The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  ‘Please,’ he says. He leads them up his modest garden path, into his modest home before closing the door and holding a hand to his forehead. ‘Which two students is it?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, that was the information we were hoping you could help us with, Mr Tobin,’ Helen says. ‘We have a picture to show you. Can you name this individual? We believe he may be a student of yours…’

  Helen looks behind her, her hand outstretched. Charlie’s eyes widen.

  ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘left me phone in the car. Gimme one sec.’ He rushes back out the door.

  Helen sighs. A deep, frustrated sigh.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Tobin asks, tilting his head. He had initially been annoyed, thinking students had been up to no good. But he’s sensed a haunting mood since the police entered his home. This news is bad. Really bad.

  ‘We’ve had a call saying two young girls are planning to die by suicide locally tonight. At midnight. We don’t have much time to save them. A young boy rang in to give us that information, but he didn’t leave any names, any locations.’ Tobin scrunches up his nose, then squints at Helen. ‘We don’t know why,’ Helen says, answering the question before it could come out of Tobin’s mouth.

  ‘Here,’ Charlie says, racing back in the door, holding his phone out.

  ‘We are hoping you can give us the name of the individual in this image,’ Helen says.

  Tobin takes the phone and stares at the screen as he walks towards his green sofa and sits in it. Helen winces a little as she watches his head begin to sway from left to right.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I mean the image is not very clear but I don’t think I know this face. I’m pretty certain he’s not a student in my school.’

  Helen runs her hand up and down the back of her neck, tossing her orange hair into a mess. She’s gutted; genuinely felt she was going to leap yards in front of the other investigation.

  ‘Are you sure, Mr Tobin? Take another look.’

  Tobin shakes his head again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, handing the phone back to Charlie. ‘Is there anything else I can help with? I’m willing to help, as much as I can. Course I am. I care for every one of my students. I can’t believe… I can’t believe two of them are planning on committing suicide. You have to stop them… you just have to stop—’

  ‘We will, Mr Tobin. Rest assured we are doing all we can. We just need to know who they are. If we knew who this young man was, we could get to the girls.’

  Helen washes her hand over her face this time, giving herself a quiet moment to think.

  ‘Are there any girls in your school suffering with depression that you know about?’ she asks.

  Tobin blows out his cheeks.

  ‘Well… yes, we have so many issues with so many students. Depression?’ He blows his cheeks again. ‘You’d really need to speak with Sana Patel. She’s our safeguarding and student welfare officer. Bloody good at her job, she is. Knows every student inside out.’

  ‘Can you get her on the phone for me?’ Helen asks.

  Tobin stands up, reaches for the mobile phone on his mantle piece and begins to scroll through it.

  ‘Hey, ring her on Facetime… you got Facetime?’ Charlie asks. Tobin looks at him as if he has two heads. ‘Sana Patel, you said, yes?’ Charlie says, taking the phone from Tobin. He scrolls through it, then scrolls through his own phone with his other hand.

  ‘Got her,’ he says,’ holding his own phone in front of his face as a gurgling tone rings.

  ‘Hello,’ a woman answers.

  ‘Ms Patel, my name is Charlie Guilfoyle, I’m a Garda at Terenure station, this here,’ he says turning the screen to face Helen, ‘is Detective Helen Brennan from Rathmines station and I’m sure you know who this man is.’ He turns the screen towards Tobin who holds his hand up to say hello to his colleague.

  ‘Oh my,’ she says, with a subtle Indian accent, ‘what is going on? Are you okay, Patrick?’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ he says.

  ‘It’s a couple of your students we are worried about,’ Charlie says. ‘I want to show you a photograph of a young boy. I need you to tell me if you recognise him.’

  Charlie fumbles with both phones, mumbling to himself as he does so, then turns the image of the boy on his phone towards Tobin’s screen.

  ‘Take your time, Ms Patel, don’t come to a conclusion straight away, allow the image to sink in,’ Helen says. As she’s saying this, she holds her eyes closed in anticipation, her fists clenched inside her coat pockets.

  ‘No. No, sorry. He’s not one of our students. I know the picture isn’t clear, but I could tell if he was one of ours.’

  Helen shows her teeth; her hands tightening into a firmer ball inside her pockets. Then she lets out a huge grunt.

  ‘Okay, Ms Patel. We have one more question for you,’ she then says, trying to compose herself. ‘Can you tell us of any girls who have come to you with any suicidal tendencies recently.’

  ‘Oh my,’ she says ‘what is going on?’

  ‘We just need answers to the questions, Ms Patel,’ Helen says.

  ‘Okay, okay. Let me compose myself. You have me so worried. Suicidal tendencies. No!’ she says, matter of factly.

  Helen holds her eyes closed.

  ‘What about depression? Any female students talk to you about feeling depressed?’

  ‘Oh yes, oh yes,’ Sana says.

  Helen’s eyes widen. And when Charlie glances towards her, she winks at him.

  ‘Can you give me the names of those girls?’ Helen says.

  ‘Of course. But we’d obviously have to go through the proper procedure in order to—’

  Helen snatches the phone from Charlie, pointing the screen towards her own face. She notices Sana balk backwards at the sight of her. Helen’s aware she’s odd looking. Is used to this kind of reaction.

  ‘Excuse my French here, Ms Patel. But fuck procedure. Two students of yours are planning on killing themselves tonight. Two girls. I need access to the list of female students who have ever confided in you about depression.’

  Sana’s mouth falls open. She doesn’t answer. Is too shocked to talk.

  ‘Sana, you have my permission to share the information with these Guards,’ Tobin says. ‘This is an emergency. We’ll deal with all of the red tape tomorrow. Just let these officers do their job as quickly as they can.’

  Sana nods her head.

  ‘Wait there,’ she says. ‘I need to access my computer.’

  Helen winks a thank you towards Patrick, then holds a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. A breakthrough at last. She’s gonna find out who these two girls are. Is gonna save their lives. It’ll make up for the fact, somewhat, that she couldn’t save Scott’s.

  ‘Okay,’ Sana says down the line. ‘I have my notes here. What do you want me to do, read out the names?’

  ‘Yes. Please,’ says Helen.

  Sana clears her throat.

  ‘Okay. Jacinta Archer.’

  Helen nods at Charlie.

  ‘Elaine Bailly. Anna Barnes. Nicole Casey. Elizabeth Clarence. Sarah Dunne…’

  Helen’s eyes squint.

  ‘Are you… are you reading these names in alphabetical order?’ she asks, bringing the screen to her face again.

  ‘Yes, officer,’ Sana says.

  ‘How many girls have you had come to you to talk to you about their depression?’

  ‘This year, officer?’

  Helen nods slowly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Eh… lemme see…’

  Helen watches as Sana’s lips mumble her counting. She looks up at Charlie. Then at Tobin.

  ‘Modern times,’ Tobin says, shrugging his shoulders.

  Helen holds her eyes closed, gripping the phone as firmly as she can, her knuckles whitening.

  ‘One hundred and sixty-four,’ Sana says.

  ‘Ah for fuck sake!’ Helen roars.

  20:35

  Ciara

  I’m breathi
ng really heavily. I’m not used to running so much. Ingrid’s fitter than me. Always has been. She could probably keep on running. But I can’t. I stop. And bend over. I can’t get the slap out of my head. Jees, that was probably bad. But she deserved it.

  Debbie. Drugs.

  I can’t believe it. But I have to. Because I saw it with my own eyes.

  I have my hands on my knees, breathing as heavily as I can to try and get rid of the sharp pain in my chest. Then I hear it. A bus. It’s coming down the road quite fast. I can end it all right here. Right now.

  I grab both of Ingrid’s hands and stare into her eyes.

  ‘Let’s run out in front of it, ye ready?’ I breathe in and out really heavily. ‘On three. One, two—’

  ‘No! Wait!’ Ingrid shouts in my face. ‘I’m not ready. I’m not ready.’

  She releases both of her hands from mine and wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me back as I try to step out onto the road. The bus whizzes by. Beeping its horn.

  Wow. I nearly did it then. I nearly killed myself. After years of telling myself I would do it and chickening out every time, I nearly did it just then. It seems a little bit… I don’t know… exciting.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Ciara,’ Ingrid says, releasing her grip on me and then holding a hand to each side of my face. ‘Let’s calm down a bit. We have a pact. We have to stick to the pact.’

  She’s right. We discussed this last night. Then we wrote out a pact that we swore we’d stick to.

  She uses her weight to push me back a little until I’m sitting on a small wall outside somebody’s house. Then she sits beside me and throws her arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Ciara, how stupid would that have been?’

  I nod my head, then look up to the sky and suck up the wet snot that’s running down my nose. What was I thinking?

  ‘I know. I know,’ I say, blinking away some tears.

  ‘Jesus, we could have ended up in hospital, like vegetables forever.’ I nod my head again, swipe my sleeve under my nostrils and then look at my best mate. ‘You talked me through this,’ she says. ‘We spent two hours talking through this last night. There are ways to do it and ways not to do it. Running out in front of a bus is not a way to do it.’

  I lean my head onto the top of her shoulder.

  ‘It’s just… Debbie. Drugs,’ I say.

  I hear Ingrid swallow.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says.

  Me neither. I really can’t. I’ve a lot going on in my mind right now. But the shock of Debbie doing drugs is taking over.

  ‘And what the hell was that guy doing there?’ I say, taking my head up off Ingrid’s shoulder and turning to face her.

  Her eyes are all wet. She shakes her head, sticks out her bottom lip.

  ‘Were they… were they having sex?’ I ask.

  Her lip stretches out further and then she shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘What a bitch!’ I say.

  ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘It’s Debbie. There must be some… some… what’s-the-word?’

  ‘Explanation?’

  ‘Yeah… explanation, there has to be.’

  I shake my head slowly. I really can’t think straight.

  ‘There was cocaine on the mirror and she was in only her bra and knickers. That old man’s shirt was all open… uuuugh,’ I say as an image of the grey hairs on his chest come into my mind. ‘He was older than our dads.’

  Ingrid closes her eyes. Tight. She’s remembering the chest hair too. Some of it had lipstick marks on it.

  I rub at my face with both hands. Then Ingrid leaps from the small wall, wraps her hands around my waist and leans into me. I place my cheek on top of her head and just look down the street at nothing. The road is totally silent. As are we. Except for the thoughts that are going around in our heads non-stop. We need to shut them up. Shut them up once and for all.

  I’m glad Ingrid stopped me running in front of the bus. Glad we’re going to do this right. Just as we had planned. It won’t be long. Two more bus rides. Two more houses to visit. Then we’re done. For good.

  I suck up my nose again, to stop snot from dropping onto Ingrid’s beautiful hair. I’ve always loved her hair. Never been jealous of it though. Ingrid is too nice to ever be jealous of. I’ve only ever been jealous of her once; when she told me that Stitch asked her to be his girlfriend. I fancied him first.

  ‘If anything, tonight has proved we’ve made the right decision,’ she says, lifting her head. ‘Think about it. You tried to say goodbye to your mum, she didn’t want to know. You tried to say goodbye to Debbie, she didn’t want to know. I know some people love us but…’ Ingrid shrugs her shoulder as tears start to fall down her cheeks. She wipes one of them with her baby finger, then smiles up at me. Not a real smile. A fake smile. A pity smile.

  ‘No need for us to cry,’ I say, leaping off the wall. ‘We’ve made a decision. There’s not long to go, Ingrid. Couple more stops. Soon all this pain will be gone.’

  We hug each other, knowing there’s probably going to be another fifty hugs like this before we finally do it.

  ‘So… off to Harriet’s, then. You know what you’re going to say to her?’

  Ingrid almost laughs. Then she shakes her head.

  ‘Same problem isn’t it? Got to say goodbye without letting anybody know we’re saying goodbye,’ she says.

  I think of my mam again; imagining her crashing to her knees when the police call to the house after our bodies are found. Sobbing her heart out. But she’ll only be crying because of herself. Not because of me. Then I think of my dad; wondering how he’ll take the news. He’ll be put out. He’ll have a funeral to arrange. A drunk wife he’ll have to try to keep sober until the funeral is all done. He’ll be so relieved when it’s all out of the way. Then he can get back to doing… whatever the hell it is he does.

  ‘Think your dad will do a show about us?’ I say as Ingrid’s parents come into my mind.

  Ingrid nods her head.

  ‘Definitely,’ she says. ‘He’ll even begin some sort of suicide charity, won’t he?’

  We stand in silence thinking about that. She’s right. That’s exactly what Terry Murphy will do. He’ll be on every chat show in Ireland talking about us over the next few months. Pity we won’t be around to see that. I’ve thought about that kinda thing a lot over the years. It’s quite annoying that I’ll never be around to see the aftermath of my suicide. My mam crashing to her knees. My dad rolling his eyes during the funeral as my mam cries into his chest like a baby. The students at our school being given the news at assembly in the morning. The look on the faces of those who will feel most of the guilt.

  Jaysus, if only we could turn into ghosts straight after we die and come back and watch all of the carnage we’ve left behind. That’d be ace.

  ‘Will we go then?’ Ingrid says, shivering a little. We’ve been standing in the cold too long, thinking about stuff we’ve thought about way too many times already.

  ‘C’mon then, let’s catch the bus to Harriet’s. I promise I won’t try to jump in front of it this time.’

  Ingrid puffs another one of those laughs out of her nose, then throws her arm around me as we walk towards the bus stop on the far end of the road. We’re strolling, very slowly, when flashing blue lights flicker in the sky.

  ‘Girls,’ a voice calls out. ‘Stop right there!’

  20:40

  Debbie

  I hold my hand to my cheek. Jesus fuckin Christ did that hurt. Not just the slap. But her running away, the disappointment on her chubby little face. I haven’t seen Ciara’s face that purple since she used to struggle to poo into her nappy when I first started minding her. I feel so bad. So guilty.

  I shiver as I walk back towards my house, holding my bathrobe closed around my waist. I’m not sure if most of my shivering is down to the cold, maybe it’s the guilt; the embarrassment. I pivot my head up and down my street as I walk, hoping none of the neighbours come strolling by.

  But
I’m not really that concerned about myself. I’m only concerned about Ciara. How the hell would she even know what cocaine is? Surely it just looks like bloody salt or sugar to her. I hold my eyes closed and allow a loud groan to force its way from the back of my throat and all the way out through my mouth. Then I stop walking.

  ‘Oh my God, she’s going to tell her folks isn’t she?’

  I look up to the darkening sky and try to think it all through.

  I know she also saw Gerry with his shirt undone and me back in my lingerie. But what could she deduce from that? She’s too young. Or am I just being a fuckin idiot; assuming Ciara is and always will be a baby?

  I hold my hand to my cheek again to try to rid it of the stinging. Jesus, she gave me a fair oul whack. Come on — get your thoughts together, Debbie. Try to think straight. Ciara and Ingrid came into the house for whatever reason. I rushed them out. Then Ciara came back and saw the coke. Threw the mirror against the wall. Saw a man on my couch with his shirt undone, me back in my lingerie. Shit… this doesn’t look good.

  She’s probably off home right now, to tell Michael and Vivian that I do Class A drugs.

  I let out another groan. Then squelch up my nose and shake my head.

  Fuck Vivian and Michael. Sure they probably do coke themselves. I’m certain Michael has always had the glazed eyeballs of a coke user. And Viv, well, I’m not sure Viv does coke. She wouldn’t take her nose away from her glasses of wine long enough to sniff a line. They probably won’t give a shit if Ciara runs home and tells them. Sure, why am I even worrying about Michael and Vivian Joyce? It’s not them I give a shit about. It’s Ciara. I wanted her to be a part of my life forever. I know I haven’t seen her much lately, but I just assumed she’d always be there; like a little sister to me. I fuckin raised her. I can’t just let her go out of my life.

  I head towards my garden gate and as I do so, I decide I’ll ring their house in the morning. To make sure I explain myself. Tell her I wouldn’t even dream of doing drugs. That it’s not my thing. I’ll take her out somewhere nice next weekend. Treat her. I’ve been meaning to spend more time with her anyway. I’ve missed her.