‘A lot smaller than our gaffs aren’t they?’ she says.
I nod.
‘Yeah. Imagine living in one of them. They’re tiny.’
‘Bet they have better lives though. I bet the kids in those houses aren’t going to kill themselves tonight are they?’
I stare at Ciara and hold my lips tight together. She’s right. Dead right. I mean, we have everything we could possibly want. Both of us live on a lovely street, in massive big houses. Ciara’s gaff has six bedrooms, ours has five. And we don’t even need them. Neither of our families do. There are literally rooms in our homes that we never walk into; that we never use. Ciara’s dad is stinking rich. He owns about ten different accountancy and insurance businesses. My parents aren’t poor either. My dad’s been a big name in broadcasting for about twenty years. I don’t know whether I’d call him rich, but we’re certainly not poor. Dad drives a brand new Mercedes. Black it is. Mam has a red Mini Cooper. He’s got to be doing well. Having your own show on RTE radio must pay good money, I guess.
We’re lucky, Ciara and I. Or at least we should be lucky. But I guess our lives prove it: money can’t make you happy. There are kids at our school who go around in ripped runners and who live in tiny little gaffs like these and they’re a hundred times happier than me and Ciara. It’s always annoyed me when people at school say they want to be surgeons or lawyers when they grow up because they want to be rich. Having a big job that pays lots of money isn’t a good ambition. My dad barely listens to me because he’s too busy planning for his show. Ciara’s dad doesn’t listen to her because he’s never home. If I was going to grow up I wouldn’t want a big job. My ambition would be to pay my children as much attention as I possibly can. That’s being a proper parent. A proper adult. I wouldn’t care if I was earning a hundred pound a week or a thousand. I’d only care that I was loving my children. Anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never be a parent. Will never need a career. And that’s all fine by me. Cos I don’t want any of that stuff.
‘Here we are,’ Ciara says standing up. She presses at the bell and suddenly the bus is pulling in for us.
‘Thanks, mister,’ Ciara says to the driver. I just nod my head at him and offer a half smile.
We both leap off the step and then turn left, towards Debbie’s. I’ve never called to her house before but Ciara has pointed it out to me. It’s a tiny little gaff; the type of house happy people live in. Debbie is really nice. She practically raised Ciara until sometime last year when, because Ciara was going to secondary school, her mum felt she no longer needed a nanny. Debbie minds three other children now, in Rialto I think it is. That hurts Ciara. I know it does.
‘It’s that one there with the blue door isn’t it?’ I say.
Ciara nods her head and then pushes at the gate that leads us into Debbie’s tiny garden. It’s no bigger than the small room under our stairs that mum keeps all the cleaning stuff in.
Then Ciara holds her finger to the doorbell and we wait until we see Debbie’s figure through the frosted glass.
‘What the hell are you two doing here?’ she says when she answers.
20:05
Ciara
I skip from one foot to the other as I wait for her to answer the door. Haven’t seen her in ages. I’m a little excited. I think I am anyway. I’ve never really been able to tell exactly how I’m feeling. I’ve always been like that.
‘What the hell are you two doing here?’ she says when she finally answers. My heart sinks. I thought she’d be delighted to see me.
I look at Ingrid then back up at Debbie.
‘I eh… I…’
She opens her door further and stands to the side.
‘C’min, girls. But you can’t really stay long. I have a friend coming soon. Thought you were him.’
She shuts the door, and I stare at her. She’s barely dressed. She only has a black bra and a pair of matching knickers on. They’re pretty knickers; they have a little pink bow on the front of them. She must have been getting dressed when we knocked. Maybe that’s why she was a little bit upset at first.
Then she holds her arms wide for me and I walk into them. I smell her perfume as we hug, then I rest my chin on her shoulder and try to stop myself from crying.
‘Long time no see,’ she whispers into my ear.
‘Hey, Ingrid,’ she says as she releases me. She offers Ingrid a high five and then takes a step back, her hands on her hips. She looks… pretty. Really pretty. Like one of those girls you see in magazines. I’ve never thought of Debbie as pretty before. When she used to mind me she’d wear some oversized jumpers in different colours; normally dark colours like grey or black. Or navy. Mostly navy, I think. And she never wore make up. She seems to have lots on today.
‘S’wot you two doing here?’
‘We eh… we…’ I look at Ingrid.
‘We were just in the neighbourhood. I have a friend who lives close by and Ciara said she’d love to pop by to see you… as a little surprise,’ Ingrid says.
Debbie takes one step to the side and leans to look through to her sitting room.
‘Well, it’s lovely to see you. I eh—’
‘We won’t stay long,’ I say. ‘Just wanted to say hi and that I miss you.’
Debbie smiles. I miss that smile. I used to see it every day. Now some other snotty little kids get to see it every day.
‘I miss you too. Course I do. I think about you all the time.’
Then I smile. At Debbie first. Then at Ingrid. Ingrid will know just how much it means to me that Debbie told me she thinks about me all the time.
The three of us stand smiling at each other in Debbie’s hallway. Then the silence goes on a little bit too long. I don’t know what to say. I’m here to say goodbye without saying goodbye. Where do I even begin?
‘How about a quick glass of squash, then?’ Debbie says. ‘I’m sorry, but yis can’t stay long.’
‘Have you blackcurrant squash?’ Ingrid asks.
Debbie turns around and walks into her kitchen. We both follow. It’s tiny in here. You wouldn’t even fit the island we have in our kitchen in this entire room.
‘Don’t you eh… want to finish getting dressed?’ I say as Debbie roots around in a cabinet.
‘Yes!’ she says turning around. ‘I do have blackcurrant.’ She holds it up and then looks down at herself. ‘Yeah… tell you what, the glasses are there drying by the sink. Fill one for yourselves and I’ll be back in a second.’
Ingrid reaches for a glass and begins to run the tap.
‘She seems different,’ I whisper when Debbie has left.
Ingrid looks back at me, nods her head once. Then she picks up the bottle of squash and pours some into her glass before downing it all in one go.
‘Those chilli chips sure are salty,’ she says. ‘You having a glass?’
I shake my head.
‘Nah, I’m alright.’
I feel weird. Really weird. Though maybe I’m supposed to feel weird, seeing as me and my best friend are going to kill ourselves tonight… but I didn’t feel this weird on the bus coming out here. There’s something odd about Debbie.
I turn and head towards the sitting room to wait for her. Ingrid follows me.
‘We shouldn’t stay long, not if she has a friend coming over,’ Ingrid says to me.
Then I gulp. That’s why I feel weird. I know I’m going to say goodbye to Debbie in just a couple minutes for the last time ever. I love Debbie. Of course that’s why it feels weird… I think. I didn’t feel weird saying goodbye to my mam because I really don’t care about her. But Debbie… Debbie’s different. I love her. She’s always been good to me. Like a mother. Like a mother should be. I’m so jealous of the kids she minds these days. Jammy bastards.
Ingrid’s eyes widen. As if she’s just seen a ghost.
‘What?’ I ask. But she doesn’t answer because we hear Debbie run down the stairs.
‘Did yis get a drink?’ she says, tightening the belt of her
bathrobe around her waist.
‘Thought you were getting dressed?’ I say.
She puffs out her cheeks.
‘I eh… I’m waiting on my friend, then we’re gonna decide what to do.’
Ingrid shuffles her way in front of me, her eyes still wide.
‘We need to go,’ she says, grabbing at my hand.
Debbie gasps a little, as if she choked on her breath.
‘Well, out of this room anyway,’ she says sweeping both of her arms towards the hallway.
I feel bad again. Weird. It really seems as if Debbie doesn’t want us here. As if she is done with me; has moved on to other kids and would rather forget that she ever helped raise me. I’m old to her now. Too old for her to care about. It’s only kids she likes.
Then the doorbell rings and Debbie looks at us as if she’s annoyed; as if we’ve done something wrong on her.
‘I just wanted to say goodbye,’ I say, wrapping my arms around her. She pats me on the back.
‘Hey, why don’t we meet up soon? I can take you to that park you like in Harold’s Cross. We can buy ice-cream, hang out for the day.’
She’s said that to me a few times over the past year. We still haven’t done it. Then she releases me from my hug and walks towards her hall door and opens it.
‘C’min, Gerry,’ she says. ‘Don’t mind the girls. They’re just leaving.’
An old man walks in and stares at me and Ingrid. He looks older than my dad. How the hell is he friends with Debbie?
‘Okay, girls, out ye go,’ Debbie says, almost shoving at the two of us.
My heart sinks. I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll ever see her and she doesn’t even want to know. She doesn’t have time for me anymore. Fine. She’ll miss me in the morning.
‘Goodbye then,’ I say.
‘Bye,’ Debbie calls out without even looking at us. Then the door bangs shut and we’re out in the tiny garden, standing right next to the stinky bins.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ I say.
Ingrid doesn’t answer, so I turn to her. Her eyes are still wide.
‘Ingrid!’
‘Oh my God,’ she says holding her hand to her forehead, ‘did you see what I saw… in the living room?’
Larry continues to breathe heavily behind Helen. She’s turned her cheek in his direction three times now, just to let him know she’d rather he fucked off. But the poor fella hasn’t copped her irritation.
‘Nothing yet?’ Charlie asks.
Helen stares over at him, one of her eyebrows raised.
‘Don’t you think I’d tell you if I saw something?’
Charlie swallows, then returns his gaze to the screen in front of him, his nose just inches from it.
‘If we’re gonna see anything we’ll see it now, right?’ he then says. ‘According to this screen it’s 6:48. The call to Terenure will be made in one minute. Fingers crossed it’s caught on camera.’
Helen doesn’t answer. She moves her face nearer to the screen, stretching and then blinking her eyes to relieve some of the strain.
‘How old you reckon he is?’ she asks.
Charlie takes one step to his left, stares at the figure Helen’s pointing at.
‘About fifteen,’ Larry says.
Both Helen and Charlie look over their shoulder at the bald head behind them. Larry takes one tiny step backwards and sinks his neck into his shoulders a little, finally becoming aware of his insignificance.
‘Yeah, about fifteen, I s’pose,’ Charlie says as he and Helen return their gaze to the screen. ‘Think it’s him?’
Then the figure on the screen lifts the phone he had been holding in the palm of his hand towards his ear.
Charlie stares at Helen; his stubby nose a little too close for her comfort. She balks away a bit, all the while staring at the black and white image. She watches as the figure hangs up the phone, before he flips it in the air and catches it.
‘It is him, isn’t it?’ Charlie says a little high-pitched. He’s beginning to let his excitement pour out of his mouth.
‘Well… that call was made at bang on 6:49 and it must’ve lasted the same eighteen seconds as the call you played for me earlier,’ Helen says. She rolls her tongue around her mouth. ‘The direction this figure is walking to,’ she says turning to Larry, ‘he’s going towards the next stop, what is it?’
‘Suir Road,’ Larry says. ‘You want me to call up that footage?’
Helen nods her head, then places her hands in to the deep pockets of her leather coat.
‘This is so cool,’ Charlie says.
Helen stares at him, until he realises what he had just said was rather uncool.
‘Kay, here we go,’ Larry says, tilting another screen towards both Charlie and Helen. ‘This is the Suir Road stop from 6:49 onwards.’
‘How long does it take to walk from Goldenbridge stop to Suir Road?’
‘Two, three minutes. Straight down the canal,’ Larry says.
The three of them stare at the screen while Kristine, who had been tapping away at the keyboard on her desk, stops and turns to look at them. She watches their faces, waiting on a moment of realisation to drop on one of them. But it doesn’t come.
‘It says 6:53 now on the screen, he hasn’t walked this way, he’d be here by now.’
Helen spreads both of her lips open, so that her clenched teeth are showing. Then she slams the palm of her hand against the top of the screen.
‘Bollocks,’ she says.
‘What’s it matter?’ Charlie says. ‘We got a shot of him. Isn’t that enough to go on?’
Helen holds her eyes closed in annoyance and then lets a sigh slowly exhale its way out of her nostrils.
‘I wanted to see what direction he was walking in next, Charlie. It might help us catch up with him.’ She nods her head and stretches her brow sarcastically as she says this. Charlie sinks his neck into his shoulders. Helen has an incredible ability to make men do this. It’s why she initially fell in love with Eddie; because he never shied away from her. He was her perfect match. Always has been.
‘He could have gone anywhere after the Goldenbridge stop, right? Over Goldenbridge itself into Inchicore. Across to Drimnagh past the Marble Arch pub? Onwards down the other side of the canal towards… Jesus, he could have splintered off in any direction after that, right?’
‘Yup, on towards the hospital or perhaps Kilmainham. Could have even headed up towards Rialto.’
Helen allows another sigh to shoot through her nostrils. Then she chews on her bottom lip as Kristen answers a ringing phone.
‘Larry, two more police officers at the front desk looking to view CCTV,’ she says.
‘Ah, must be the friends you were telling me about,’ Larry says to Helen as he makes his way towards the door.
‘Hold on, hold on, Larry,’ Helen shouts out, ‘Charlie, take out your mobile phone, get a clear picture of the best still of that young boy we have. Kristine,’ she says as if she’s an army major barking out orders, ‘can we make this image any clearer?’
Kristine rises from her desk, begins to tap away at a keyboard right next to Charlie.
‘Shall I go get your colleagues—’
‘No, hold on!’ Helens says, holding the palm of her hand towards Larry.
He creases his brow, begins to wonder what the hell is going on.
‘That’s as clear as I can get it,’ Kristine says.
Helen nods towards Charlie, ordering him to take a picture with his phone.
‘Kay let’s go,’ Helen then says, cupping his shoulder.
‘Larry you can go get the other officers… is there a eh… Ladies room you can show me to on the way?’
Larry nods slowly. ‘Yeah, there’s one just here, down this corridor.’
Charlie and Helen leave with Larry, forgetting to thank the only person who was actually helpful to them while they were in the control room. Kristine doesn’t mind. Is used to not receiving praise for the mundan
e tasks she carries out.
‘Through there,’ Larry says pointing at a door.
‘You come with me, Charlie,’ Helen says.
Charlie stops walking. ‘What? Sorry? You want me to go to the Ladies with you?’
Larry stops walking too, but when Helen turns to face him, he gets the gist and then heads towards reception to allow the other offices through. Helen strides to the door and holds it open to allow Charlie to enter before her. He scratches at his forehead, wondering what the fuck Helen is up to, inviting him into this pokey, smelly cubicle.
‘Let me see the photo?’ she says, still holding the door ajar. She peeks through the crack of the door, then back at Charlie. After he’s handed her the phone, she peeks through the crack again, notices Cyril and Leo from her own station being led to the CCTV control room.
When they’re inside, the door closed behind them, Helen pulls at the toilet door and walks out. Charlie doesn’t know what to do; whether or not he should follow her. So he stands still, waits on instruction.
Helen brings his phone closer to her nose, refocuses her eyes to the image of the boy. He looks blond, though it could be brown hair. His face isn’t really clear. Could be anybody, really.
‘Fuck sake,’ she mumbles to herself. Then she pivots her head left to right. ‘What the fuck?’ she says. She turns around, strides in her own unique way towards the toilet and pushes the door wide open.
‘What the hell are you doing? Will ye come on?’ she says.
Charlie opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it, so he just follows Helen like a trained puppy dog back down the corridor, past the reception and out towards his own police car. He’s still wondering what the hell just happened when he presses at a button on his key ring, allowing Helen — who is still a couple yards ahead of him — to swing the passenger door open and sweep her tall frame inside.
He scratches at his head again, then opens the driver’s door and gets in himself.
‘Eh… sorry, Helen, but eh… what was all that about?’ he says.
‘What was what about?’ she says as she reaches for her seatbelt.
‘Why eh… why did you invite me into the toilet?’
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 54
