The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  Ingrid looks at Ciara.

  ‘Sally Sweeney,’ Ciara says.

  ‘The Sweeneys? I don’t know any Sweeneys that live around here,’ I say.

  Ciara laughs.

  ‘Ah they do… around two corners actually. They live just off the main Crumlin Road.’

  I don’t believe her.

  ‘Eh… why don’t I ring your parents, Ingrid?’ I say.

  ‘I’ve just got off a call from Superintendent Newell at Terenure Garda station.’

  Helen holds her eyes closed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie,’ she whispers.

  ‘Off investigating the suicide angle? Bringing some rookie with you on a wild goose chase?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You told me you were tucked up on the sofa watching TV.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie,’ she says, ensuring this time that each word is pronounced clearly and slowly.

  ‘How bloody dare you? I don’t know whether I’m more angry at you dipping your nose in further than you ever have before, or more angry because you lied to me.’

  Helen stays silent. There’s only so many times she can say the word ‘sorry’ — especially if it’s making zero impact.

  She’s still cringing, outwardly anyway; her right shoulder slumped lower than her left, her head tilted, her teeth clenched tight. But inside she’s feeling somewhat relieved. Eddie isn’t aware she’s stolen a police car. He only knows that Helen was out with Charlie, sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.

  ‘Christ, what were you thinking? You bloody chased away the most significant witness we have.’

  ‘It wasn’t me who chased him away, Eddie. It was the naivety of the young officer I was with—’

  ‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near a young officer. Nowhere near one!’ Eddie’s voice is getting sterner now; Helen wincing at the obvious fury in his tone. He’s been so patient with Helen for so many years that she feels really guilty when she irritates him. Yet sometimes — especially when it comes to work — she just can’t help herself. Though she’s never gone this far; had never taken another officer on a wild goose chase, pretending to be a Detective. ‘I’m mortified… imagine being told my administrative assistant is out leading an investigation, posing as a bloody Detective.’

  Helen hangs her head when she stops at a red light, allowing another silence to settle between them.

  ‘Where are you now?’ Eddie says, trying to regain control of his tone.

  Helen shifts her head slightly forward, so she can look upwards through the windscreen at the buildings surrounding her. She can make out the old Victorian houses of the Highfield Road to her right; the Rathmines Clock Tower standing tall in the distance.

  ‘I’m on my way home,’ she says.

  Helen hears Eddie mumbling to himself. It’s undecipherable, but the fact that he’s even doing this is quite telling. Eddie doesn’t normally talk to himself; not like Helen does.

  ‘I hope to hell you are,’ he grunts.

  Helen says nothing; then shifts into first gear and takes off slowly across the junction.

  ‘I’ll speak with you first thing in the morning. Forget going out for breakfast; you and I need to have a serious conversation. We need to re-evaluate what you do in our station; whether or not you should be doing anything at all.’

  Helen’s nostrils stiffen.

  ‘Eddie—’

  ‘I’m serious, Helen. Deadly serious. I blame myself. I shouldn’t have said a word to you about these calls. I shudda known as soon as you heard the word suicide that you would go off on one. I just… I can’t keep taking the blame and dealing with the guilt every time you fuck up at work.’

  ‘Eddie. Don’t… I’ll do anything. Anything. If I don’t have my job… I have nothing.’

  ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’ Eddie’s tone is softening, his volume lowering. ‘Just… just answer me this question, will you, Hel?’

  Helen holds her eyes closed again.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Did you take your pill today?’

  She opens her eyes wide and then rolls them backwards, just as she’s rolling the car to a slow stop. She stares out the driver’s side window and brings the phone a little closer to her lips.

  ‘Yes!’ she says.

  ‘Good… good. I hate prying about that, but… y’know. Just felt like I should ask.’

  ‘Good night, Eddie,’ Helen says.

  She presses at the red button; her eyes still haven’t blinked since she started to stare out the window.

  She shuffles in the car seat, so she can place her phone back into the pocket of her leather coat, then pushes the door open and steps outside, crunching the gravel beneath her feet as she strolls across the car park.

  She takes one large breath when she reaches the small porch way and then pulls at the heavy door.

  ‘Ah… hello again, Detective,’ the barman calls out. He’s stopped drying glasses; is resting his forearms on the bar, chatting with one of the punters.

  Helen nods a hello back at him, then begins to peer around the square room at all of the faces in attendance. She spots him at the back of the room, holding a pint glass to his mouth, his eyes peering at her over the rim of it.

  ‘You need to come with me again,’ she says.

  He places his glass back down on the table to a tsunami of mumbles floating around the bar, then rises slowly out of his seat, placing both sets of his fingers on the table for balance.

  Helen watches as he brushes his feet against the carpet, shuffling his way towards the exit. She spins on her heels, takes in everybody’s face, ending with the barman, and then paces out the door after him.

  ‘Brother Fitzpatrick, you need to sober yourself up as quickly as you can,’ she says. ‘Two of your students’ lives are in serious danger. And you and I have less than an hour to save them.’

  Fitzpatrick bends over slightly, his hands resting on his knees.

  ‘Course I’ll help,’ he says, a slight slur in his delivery. ‘I’d do anything for my students.’

  Helen stares at him, her hands on her hips.

  ‘I bet you would,’ she says, before storming towards the Garda car.

  ‘Hey… what does that mean?’ Fitzpatrick calls after her. He then burps into his chest while rising to a standing position and shuffles towards Helen. By the time he’s climbed into the police car, Helen is staring him down. As if she’s the Headteacher and he a student who’s just got caught smoking behind the bike shed.

  ‘Where you taking me?’ he says, looking up at her.

  ‘Your house.’

  ‘My house? My house? For what? I don’t want the neighbours seeing—’

  ‘Brother! Two of your students are in grave danger. You need to understand the serious nature of what the hell I’m saying to you.’

  Fitzpatrick holds both of his hands aloft.

  ‘Okay… okay,’ he says, blinking. ‘You’re eh… quicker walking to my house, down that lane-way back there.’

  ‘The last time I ran down that lane,’ Helen says as she reverses the car from its space, ‘I ended up like you were a few seconds ago, Brother… my hands on my knees, struggling for breath. We’ll take the car, thank you very much. Won’t be long.’

  Fitzpatrick lays the back of his head on to the rest and they both sit in silence, save for the odd clicking of indicator lights every so often, before Helen is pulling up the handbrake and removing the keys from the ignition. Fitzpatrick’s head pivots to look out any window he can see out of in search of neighbours’ curtains twitching.

  ‘Right,’ Helen says. ‘We’re gonna go inside. We’re gonna sober you up. And then…’ Fitzpatrick stops staring around himself to look at Helen, his eyes glazed over. ‘And then I’m going to ask you about something you mentioned to me when I first met you earlier.’

  ‘Huh?’ Fitzpatrick says, tilting his head like a puppy dog.

  Helen puffs out a small sigh.

  ‘When I first broug
ht you outside that pub an hour or so ago, the first words that came out of your mouth were “I’m sorry”…. As soon as you sober up, Brother, you better explain in detail to me just what the fuck it is you were saying sorry for.’

  23:20

  Ciara

  ‘The friend’s house that you say is around the corner… what’s the family name?’ Miss asks.

  Ah bleedin’ hell! I think she might be trying to catch us out. She knows we’ve been lying to her.

  ‘Sally Sweeney,’ I say as quickly as I can. Don’t know where I pulled that name out of, but I knew I had to answer before Ingrid caved in.

  ‘The Sweeneys? I don’t know any Sweeneys that live around here,’ Miss says.

  I laugh a little, just to come across as if I’m calm. I always do this when I’m lying.

  ‘Ah they do… around two corners actually, they live just off the main Crumlin Road.’

  Miss Moriarty stares at Jamie, then back at me and Ingrid.

  ‘Eh… why don’t I ring your parents, Ingrid?’ she asks.

  Oh no. This isn’t going to end well.

  ‘No, there’s no need,’ I say, standing up. ‘They’re not in anyway. They’re around in the Sweeneys’ house waiting on us to get back to them. We said we’d pop around to see you for ten minutes and I guess… well, we really shouldn’t be taking up too much of your time.’

  Miss Moriarty’s forehead wrinkles as if she’s just become an old woman in the space of two seconds.

  ‘Girls, are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ I say, tugging at Ingrid’s elbow. ‘C’mon, Ingrid, it’s getting on to midnight. Let’s leave Miss and Jamie to it.’

  Ingrid stands up but I can tell by her face that she’s ready to crack. I need to get her out of here quickly. She throws her arms around Miss again.

  ‘I’m gonna miss you,’ she says.

  ‘Miss me? Sure you can call by anytime you want. Don’t be silly.’

  ‘She’s only getting sentimental because you’re pregnant, Miss,’ I say, laughing. Jamie laughs too. ‘C’mon, Ingrid.’ I yank at her elbow again.

  When Ingrid finally releases her grip on Miss and turns to face me, I hold my hand up to high five Jamie once more. And then Ingrid does the same.

  Miss follows us into the tiny square hallway and, after I’ve opened the front door, I turn to her and hug her myself.

  ‘You’re the best teacher in the world,’ I say. Then I turn away from her for the last time ever and step into her small garden.

  ‘Stay safe, you two,’ she says, as we open her gate. And suddenly her door is closed and we both know we’ve finished our last goodbyes. I don’t know how we managed it, but we did. I wasn’t a big fan of the last goodbye thing; it was Ingrid’s idea. But it’s kinda cool that we got around to doing it. I’m glad I found out Debbie takes drugs. I can die knowing who she truly is. And I’m glad we found out Miss Moriarty is pregnant. She deserves all the happiness she gets. Maybe her having twin girls come into her life in a few months time will take away the sadness she will feel for us dying. They’ll be like our two little replacements in life; our two substitutes.

  ‘Hey, I wonder if Miss’ twins will be us being reincarnated,’ I say as we walk towards the bus stop.

  Ingrid laughs out of her nose.

  ‘Could you imagine Miss Moriarty being your mum? Wow. How perfect would that life be?’ she says.

  I know Ingrid doesn’t believe in any of that nonsense about reincarnation or religion at all. I’ve always known, but we had a long conversation about it after we came up with the pact last night. We don’t believe we’re going to come back in other bodies, we don’t believe we’re going to end up in some Heaven. We just know that once we die, that’s it — we’re gone. And that’s why we’re doing it. Because we want to be gone. We want our minds to shut up; to stop going round and round and round in circles. I can’t imagine going to Heaven and having to stay with these thoughts for eternity. That wouldn’t be Heaven. That would be Hell. Anyway; it’s all bullshit. You’d have to be really stupid to believe life goes on and on and on forever.

  ‘I wonder what she’ll call the two girls; might call them Ingrid and Ciara, in memory of us,’ I say.

  Ingrid laughs through her nose again.

  ‘Could do,’ she says. ‘It’s a pity we’ll never meet them though, isn’t it?’

  I stop walking and turn my face to her, just as we’re stepping onto the main Crumlin Road.

  ‘You’re not changing your mind just so you can see Miss’ twins are you?’

  Ingrid laughs again.

  ‘No… jeez, course not,’ she says, and then she throws her arm around my shoulder and we continue to walk, like Siamese twins, to the bus stop.

  ‘I really thought we were in trouble there,’ I say. ‘She asked a hell of a lot of questions, didn’t she?’

  ‘She just knows us so well,’ Ingrid replies. ‘I saw the way she was looking at us, she kind of knew something was up. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.’

  I nod my head.

  ‘Yeah, I really thought she was going to catch us out when she was asking about our made up friend around the corner. And then… jeez, when she asked if she could ring your parents… I didn’t know what to do. The last thing we need right now is your mam finding out what’s been going on. She’d just want to ring the police straight away, wouldn’t she?’

  23:25

  Harriet

  Uuugh. I can’t sleep; can’t get Conor out of my head. The bastard. I bet he’s curled up with her somewhere now, his arms wrapped around her waist, his cock hard against the crack of her ass. I wish he was doing that to me right now. I’m such a fucking idiot. Why do I always fall for the bad boys? I never learn. I hate being a girl. Boys have it so much easier.

  I turn over in my bed again, facing my window and stare at all of the books sitting on the windowsill. I make a silent promise to myself that I’ll read them… one day. But I’ve been making that same promise for months… maybe even years at this stage. I really need to grow up.

  It’s so difficult for me to try to face the reality that I’m an adult now. Eighteen. And supposed to have it all sussed. It’s so shitty that people of my age are supposed to know what they want to do for the rest of their lives. I haven’t a clue what I want to do next week, never mind thirty years from now.

  I’m just going to take that job in the shop, bring in a few quid for the summer and then think about what I want to do with my life. I wouldn’t mind travelling; going to Australia for a year or something. But I couldn’t leave Dad alone. He’d be lost without me. Not that we do a lot together; he’s normally downstairs slouched on the sofa watching TV while I’m up here listening to Take That CDs, thinking about boys.

  I face the other way, away from the books and then try to breathe really slowly. I imagine a flock of sheep in a field, taking turns to jump over a bale of hay.

  Uuugh. This is bullshit. Whoever said counting sheep will help you fall asleep? I can’t get past nine without imagining Conor’s perfect teeth when he smiles. I’d love to be kissing that smile right now, my tongue circling his mouth.

  I circle my tongue in my own mouth and realise it’s dry. I really should bring a glass of water to bed with me every night. I never do. I always seem to catch myself stewing whether or not it’s worth it for me to get out from under my warm duvet, walk down the stairs and step onto the cold tiles of the kitchen to fill a glass of water.

  Fuck it. I turn over again, stare at the window blind as if that’s going to quench my thirst and help me fall asleep.

  Then I let out a yelp and whip the duvet away from me. I step out of bed, stretch my arms over my head and decide to brave the coldness of the kitchen tiles.

  I can hear the TV blare as I make my way down the stairs. He’s watching some cop show; probably an old episode of Hill Street Blues. I wish he’d get up off that sofa; go down the pub or something and talk to some people. Perhaps he’d even meet another
woman; a step mum that could help me answer the thousand questions I have about being a woman. But I know he never will. He’s married to my mam until he dies too. It’s kinda cute I guess… but also a little sad. He has lots of years left. And I just know he’s going to spend all of them on that sofa.

  I hiss as I tip-toe over the cold tiles to get to the sink, then I fill a glass and down it as quickly as I can before filling it back up and strolling towards the stairs again. I notice the time on the microwave clock as I pass it; 11:30.

  ‘Holy fuck!’ I say, my body jumping, some of the water leaping from my glass. ‘Jesus, Dad, don’t sneak up on me like that!’

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he says, ‘I wasn’t sneaking up on you. Was just gonna have meself another cup of tea.’

  I let out a disappointed sigh; not because I got a fright, not because I have to soak up the spillage, but because I’ve snapped at Dad. Again. I hate snapping at him. He never deserves it. He just seems to get in the way of my shitty life every now and then.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ I say.

  He grabs at a tea towel and begins to mop up my mess for me.

  ‘Ye can’t sleep, huh?’ he asks looking up from his crouched position. I shake my head. ‘You haven’t been able to sleep right these past couple weeks… everything okay?’

  ‘Course it is, Dad,’ I say. ‘I’m just stressing a little about the Leaving Cert exams.’ That’s a lie. I genuinely couldn’t give a shit about them; not now that I’ve decided I’m not going to go to college.

  ‘You’ll be fine, love,’ he says, standing back up to nudge his knuckles against my cheek.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say, taking a sip. ‘You eh… get the girls home okay?’

  ‘No,’ he says, folding the tea towel in half. ‘The two of them legged it on me. They got me to stop off at the garage on the canal road and then just said “thanks” and ran off.’