‘But eh… what’s your name?’
Helen doesn’t answer. She hops back into the police car, reverses it, the front bumper hanging off, and then waves her hand at the man as she speeds off again.
The noise of the bumper scraping against the road can be heard over the siren, but Helen doesn’t care. She’ll deal with the whole mess in the morning. Eddie will look after it. A new bumper will mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Saving lives is the most important thing a copper can do; isn’t that what the police force is for: serving and protecting the public? She’s going to protect two members of the public in the most heroic way imaginable.
‘I’m coming, girls,’ she screams to herself. ‘Hold on. Don’t do anything yet. Helen’s on her way.’
She turns the car, its wheels screeching, its bumper scraping and its siren blaring, onto the road Abigail said the two girls lived on and then slows down so she can make out the numbers on the doors of the large houses. She’s not surprised the girls seem to come from good stock. That tends to be the way. It’s rare that it’s poor girls who attempt suicide. It’s more likely those who feel they can’t live up to the expectations set on them by their successful parents. She thinks that might have been why Scott did it. He showed no signs of depression. Perhaps he just felt inadequate because of their regarded status as Detectives. Though — having wracked her brain for twenty-two years — Helen really hasn’t come to any conclusion. It eats at her that she will never know the answer. That’s why she’s eager for her and Eddie to move to Canada. The quiet, the calm. She’s certain it will dilute the prominence of that question repeating itself over and over in her mind.
When she sees one of the numbers she’s searching for, she abandons the car in the middle of the street, strides towards the front door and lifts the knocker before slamming it back down three times as loudly as she possibly can.
A light comes on in the hallway before the door inches open,
‘Jesus, why you knocking so hard, everything alright?’ a woman says. She notices the police car over Helen’s shoulder and then holds a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh Jesus.’
‘Ma’am, I’m Detective Brennan from Rathmines Garda station… I need to speak with your daughter as a matter of urgency.’
‘Oh my God, what’s she done? What’s she done?’
The woman takes a step backwards, her eyes widening, her fists forming into a ball.
‘We believe your daughter’s life is in danger. It’s imperative I speak with her as soon as possible.’
The woman holds both balls of fists either side of her face, digging them into her cheeks.
‘Mum, Mum. What’s wrong?’ a girl appearing at the top of the stairs, wearing polka dot pyjamas, calls out.
The woman looks up at her, then swallows.
‘Louise, you need to get yourself down here right now! The police are here to talk to you.’
23:40
Terry
‘That’s all very well and good that you think you are doing the right thing, Minister, but I put it to you that your opinion is wrong. Just give me a second here to read you out some statistics. In 2013, the number of road deaths in Ireland was one hundred and eighty-eight. The following year one hundred and ninety-three. In 2015, one hundred and sixty-two, then back up to one eighty-six in 2016. Yes, in 2017 there was small drop again, to one-five-seven, but in each of the past two years the number has slightly increased again. I put it to you, that labelling the methods you have introduced over the past six years as ‘a fantastic success’ is nothing more than a fairy-tale. Isn’t that right Minist—’
‘Terry, Terry… wake up.’
My eyes dart open. I can’t see a thing, but I can hear her — and smell her.
‘What the fuck, Greta?’ I say, slapping the mattress.
‘Terry, Ingrid is in trouble. Something’s definitely up.’
I hold my eyes closed as tightly as I can, then open them wide, just so I can try to focus. I turn to the digital clock on my side table. 23:41.
‘What are you talkin’ about?’
‘Terry — Ingrid and Ciara… they called over to Brendan and Harriet’s house earlier, they were also at Ciara’s former child minder. We’ve just been on calls to each of them; they all say the girls were acting really weird. I’m so worried, Terry, I … I…’
I can feel her knees vibrate against the bed, so I hold my hand out to reach her; see if I can calm her down a bit. Then I pull back the duvet and manage to throw my legs out of the side of the bed, yelping out a yawn as I do so.
‘Calm down, Greta,’ I say, ‘there’s no need to get all dramatic. Start again. What did you wake me up for?’
She takes a deep breath, then sits down beside me.
‘Ingrid and Ciara visited two houses tonight. Two that we know of. And they acted really strangely in both of them. I told you… I told you when they were going out that door tonight that Ingrid couldn’t even look me in the eye. Something’s up… something major.’
‘Like what?’ I ask, twisting the balls of my palms into my eye sockets.
I hear her shrug.
‘I dunno,’ she says.
‘Well, then, how am I supposed to know? I’ve just been asleep, haven’t I? How do you suppose I know what the hell our daughter’s up to when I’ve been snoring my head off?’
I hear her gasp a little bit. Maybe that was a bit harsh. But she knows darn well I have a big interview in the morning.
‘Terry, your daughter might be in trouble,’ she says.
I stand up, click at the switch on the lamp by my bedside and then sit back down, holding the palm of my hand to my wife’s lower back.
‘How the hell do you get from her visiting her cousin to her being in trouble, Greta? Are you sure you’re not being a bit dramatic here? Ingrid and Ciara — they’re teenagers now. This is the sorta stuff teenagers get up to…. Listen,’ I say, moving my hand up to grip her shoulder, ‘I’ll give her an earful tomorrow when she gets back from school. But…. I mean, there’s nothing I can do right now, is there? I’m in my bloody boxer shorts, and I have to get up in five hours’ time.’
‘Terry… Brendan was giving them a lift home when they both got out of his car and ran. They left a book behind; a book Harriet had lent to Ingrid. Ingrid had signed it before she handed it back, writing ‘I love you Harriet’. You know that’s not like our daughter. I think she might be running away; her and Ciara.’
‘Huh?’ I say. ‘What would they be running away for?’
Greta shrugs again. She’s really good at posing questions; is shit at answering them. A bit like the politicians I interview.
‘Well… have you checked her wardrobe, did she take any clothes or anything like that?’
Greta stands up, then sprints out of our room. I hear her as she rifles through Ingrid’s wardrobe, sweeping hangers aside.
‘No… no everything seems to be here’, she shouts out to me.
‘Shhh… Jesus, be quite will ye. You’ll wake Sven.’
I hold both of my hands over my face and then sigh as deeply as I can into them.
‘Terry, I’m really frightened. I don’t know what’s going on, I just know I don’t like it,’ Greta says, pacing back into our bedroom.
I hate that I’m awake right now. Hate that it’ll play havoc with my performance tomorrow. But I know I can’t really have a go at Greta, especially while she’s shaking so much and almost in tears. It’s just… I don’t know what it is she wants me to do.
‘Let me go get you a cup of tea and we can have a little chat, huh?’ I say, standing up, tapping her on the shoulder as I walk by and then scratching my balls as I head down the stairs.
‘What the fuck!?’ I say, reeling back, cupping my hands over my boxers.
‘Sorry,’ the woman says. And then I recognise her. It’s her from up the road, Ciara’s mam. What’s-er-name… ‘I eh… didn’t realise you were going to come down the stairs half naked.’
‘Oh sorry,
Terry,’ Greta says, running across our landing. ‘Yeah… Vivian’s here. We’re both a bit unsure what to do. That’s why I decided to wake you.’
I stare up the stairs at my wife, then back down at Vivian.
‘Well, first things first…’ I say, ‘How about I get some clothes on.’
Helen stares at the back of Louise’s polka dot pyjamas as she follows her and her mother into their plush kitchen, all the while wondering what the hell Louise is doing dressed for bed when she is supposed to be killing herself in a half an hour.
The light is so bright in the kitchen that it makes the windowed patio doors look as if they’ve been painted jet-black.
Louise’s mother pulls out a chair, motions for Helen to sit it in and then seats herself in the chair next to it, her hands shaking. Louise walks around the opposite side of the table but remains standing, her arms folded.
‘There’s no need to be shaking,’ Helen says, gripping the mother’s hands as she sits. ‘I’m here now, everything is okay.’
‘Wh-what is going on?’ the mother stutters.
Helen purses her lips at her, then flicks her eyes towards Louise.
‘Louise… whatever it is you are planning to do at midnight, I’m here to save you. I am the mother of somebody who—’
‘What?’ Louise screeches, her face contorting.
Helen grips the mother’s hands even tighter.
‘Tommy… Tommy Smith, he told us what you and Sinead are planning on doing tonight.’
Louise pulls at the back of a chair, scoots it towards herself, sits in it, then rests both of her elbows on the table and stares at Helen.
‘What are you talking about, officer?’
Helen looks back at the mother, then at Louise again.
Silence.
‘Officer… please, please tell us what’s going on,’ the mother says, her voice shaking as much as her hands.
Helen swallows.
‘Louise, be honest with me now, be honest with your mother. As I was about to say to you, I am not just a Detective, I am the mother of a son who died by suicide… I have studied suicide for many years. Decades. You need to be honest. Are you and Sinead Longthorn planning on ending your lives at midnight tonight?’
Louise breathes out a laugh. Her mother’s eyes go wide, her arms — releasing from Helen’s grip — stretch across the table, so she can cling to her daughter’s fingers.
‘Mam,’ Louise says, shaking her head. ‘Relax. This is all… this is…’ She rolls her shoulders, shakes her head with disbelief.
‘It’s okay, Louise,’ Helen says slowly. ‘Open up to us now; I’m here to tell you life is worth—’
‘What the hell are you talking about, officer?’ Louise says, standing back up. She walks around the table, to her mother, and places her hands atop both of her shoulders. ‘I was asleep in bed until you came banging down the door.’
Helen swallows again, then her eyes dart from left to right.
‘Officer?’ The mother says, squinting.
‘I eh… I… where is Sinead Longthorn?’ Helen asks.
‘The Longthorns, they’re in Majorca aren’t they, pet?’ the mother says, turning to look up at her daughter.
Louise nods her head.
‘Yeah, they’ve been away the past couple weeks during the mid-term, they’re due home on Saturday.’
Helen holds her eyes closed, reality washing through her stomach.
‘In Majorca,’ she whispers. Then she opens her eyes. ‘So you two aren’t… you eh… you didn’t make a pact?’
‘What the hell is going on here, Louise? Tell me!’ the mother says, standing up and turning to grip her daughter in a bear hug.
‘Relax, Mam, I don’t know where this officer is getting all of this from.’
Helen stands too, causing her chair to squeak across the kitchen tiles.
‘The welfare officer at your school — Abigail — she said you and Sinead have shown signs of depression over the past few months, says you are dealing with a big bullying issue.’
‘What!?’ the mother says, leaning herself off her daughter so that she can stare into her eyes.
‘Yeah… we reported some bullying that’s been going on and Ms Jensen — Abigail — gave us some leaflets about depression and teen suicide statistics last week. But it was… it was nothing. Me and Sinead looked at the leaflets and wondered if Jensen was going crazy. It was way over the top. We’re getting bullied at school… and a bit online… but it’s… I mean, we’re not going to kill ourselves. We never would. We were just reporting the bullying.’
‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ the mother says, grabbing Louise in for another hug. ‘Why didn’t you tell me… sweet Lord.’
‘Relax, Mam… it’s all okay. It’s nothing.’
Helen stares at Louise and her mother holding each other in the middle of their kitchen, before her eyes flick to the microwave clock. 11:45. Fifteen minutes left to save… whoever it is she is supposed to save. And here she is, standing in the wrong fucking kitchen.
‘Louise,’ she says tentatively. ‘Is there any reason Tommy Smith would ring in to two police stations to tell us two girls are planning on committing suicide?’
Louise releases the grip her mother has on her, then sticks her bottom lip out and shakes her head.
‘I don’t think anybody believes anything Tommy Smith says. I mean… somebody told me he’s hanging around with a gang of older fellas now.’
Helen holds a hand to her face, covering her eyes so she can squeeze them shut in an attempt to defuse the migraine that is threatening to flare up.
‘Are there any girls, that you know of from your school, who you think might be planning on ending their lives?’ she asks, her hand still covering her face.
Louise puffs out her cheeks.
‘No,’ she says.
‘No girls who might be depressed?’ Helen asks.
Louise puffs again, this time almost laughing.
‘Who isn’t depressed these days?’ she says. ‘All of the girls talk to Ms Jensen about some problem or other. I think she just diagnoses anyone who has a small problem as being depressed. She’s just ticking boxes, isn’t she? Isn’t that what working in a school is all about? That’s what me and Sinead have noticed since we started going to secondary school. All the teachers are just following protocol. They’re just protecting themselves in case anything happens. They aren’t interested in the students, not really. They’re only interested in themselves.’
‘Louise, please. Think. I have good reason to believe two girls from your school are going to kill themselves tonight. If it’s not you and Sinead… who is it?’
Helen removes the hand from her face, takes one large stride towards Louise and grips her shoulders. Louise is tiny, the top of her head just about reaching to Helen’s chest.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s anyone at my school who is suicidal. Of course I don’t. If I believed that, I’d have reported it, wouldn’t I?’
Helen’s eyes glaze over as she stares down at Louise, then she lightly pats her on both shoulders and spins on her heels.
‘I’m so sorry to bother you two,’ she says as she walks out of the kitchen and down the long, narrow hallway before reaching the front door.
‘Is that it?’ the mother yells after her. ‘Officer… officer, is that it? You’re just gonna leave us with that bombshell?’
Helen doesn’t answer. She pulls at the door and steps out into the garden, then sucks in some fresh air through the gaps in her teeth. It’s more of a cringe than a breath.
She wobbles down the garden path, her head racing. Then she sees it. The police car with the bumper hanging off and the front light smashed.
‘Oh for fuck sake, Helen,’ she whispers to herself.
23:45
Ingrid
Neither of us have said a word to each other since we sat upstairs on the bus. We were holding hands for a few minutes, then Ciara let go and leaned in to me. I have my ar
m wrapped around her; her head snuggled into my chest.
The bus seems to be moving in slow motion, swaying us a little as it makes its way out of Crumlin. We’ll probably arrive in about ten minutes or so. Our last stop. Ever. At least I think it is. I’m pretty sure we’re actually going to go through with this.
There’s not much time to back out now anyway. There was a tiny part of me that had always felt Ciara was too frightened to commit suicide, no matter how many times she spoke to me about it. But last night, as we were coming up with our pact, I could see in her eyes how excited she was that she was finally going to do it. The fact that I was on board obviously made a huge difference to her. She told me I was the reason she had stopped herself doing it before. But if I wanted to die, then so the hell did she.
I stroke her hair and as I do, she places one of her hands on my knee. We’re both just staring out the front window of the bus, at nothing because it’s too dark to make anything out. The pictures in my mind are more clear than the picture in front of us. I’ve been thinking about Sven; about how he’ll be affected if I commit suicide. I’m hoping it helps him more than anything, though. When he grows up and learns what happened to his older sister, he’ll feel that his condition — whatever it is — isn’t so bad. He’ll know life is only as good as his mind. And his mind will always be good because he doesn’t know what bad is. I don’t think he’ll ever be clever enough to be depressed. I spent part of this morning lying on my bed wishing I had his condition.
Besides, Sven will get more attention from Mum and Dad if I’m dead. It’ll all work out fine for him. There’s no need for me to worry about my little brother. There’s certainly no need for me to be going back over the thoughts I’ve had going through my mind all day anyway. I need to shut it off; can’t wait to shut it off. I’m sure we’re doing the right thing. It’ll be better for everyone when I’m gone.
I look at my digital watch. 23:47. Almost there, the last minutes of our lives ticking away.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 71
