legs jitter underneath the table and she looks down at the bubbles in her glass as she thinks back on the past few days.

  The key switch had gone successfully, with Robyn being none the wiser, despite the key being a completely different colour. This is the only time Ava’s been thankful for her aunt’s condition. Dermott had come back with her, after wishing Robyn the best, to see the display in the kitchen. He’d pocketed the picture in a clear sandwich bag plucked from Ava’s drawer. The closest thing they could get to preserving the evidence. He said he’d run it into Bratton right away.

  Feeling safe with the new locks, and not wanting to arouse suspicion with Robyn, she had stayed in her own house last night. Of course, sleep didn’t come easily. She lay awake for hours with her curtains open, so she could look out onto the street. She cried a little for Mark and wished she could call him, but after seeing his anger, she was too scared to even attempt contact. That wasn’t the man she had fallen in love with. She knew it wasn’t his fault. She had pushed him to the very edge. But it was still hard to look at him the same way. She’ll try to contact him in a few days when the dust has settled.

  She spent the day dipping in and out of sleep, finding comfort in the daylight. More witnesses if someone did try and get into the house. Then, shortly before dinner, she got a text from a number she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Want answers bulls horn at 10 no cops.’

  She had tried to ring and text the number immediately, receiving no answer. She debated with herself on whether to go or not. Googling the location of the pub and seeing how long it would take her to get there. Looking for escape routes. Even searching it on Facebook to see how rough the locals were. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she left a half hour early and parked her car right opposite the pub in case she needed to make a sharp getaway.

  Now here she is. In the middle of a dodgy looking pub to the west of the city. Waiting for a stranger to come and tell her why she’s being victimised. Why she’s being targeted. Waiting for someone who she hopes will and won’t show up.

  Chapter Sixty-Three:

  Ava waited in the Bull’s Horn until shortly after midnight, before packing up and leaving, her drink untouched on the table. She’s well and truly being fucked with, she thinks, as she fights with her front door. Looking down and realising she’d been trying her old key, she shakes her head as she lets herself in. The house is quiet, but that’s no surprise. She didn’t realise how quiet her life was until every noise made her panic. Throwing her jacket and bag down on the sofa, she switches the TV on and stares blankly at the rerun of How I Met Your Mother.

  What had she done wrong? Why was the world punishing her? First, her dad gets up and leaves with absolutely no consideration for neither herself nor her mum, cementing her trust issues from within the womb. Growing up without a father was hard. She looked at other people’s dads collecting them from school and wondered why she wasn’t enough to make her dad stay. Or at least try and start or maintain a relationship with her. Then, out of the blue, her mum jumps the bridge. Leaving her parentless at the age of 17. Now, she has no idea what’s going on and what she’s doing wrong to receive such hatred. Scared for the future of her relationship with Mark, the business, her and Robyn’s lives.

  Realising that she hadn’t taken her tablets this evening, after indulging herself with them over the past few days, she decides to take them with a steamy cup of hot chocolate that will hopefully also make her sleepy.

  Stepping into the darkened kitchen, she turns the light on and lets out a scream. Her patio doors are covered in blood. Thick red blood covering the vast majority of the glass. Clutching her chest, she silences herself, sobbing uncontrollably.

  It takes her a few moments to realise that it isn’t blood. It’s too watered down. Not red enough. And it’s spelling something. She cranes her neck to the side, before realising that it’s been written from the outside. Turning the patio lights on, she goes to reach for the door, before thinking better of it.

  Fingerprints. Evidence. Tainted crime scenes. All these thoughts travel through her head as she skirts out of the front door and around the side of her house. Making sure there’s no one in her back garden, she stares at the letters written on her patio doors with what she can now presume is paint. Although hard to make out due to the leaking of the paint as it travelled down the glass, mixing with other letters and points of the word, there’s no denying what it spells.

  ‘theif!’

  ****

  During the time that Emmet and I got together, I’d began to see a change in Ava. She was staying out later. Showering before and after school. Lathering herself in fragrances and body soaps. Gone were the days where she’d come back from school and throw on her pyjamas, hogging the TV. Now I was lucky to have her back for dinner, before she’d skirt off on out again. I put it down to growing up. What 17-year-old wanted to sit in with their mum?

  But then I’d decided to go out the town one evening whilst I was flying solo to grab her birthday present. I’d just got paid and was saving up for a rather expensive pair of shoes in Topshop she’d been drooling over since before Christmas that I knew were on the January sales. I left the shop, rather proud of myself, knowing she’d love them. Sidestepping a gang of couples, boys in their St Columb’s College uniforms hand in hand with girls in their St Cecilia’s uniforms, I tottered quite close to the railings. Out of the corner of my eye, I’d thought I’d seen her. Down by The Perfume Shop. And it was her. Also hand in hand, but with a grown man!

  My first instinct was to march straight down the escalators, grab her and drag her safely home. Out of the reach of such a perv. It took all my energy to stop myself. She would never, ever forgive me. So, I observed them. Laughing and walking along. I felt sick to my stomach. Not only because she hadn’t told me, but because she’d never showed any interest in anyone before. My hopes and dreams of bringing up an asexual daughter vanished. She was growing up, and I hated it. What if he hurt her? Hurt her like Chris hurt me? What if she got pregnant? Had to bring up a kid as a single parent as I had? Especially considering she was just a kid herself. I couldn’t let any of that happen.

  As soon as she got home, I called her into the living room. First, I handed over her gift. It was still a week to go until her birthday, but I made up some soppy excuse that I couldn’t wait to see her face any longer. Buttering her up. Daring her to lie to me. Of course, she was thrilled. But the sense of pride I knew I’d feel was soured by what came next.

  “So,” I’d said, perching myself on the arm of the armchair, “where’ve you been?”

  Ava continued to admire the shoes, turning them over and over in her hand like she didn’t hear me. When I refused to move the subject forward, she finally answered.

  “Sorry, Mum. They’re beautiful. Erm… Was just out with Amy and Molly and all at Sarah’s.”

  The pain shot through me. Deceit from my own daughter. When did I become the mother that got lied to?

  “Did you have fun in Foyleside?”

  “Aye, we just lay about and watched T…” Ava’s head jolted up from the shoes, her eyes widened.

  “I saw you… And that boy. Man, should I say?”

  I’m not proud of what came next. One of the worst fights we ever had. The screams could definitely be heard by the neighbours, but we had to have it out. I couldn’t let her get hurt. Get her heart broken. Eventually, it fizzled out. I couldn’t believe I’d actually banned her from seeing him, forcing her to scale the stairs in tears, banging the bedroom door behind her.

  Chapter Sixty-Four:

  Settling down at her desk, Ava loads her computer and is set on being present for a good day at work today. She’s been too distracted lately. She can’t
lose this business. Or the volunteers. They’re what help her drive this charity. She can’t seem like she’s slacking off. They’ll all turn on her. Like everyone else has. That’s why, today, she’s arrived in an hour early. Making a statement that she’s the first to arrive. A new week, a new Ava, she thinks, knowing it sounds ridiculous, especially given her current circumstances.

  She has the photos of last night’s graffiti resting in her phone. She refused to ring Dermott, not at that time of the night. He’d done too much for her already. She’ll ring him today at lunch time and ask him to come in for a chat. She’ll show him everything then. She sat on her sofa all night last night with the TV on mute just in case whoever it was came back. She had half an urge to go out there and start scrubbing it off. Scared of what the neighbours behind her would think or say. But she needed to leave it untouched. She even stood a good bit of distance away from it to take the photos.

  She waited all night until it was appropriately acceptable to get ready and drive into work without anyone asking questions. Whoever texted her, looking to meet in the pub, clearly wanted her out of the house. That can be presumed from the inability to spell ‘thief’ correctly, she thinks, as the spelling and grammar of both the e-mail and text weren’t great. Were they looking to get into the house again? Was this her comeuppance for changing the locks? Or was this their plan all along?

  Questions she will discuss with Dermott in a few hours, she thinks. But until then, she has some work to do. They have enough money now to rent a space in the city. Get it set up for counselling sessions and the likes. Searching for properties on one tab, the other open on their official Facebook page. She looks at the number of likes and followers they have. Someone’s bound to know something. She thinks about writing a status, asking for whoever the (not so) charitable person is to come forward. That way, she can find out if this is what’s wrong. If she’s being punished for ‘stealing.’ But she decides against it. If this all came out, it would ruin the business. She would never be taken seriously again. She needs this charity to thrive. For people to relate to it. To save people’s lives.