The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  ‘Hey, sweetie,’ he says.

  ‘I know you rang me since our last call, but I still thought I should ring you at twelve.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Lenny had made a pact with Sally that she would ring at ten a.m., midday and then again at two p.m. every day just so Lenny could rest assured that the day was going well for his wife. The story he’d shared with Keating and Barry was true. Every word of it. Sally is suicidal. Has suffered with high levels of depression ever since the twins were born. In fact, she’d shown signs of depression even in pregnancy; her levels of anxiety rising so much she had to be kept in hospital on occasions. Lenny assumed post natal depression was inevitable for Sally, yet he never quite knew how awful it would be. He found her one morning standing atop their toilet seat trying to put her neck in a noose she had tied using the belt of her woollen bathrobe. The twins were only eight weeks old then. On his first day back in work – three months later – he got a phone call from Sally who told him he had to get home quick before she started to slice at her wrists with a Stanley knife. She was sitting in a corner of their sitting room with the blade in her hand when he arrived home, the twins both crying upstairs. There were no cuts on her skin, but Lenny has never been entirely convinced of what would have happened had he not been fortunate enough to have his phone in his possession when she rang that day. As a police officer, he was supposed to have it turned off.

  His station chief offered him six months leave after Sally’s second suicide attempt, but Lenny knew it wasn’t enough; that he could never return to a job in which he had no control over his time, over his phone. It was a shame; Lenny had always wanted to be a Garda, had ambitions to be a detective from quite a young age. Sally hasn’t made any suicide attempt since, but her moods have still not evened out or even become consistent day-to-day. Every morning he wakes up, he doesn’t know how Sally is going to be feeling.

  ‘Any more work today?’ Sally asks. She sounds okay, monotone but alert.

  Lenny pauses; the hesitation even obvious to the taxi man.

  ‘Leonard,’ Sally says re-prompting her husband.

  ‘Sorry, love, phone is playing up a bit. Eh… yeah. I’ve to go to some gym in Coolock now; usual stuff. Got to take a photo of a girl who—’

  ‘Think you’ll be home to go meet the teacher today?’ Sally interrupts, clearly not interested in the answer to the initial question she’d asked. This wasn’t unusual. Their phone calls weren’t about anything, merely routine.

  ‘Yeah… yeah,’ Lenny says, his eyes blinking. It was unusual he’d blink when speaking to his wife. But that’s because it was also unusual he would lie to her. He didn’t want to tell her about the Betsy Blake case, didn’t want to raise her anxiousness levels in any way. ‘Yeah – I’ll be there if you can get a three o’clock meeting.’

  ‘Good. I’ll make an appointment so,’ Sally says.

  Lenny thanks her and after the phone call ends he bites at the cover of his phone, disappointed with himself. He knows there’s a chance he won’t make that meeting; hates that he might let not only his wife down, but his sons too. Particularly Jared. He’s having an awful time of it at school. Not only is he being bullied, but he’s being drowned in the politics of the education system. The school don’t know what to do with him; so low is his comprehension. Lenny’s only concerned about the bullying, not bothered about the latter. He genuinely feels institutional education is vastly overrated. Though he is keen to stay on top of things if only for Sally’s sake. If she’s worried, then Lenny is worried too. He lets out a little sigh. The meeting he just agreed to attend is supposed to take place straight after the kids leave school at three p.m., exactly when his case with Gordon Blake is due for conclusion too.

  Lenny shakes his head as the taxi man pulls into Peyton estates, ridding his mind of the worry.

  ‘If you can pull over at the orange car there please…’

  Lenny almost tuts as he hands the taxi man a twenty euro note. He hates spending money, unless it’s on something that would cheer either his wife or the twins up.

  He runs the five yards to his car door, wrestles with the lock and then jumps in. It was pointless trying to be quick; he really couldn’t get any wetter than he already is.

  He starts the engine, begins to pull out of Peyton estate when he hears an unusual sound. His car slogs, even though he’s pressing hard on the accelerator. He squints at himself in the rear-view mirror, then his eyes widen. He begins to slap at the steering wheel; the penny finally dropping. He doesn’t stop slapping, not until the palms of his hands sting unbearably.

  Then he gets out of his car and looks up and down the driver’s side, walks to the other side of the car and does the same thing. He clenches both fists, tilts his head back – eyes open, mouth open – and lets the rain shower down on his face.

  ‘Fuck sake!’ he roars into the sky.

  12:10

  Gordon

  I finish writing up the letter and will; tuck the flap of the envelope inside itself and then push it under my pillow. I want Lenny to know I’m deadly serious; that I will leave him my house if he can somehow get me some answers today. I may have come across like a right twat having him call out Betsy’s name in Barry Ward’s gaff, but I don’t mind looking like a twat. I’d do anything to find some answers. Her disappearance plagues me every day; her loss from my life eats at me. But it’s the guilt that makes the most impact. It resides in both my stomach and my head, and it won’t go away. It was my fault she went missing. It was on my watch.

  I wasn’t a lazy dad; I was just like any other dad – unfocused. Mothers are great at paying their children every nuance of attention. But dads? Fuck no. We’re easily distracted. I was busy working. Guus had managed to bring in two massive clients to our company just before Betsy went missing; they were million euro deals. I was finalising one at home while I was supposed to be looking after my daughter. I think she got bored, walked away from me, walked away from our home. One of the main reasons I feel guilt is because I’m genuinely not sure how long she was gone before I realised she was missing. May have been just ten minutes, could’ve been two hours. I was too consumed with work.

  I went into shock when I realised she was gone; ran into the streets shouting her name. I stopped people, asked if they’d seen a four-year-old with mousy brown hair. Nobody’d seen anything. I thought I was going mad. I remember running back into the house and checking everywhere for her; under the beds, in the closets, the washing machine. I even checked the fuckin microwave. I don’t know why. I think I was beginning to lose it. I rang the police before I rang Michelle; knew it’d be a much easier call to make.

  ‘My child’s gone missing,’ I said matter-of-factly down the line. I know I said it matter-of-factly because it was played back to me about eight times when I was being questioned by Detective De Brun a few days later. I was their first suspect; they assumed I had something to do with her disappearance. By that stage I was convinced it was Keating who’d taken my girl. I told the police about my dealings with him; spilt the beans. But they were still convinced I knew something. I didn’t. I hadn’t one fucking clue what happened to Betsy. I still don’t. I still don’t have one iota of an idea what happened to her that day, or what has happened to her any day since. But I know she’s alive. I know deep down in my gut she’s out there somewhere. If only the cops had acted sooner, instead of wasting time questioning me, I’m pretty certain they could’ve found her. But now – just over seventeen years later – there’s probably no chance whatsoever that I’ll ever see her pretty little face again. I can’t give up though. I’ve told anyone who’s ever listened to me over those years that I will fight until my dying day to find Betsy. Well, today may well be my dying day, and I ain’t stopping. I guess I just have to put all of my hope in little Lenny Moon. Not that I’ve given him much to go on; same old leads I’ve looked into hundreds of times – all of them producing sweet fuck all over the years. But fair play to him, he got into
Barry’s house within an hour or so of starting his investigation. That’s some going. It took me four years to get inside that gaff.

  ‘That time again, Gordon,’ Elaine says, opening up the door to my ward. I twist my head on the pillow, crease my mouth into a slight smile.

  ‘You look more relaxed anyway,’ she says.

  I just maintain the smile, pull my T-shirt over my head again and wait for her to attach the blue tabs to my chest.

  ‘The theatre will definitely be ready for three p.m., Gordon. Everything’s running on time. Dr Johnson and Mr Broadstein are due to land at one p.m. and should arrive here at the hospital around two-ish. The surgery that’s going on in the theatre right now is expected to be finished in a couple more hours. Half an hour clean up and prep after that, then we’ll get you down there.’

  I’m listening to what Elaine is saying, but I don’t react, except for nodding my head out of politeness.

  ‘Okay… heart rate is still high,’ she says,’ but it’s come down a good bit. Keep that head back on your pillow and just relax, Gordon. It’s your best chance of beating this.’

  I just nod again.

  ‘You okay… You’ve gone very quiet on me?’

  I look up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time since she re-entered the ward.

  ‘Just letting it all sink in,’ I say. ‘Y’know what’s upsetting me the most?’

  She doesn’t finish wrapping the rubber tube around her hand, instead she puts it aside, squints at me, then perches on the bed.

  ‘Ever hear of Betsy Blake?’ I ask her.

  She squints again. The name didn’t immediately register with her.

  ‘Girl that went missing seventeen years ago, was taken outside her home?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Elaine says. ‘South Circular Road. I was too young to remember at the time, but I’ve heard about it since.’

  ‘My daughter,’ I say. Her mouth opens a little, then she places her hand on top of mine again.

  ‘Oh I’m so sorry, Gordon.’

  ‘It’s okay, Elaine… you didn’t take her.’ I sit more upright in the bed again. ‘It’s just, the thought of dying without ever finding out what happened to her is… It’s…’ I pinch my thumb and forefinger into the corner of my eye sockets.

  ‘Gordon… we’ll get you through this,’ Elaine says, rubbing her fingers across the top of my hand. ‘I thought… I thought…’ she hesitates. ‘I thought they concluded Betsy’s investigation… wasn’t she supposed to have been found to have been knocked down… they found a car or something with her DNA in?’

  ‘That was all baloney,’ I say, removing my fingers from my eyes. ‘That was the cops trying to close off a case many years later because it was costing them too much money, costing them too much time. They’ve always been embarrassed by the fact they never found out who took Betsy… So they made that shit up.’

  Elaine’s brow creases.

  ‘Are you serious?’ she asks.

  ‘Dead serious.’ Then I breathe out a long, drawn out sigh. I haven’t opened up about Betsy in years.

  ‘I had no idea,’ Elaine says, still rubbing at my hand. ‘Listen. I have to go downstairs to Mr Douglas’ office for a consultation about your surgeries. I’ll be half-an-hour, forty minutes at most. When I’m back, I’ll pop in to you. You can tell me what you want… we can keep quiet… we can watch more TV; whatever it is you would like to do.’

  She’s so lovely. Very genuine. Very natural. I wonder if Betsy would have grown up to be just as impressive.

  ‘She’d be only five years younger than you are now, y’know?’

  ‘Really?’ Elaine says as she scribbles a note on the clipboard. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Gordon. I don’t know what to say. Y’know I thought about you and your whole family a number of times over the years… I guess most people have. Everybody’s hearts went out to you.’

  I smile my eyes at her and then wave my hand.

  ‘Go on, go to your meeting and… yes please, drop in when you’re done. I’d love the company.’

  She takes a step towards me, rubs at my hand again, and then pinches each of the tabs off my chest.

  ‘You just relax for the next half-an-hour, Gordon. Put the back of your head on that pillow and close those eyes.’

  As soon as the door’s closed, I do exactly as Elaine suggested. Closing my eyes relieves some of the throbbing in my temples. I breathe in and out really slowly, allow the whole mess my life has turned into to float away from my mind. Rather than thinking about my surgeries and rather than thinking about Betsy, I reminisce… I go back over my life. I remember when I was the age Betsy was when she went missing; my first day at school was fun, adventurous. I remember the holidays my mam and dad used to take me on to Blackpool; the donkey rides on the beach, the rollercoasters on Pleasure Beach, the pinging sounds of the arcades. I remember my first girlfriend; Linda Tillesly – she was so pretty. I was thirteen when we shared our first kiss; round the back of Goldenbridge School. Neither me nor Linda had a clue what we were doing, we both just went with it until it felt right. I allow myself my first genuine heartfelt smile of the day; then the ward door opens, taking me out of my daydream.

  ‘Jaysus, Gordy; ye certainly look as if yer dyin’ anyway.’

  I open my eyes, notice the waistband of his trousers pulled up over his belly button and then mouth the word ‘bollocks’ to myself.

  Fourteen years ago

  Betsy

  ‘Do you think I should do it, Bozy?’

  I always make up what Bozy says to me and say it back to myself in a silly voice, but this time I can’t think of what he would say. I’m scared. My hands are shaking. A bit like when Jim Hawkins is hiding in the boat in Treasure Island. That’s a book Dod bought me a few months ago. I’ve read it three times now. It’s really good. Probably my new favourite.

  I stare up the steps. Maybe I shouldn’t do it. It could hurt. A lot. My breathing gets bigger. And quicker. Then I take one big, big breath in and hold it. I look at Bozy. Then I let the breath out.

  ‘Fuck it, Bozy. I’m going to do it.’

  I walk up the steps. Slowly. Really, really slowly. I stop at the top, then look at Bozy again. But he still doesn’t know what to say to me. I give him a big squeeze and a kiss. ‘I love you, Bozy. You have been my best friend.’

  Then I place him down on the top step and close my hand tight. I knock at the door. Sometimes I have to knock a few times. Sometimes Dod doesn’t answer at all. He might not answer now. He has been angry Dod for a long time. He’s always shouting. He hasn’t smiled for ages. Sometimes I wonder what makes him sad. Maybe he is sad for the same reason I get sad. Maybe he doesn’t have a mummy and a daddy either. Maybe they’re in heaven too.

  No answer. Not yet. I close my hand. Knock again. Then I hear him. His footsteps getting close.

  ‘Need to do a poo.’ I say it from behind the door. I hear him make that breath sound that he makes when he is being angry Dod. This is probably the wrong time to do this. But I am doing it because he always seems to be angry Dod these days. He hasn’t let me out to wash in a long, long time. Hasn’t bought me any books in lots of weeks. Maybe months. He just comes into my room two times a day and leaves some food and water. Sometimes he doesn’t say anything. Then he leaves. The only other times I see him is when I need to do a pee or a poo.

  He unlocks the door and doesn’t say anything. He just pulls it open and I put my hands up to my eyes stop the bright light from hurting them. I always do this. He sometimes says something like ‘hurry up’ or ‘don’t be long’ but he says nothing today. I walk down the wooden floor and then turn in to the toilet room and close the door behind me. The door has a small lock on it. Dod told me to never go near it. But I do. I slide it really slowly so that he can’t hear it. When I turn around a tear drops from my eye. I wipe it with my hand even though there is toilet paper in front of me. I sit up on top of the toilet with the lid shut. I remember what Dod said to me the very first
time I was ever in this room. I keep hearing him saying it. Like I’m hearing it in my head.

  If you make any noise up here at all, I won’t just hurt you. I will kill you.

  I know what ‘kill you’ means. It means I will be dead.

  I hold in another big breath and then I just do it. I scream. Really loud. Really, really loud. I don’t stop. I stand up on top of the toilet seat and just scream. I hear Dod at the door, banging away at it. But I don’t stop screaming.

  ‘Shut the fuck up. Betsy, I swear to you I’m gonna fuckin rip you to pieces when I get in there.’

  I stop. Rip me to pieces? Probably he’s not going to kill me. I want to die. I want to go to heaven. I want to see Mummy and Daddy. Probably he’s just going to hurt me. I sit back down. My body begins to shake. My legs shake. My arms shake. I am so scared. The door is banging. Really loud. So is my chest. Dod isn’t saying anything. He is just banging on the door. I think it is with his foot. Then there’s a big hole in the door. Dod puts his face in the hole. I can see his eyes and his nose.

  ‘I’m gonna fuckin hurt you, Betsy.’

  Then his arm comes through the hole and his hand goes to the lock and he slides it back.

  When the door opens, he stands there. His face is all red. His hands are closed tight.

  ‘You little fuckin bitch. You better hope nobody heard all that.’

  Then he grabs me.

  12:15

  Lenny

  ‘Answer your fucking phone!’ Lenny screams into his mobile. The taxi man eyeballs him in the rear-view mirror. Lenny notices; holds his hand up in apology.

  ‘Excuse my language. Some bastards just slashed all four tyres of my car.’

  ‘Jaysus, yer jokin’,’ says the taxi man. ‘Why’d anyone do that?’

  Lenny sighs.