Lenny bites softly down on his bottom lip in anticipation.
‘Lenny, I gotta go. Ring me back!’
The line goes dead.
Lenny stares at the phone in his hand, then takes a long, deep inhale. He clicks into his text messages, re-reads what he sent to his wife earlier. Then he taps at his buttons again.
Please get back to me. I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ll be back home soon and will tell you everything about my crazy day. Don’t do anything stupid. I love you. x
After the text is sent, he eyes the hall door again, then walks towards it and pushes it open. When he closes it behind him, the whole hallway falls into darkness again. He walks slowly, his shoes tip-tapping against the floorboards, then calls out.
‘Guus.’
No answer.
‘Guus.’
Lenny steps backwards, his heart thumping when the light switches on.
‘Lishten,’ Guus says appearing right beside him. ‘I don’t know where you got your information from, but it’sh not on, you coming here to my house and opening up old wounds. I’m shorry Gordon’s health is in a bad way, but I would like to be left alone now.’
Lenny holds a palm out, to signal to Guus that they need to calm tensions down.
‘I promised Gordon I would give this my best shot. I told you before I went to make a call outside that I had one last question for you – do you mind?’
Guus stiffens up his nostrils, then turns around and walks towards the kitchen again. He opens the door, flicks on the light and awaits Lenny.
Lenny turns his head left, stares at the basement, then follows Guus into the kitchen. Guus has his arms folded, is leaning the arch of his back against his kitchen countertop.
‘Go on,’ he says.
Lenny blinks, and as his eyes refocus he notices the time on Guus’s microwave oven. 14:53. He’s gotta get a move on.
‘The cops weren’t only interested in you because somebody had once reported that you searched for… paedophilia, I guess, on your laptop, there was another coincidence.’
Guus shrugs his shoulder towards Lenny.
‘Sarah McClaire,’ Lenny says, and as he says it, Guus’s eyes close. And stay closed.
‘Same shit, Lenny,’ he says, his fists closing into a tight ball.
Lenny doesn’t let up. He knows he doesn’t have the time.
‘You happened to be in Birmingham when Sarah McClaire went missing, you happened to be in Dublin when Betsy Blake went missing. There were searches of paedophilia on your laptop—’ he spits all of this out of his mouth like a rap verse.
Guus finally opens his eyes, takes a step forward, stopping Lenny’s flow.
‘The fooking cops have been through all this with me. I am in Birmingham about six or seven times a year. My business requires it. This is nothing new. You have nothing new. You are just dragging up old shit. I was cleared. The cops cleared me. How fooking dare you come back in to my home and drag all this shit up again.’
Lenny holds his hand across his own face as he blinks in rapid succession. He tries to reassure himself he’s doing the right thing, that he is conducting a huge investigation just as he always dreamed he would. He’s got his suspect rattled. Surely that’s a good thing. He’s doing a stellar job. He pays himself a compliment inside his own head, reminds himself to stop blinking, that he’s winning here.
‘I wanna check your basement,’ he spits out.
Guus baulks his head backwards. He looks as if he’s aged ten years since Lenny first saw him twenty minutes ago.
‘The fook you will.’
Lenny blinks again.
‘Well if you want me to remove you from the investigation, you will let me see what’s down there.’
‘I’ll tell you what’s down there. A fooking washing machine and boxes of files from work. Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my home and demanding to look around? You will do no such thing.’ Guus walks towards Lenny, his index finger pointed. He jabs it back and forth at Lenny’s chest. ‘I think I’m a better investigator than you, Lenny, you know why? Because I’ve learned more about you in the past twenty minutes than you’ve learned about me. You know fooking nothing about me, nothing that the cops haven’t already questioned me on. But y’know what I’ve learned about you?’ Lenny starts to shake a little. He takes steps backwards, driven by Guus’s jabbing finger, finds himself in the hallway, up against the wall. ‘I’ve learned that you don’t have a fooking clue what you’re doing. You came to my home acting like some kind of big shot inveshtigator. Please. You’re not an inveshtigator. You are a fooking bluffer. You thought you could catch me out by bringing up my old Google searches, by bringing up Betsy, by bringing up Sarah McClaire. Hey… why not ask me about Elizabeth Taylor too? The cops asked me about that one back in the day as well. Ooops, did you forget about that one? Or did you just not know that bit of information? You’re embarrassing. You’re not an investigator, you’re a clown. I’m sure Gordon only hired you becaushe you were the cheapest option. Are you really that shtoopid that you thought you could solve the Betsy Blake case in just a few fooking hours?’ Guus laughs out of the side of his mouth again.
‘I… I,’ Lenny stutters, his bottom lip shaking. Guus has him practically pinned up against the wall, his finger digging into the centre of his chest. ‘I just want to clear you from my investigation, that’s all. Quickest way is for you to let me see what’s in the basement, then I’ll be on my way. On to the next suspect.’
Guus looks away from Lenny, stares towards the basement door.
‘No.’
‘Guus, listen to me. Gordon doesn’t have long left. Minutes. He just wanted one last sweep of the investigation so he could clear his mind before his surgeries. Don’t let him go down for his surgeries thinking you had something to do with Betsy’s disappearance. What if he dies thinking you took his little girl?’
Guus removes his finger from Lenny’s chest, then reaches his hand around the back of his own neck and starts to rub at it.
‘Well that’s all your fooking fault isn’t it? Gordon didn’t know I was a sushpect until you somehow found out today and told him.’
Lenny gulps. He doesn’t know what to think. Maybe he did fuck up. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Gordon that Guus was once a suspect. It probably wasn’t his place. What if Guus is totally innocent; that he really was just researching his own abuse as a child, that he really does visit Birmingham six times a year. But what if… what if he isn’t innocent? What if Gordon’s best mate took Betsy in 2002; has been hiding her in his basement ever since?
‘Guus,’ he says, holding the stare of his suspect. ‘Let me see the basement, then I’m outta here.’
‘Uuugh,’ Guus rages, punching the wall just behind Lenny’s head. He snarls, breathes deeply right into Lenny’s face. ‘You know what; fook you.’
Guus walks away from Lenny, allowing him to breathe properly for the first time in minutes. He’d felt smothered.
He straightens the collar of his yellow jacket, then watches as Guus walks up the hallway, towards the basement door. He stretches up, on his tip toes, takes a key that had been resting atop the door frame, then places it into the keyhole and turns it. The door creaks open. Lenny walks slowly towards him, notices Guus’s hands are clenched tightly.
‘You first, hot shot,’ Guus says.
Three years ago
Betsy
I take Dod’s plate off his tray, put it on to mine, then place my tray on top of his empty one and make my way to the kitchen.
‘Thanks, Betsy, that was lovely,’ Dod says.
I made a chicken stir fry in sweet and sour sauce. It was a recipe I got from a cookbook by a chef called Jamie Oliver. I liked it too. I just think next time I can make it even nicer. I can add a bit more spice. I read the four cookbooks Dod has bought me over the past year or so and pick out ingredients that Dod will go and buy from the shops. He calls us a ‘team’ now. I agree. We’re a really good team. Dod hasn’t been a
ngry in nearly two years – not since we made up on that great Christmas day.
I get cookbooks and other nonfiction in actual paper books. But I use my Kindle for all fiction stuff. Dod always has money in my account. I just download some great books with the push of a button and get reading. I am really happy that I am back reading fiction these days. It makes me sad to think that I didn’t really read fiction for a few years. I hope everybody reads fiction; reading a book like that takes you away from real life. It makes you have adventures.
‘I’ll wash up,’ Dod says, following me into the kitchen. ‘You go and watch the TV. You like that cooking programme.’
I smile back at him, hand him over the dirty plate I was about to dunk in the sink.
‘Thanks, Dod.’
The show he’s talking about is called US Masterchef. Loads of different people cook dinners and desserts to try to win their own restaurant. I love it. As I’m walking out of the kitchen I notice the back door on the other side is slightly open. Dod opens it sometimes if I’m cooking to let the steam out. Looks like he forgot to close it today.
I decide I better not go near it. I don’t want to upset Dod. So I just continue to the TV room, pick up the remote control and turn the volume up.
I really like the chef Gordon Ramsay. He shouts at the cooks all the time. But he knows what he is talking about. I have four of his cookbooks. Dod says he is going to buy me his latest one when it comes out in November.
I read non-fiction during the day and fiction at night. Last year, I asked Dod to buy me a copy of The Bible because religion and God kept appearing in my books. Some of the characters in my books prayed a lot and I wanted to know what God was all about.
The Bible’s a big book. A really, really big book. And the way it is written means it is tough to read. But I got through it all in the space of one month. I wasn’t sure whether it was a fiction book or a non-fiction book when I asked Dod to buy it for me. But I know now. It’s definitely fiction. It has a talking snake at the start of it and then after that it is all about a man called Jesus who grew up in a place called Nazareth. In the story it says his mother, Mary, got a visit from an angel who made her pregnant from God. Then when Jesus grew up he was able to perform magic. A bit like Harry Potter. I still can’t understand why some people think it is a non-fiction book. They must be really stupid.
It’s the same with my book; Betsy’s Basement. Some people might think it is fiction, some people might think it is non-fiction. But I’m not sure who is ever going to read it. Maybe people will only read it after I’m dead. It is still in my copy book, in the bottom drawer of the cabinet beside my bed. I have often thought about asking Dod if he would like to read it. But that’s not a great idea. He is likely to get upset, or angry. I have only written the truth in it about Dod. Most of the things I write about him are nice things. But he might get angry about me writing about the beatings he has given me in the past. And about the newspaper articles. It makes me a bit sad that I won’t be able to share it with anyone. Especially him.
I laugh when Gordon Ramsay spits out one of the cook’s dinners into a bin.
‘Christ, that’s raw chicken,’ Gordon says. ‘It’s redder than your cheeks.’
I giggle so loudly that Dod pops his head around the door.
‘Gordon cracking you up again?’ he says as he dries his hands with a tea-towel.
‘He always does,’ I reply.
‘Okay… Betsy. I’m just gonna run upstairs to hang up some of my clothes. Are you okay staying here, or should I put you back down in the basement?’
I’m sure my eyes are really wide. I can’t see them of course, but I think I can actually feel them getting bigger. Dod has never given me this option before. Ever. Anytime he’s not with me, he puts me back down in the basement and locks the door. I even wonder if he is messing with me, testing me. I decide to take the test.
‘I’d like to watch the end of this,’ I say nodding over at the TV.
‘Thought you might,’ he says coming over to me. He kisses me on the top of the head. ‘I trust you, Betsy, okay? Don’t do anything silly.’
I look at him.
‘Course I won’t.’
Dod winks at me then turns around and I hear him run up the stairs.
I lie back on the sofa and watch as Gordon calls more cooks up to him at the top of the room before he samples their dinners. He high fives the next cook and tells him that his chicken is cooked to perfection. But just as he is about to put the next cook’s dinner in his mouth, the silly voice over man says ‘next time on Masterchef’. Uuuugh. I hate when it does that. I’ll have to wait till tomorrow to find out what happens. I pick up the remote and begin to press at the buttons to see what is on the other channels. I don’t see anything that I’d like to watch. Then I remember. The back door is open a bit.
I put the remote down and walk slowly into the hall. Really, really slowly. I don’t want Dod to hear me. If he sees me, he will go crazy. I tip-toe towards the back door and when I get there, I push at it gently. It doesn’t creak. It just opens up silently.
The brightness of the outside almost blinds me. I have to close my eyes. When I open them I am amazed. I’ve never seen the back garden before. The grass is really long. Really, really long. It’s probably up to my waist. At least. But it’s beautiful. Really green and beautiful. Birds are chirping in the big tree over in the next garden. The sun is really high in the sky, and there is a little breeze that is making the grass look as if it is waving at me. The wind feels so nice on my face. It makes me stand still. I would love to stay out here for the rest of the day. I breathe in some of the wind up my nose, then let it out really slowly. I can taste it at the back of my mouth. It’s so nice. The nicest breath I have ever taken.
As I breathe in again I stare at the fence that separates our house from the next door neighbour. I bet it’s about my height. I wonder if I could climb over it.
I let my breath out really slowly again. These breaths taste so nice. While I am tasting it at the back of my mouth I hear Dod speaking to me. ‘I trust you, Betsy.’ He says it three times. I open my eyes, turn around and step back inside. I close the door as slowly as I can without making a noise and then tip-toe straight to the basement and back down the steps.
14:45
Gordon
‘She’s not fucking dead!’ I scream. But only inside my head. I remain still, until Michelle removes her hands from either side of my face. Then I open my eyes, stare up at her. She’s almost in tears, her eyes glazed over. I wanna hold her, whisper sweet nothings in her ear – tell her how much I miss her, how much I miss Betsy, how much I miss us. But I don’t. I just lie flat on my back and let my mind wander in a million different directions. Guus? Guus? The fucker won the lottery after Betsy was kidnapped. He took over the company, bought a massive big house out in Clontarf. The cunt had motive. It all makes sense. I want to grab at my phone, ring Lenny back. But I remain still, Michelle towering over me. She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, then takes one step back, removes her coat and hangs it across the back of the blue plastic chair.
‘I’m really sorry you are going through this, Gordon, I really am,’ she says. I continue to stare up at the ceiling, not sure whether I should be listening to Michelle’s voice or the one inside my head. ‘I sincerely hope you get through this, get yourself together.’ She sits in the blue plastic chair, scoots it a little bit closer to me and then grabs at my left hand, gripping it between both of hers.
It’s been years since Michelle and I have sat in the same room, let alone held hands. I feel so grateful that she’s come up to see me just before my surgeries, but she’s hardly going to tell me all is forgiven; she’s hardly going to say all of this wasn’t my fault. I curl my fingers, gripping her hands in a sign of gratitude.
I wouldn’t mind talking it all out with her; tell her she’s a fool for buying De Brun’s theory; tell her she was a fool for leaving me at my most vulnerable time; tell her that my
failing heart is most likely all down to her. But there’s no value in me spending my final ten minutes on earth arguing with my ex wife. My mind shifts again. Guus? I begin to hear his smarmy little face scream out to me. ‘I took your daughter. And your fucking business.’ He keeps saying it, over and over again before he produces that horrible, snidey fucking laugh he has. ‘I took your daughter. And your fucking business.’ He’s still repeating it as I solemnly stare over at Michelle. He’s still repeating it as I decide to strike up small talk with her.
‘How’s life?’
She offers a vacant huff of a laugh.
‘We don’t need to talk about me,’ she says.
‘No… no I want to,’ I offer up. ‘I need the voices in my head to stop. Let’s just talk… like adults. Honestly. How have you been?’
‘Shit,’ she says, producing a short snort of laughter out of her nose. Jesus, how much I’ve missed that laugh. ‘I mean, the banks have let us all go, I’ve no job for the first time in my adult life. The twins are causing trouble in school. I mean…’ she stops. ‘I mean… I guess it’s nothing compared to… compared to being sick. But… life’s just… well life’s just shit, I guess.’
Wow. Michelle hasn’t opened up to me in years.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say. ‘Y’know when I found out ACB were closing down, I was going to call you, tell you how sorry I was to hear you’d lost your job, but…’ I shrug my shoulder and nod my head. She knows what I mean.
‘Thank you,’ she pouts at me.
She lets out a small sigh, then releases her hands from mine.
‘I eh… need to visit the rest room. I need to wipe my eyes, freshen up,’ she says.
She points to the door inside my room and I nod to confirm to her that it is indeed a toilet cubicle. Then, as she disappears behind the door, I grab at my mobile phone, press at Lenny’s number as quickly as I can.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 46
