“When was that?”
Lou thought hard. “Last Christmas. No phone calls, no computer. Last Christmas.”
The barman was dubious. “You didn’t take a holiday this year?”
“Took a week. With the kids.” He wrinkled up his nose. “Fucking sand everywhere. On my laptop, in my phone. And this.” He reached into his pocket and took out his BlackBerry and slammed it on the bar counter.
“Careful.”
“This thing. Follows me everywhere; sand in it and it still works. The drug of the nation. This thing.” He poked it, mistakenly pressing some buttons, which lit up the screen. A picture of Ruth and the kids smiled back at him. Bud with his big silly toothless grin; Lucy’s big brown eyes peeping out from under her fringe; Ruth holding them both. Holding them all together. He studied it momentarily with a smile on his face. Then the light went out and the picture faded to black. “In the B’hamas,” he continued, “and beep-beep, they got me. Beep-beep, beep-beep, they get me.” He laughed again. “And the red light. I see it in my sleep, in the shower, every time I close my eyes, the red light and the beep-beep. I hate the fucking beep-beep.”
“So take a day off,” the barman said.
“Can’t. Too much to do.”
“Well, now that you’re cloned, you can take all the days off that you want,” the barman joked.
“Yeah.” Lou smiled dreamily. “There’s so much I want to do.”
“Like what?” The barman leaned in, looking forward to hearing this crazy guy’s dream.
“The blonde that was here a minute ago,” Lou said, then laughed loudly as the barman shook his head and wandered off to another drunk at the end of the bar.
“IT’S OKAY, SWEETIE, IT’S OKAY, Daddy’s here,” Lou said, holding Lucy’s hair from her face and rubbing her back as she leaned over the toilet and vomited for the twentieth time that night. He sat on the bathroom tiles in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and leaned against the bathtub as her tiny body convulsed one more time and expelled more vomit.
“Daddy…” Her voice was small through her tears.
“It’s okay, sweetie, I’m here,” he repeated sleepily. “It’s almost over.” It had to be. How much more could her tiny body get rid of?
Every twenty minutes he’d gone from sleeping in Lucy’s bed to assisting her in the bathroom, her body going from freezing to boiling and back again in a matter of minutes. Usually it was Ruth’s duty to stay up all night with the children, sick or otherwise, but unfortunately for Lou, and for Ruth, she was having the same experience as Lucy in their own bathroom down the hall. Gastroenteritis, an end-of-the-year gift for those whose systems were ready to wave good-bye to the year.
Lou carried Lucy to her bed again, her small hands clinging around his neck. Already she was asleep, exhausted by what the night had brought her. As he laid her down on the bed, he wrapped her now-cold body in blankets and tucked Beyoncé, her favorite bear, close to her face, as Ruth had shown him. His mobile vibrated again on the pink princess bedside table. At four a.m., it was the fifth time he’d received a phone call from himself. Glancing at the caller display, his own number flashed up on the screen.
“What now?” he whispered into the phone, trying to keep his voice and anger low.
“Lou! It’s me, Lou!” came the drunken voice on the other end, followed by a raucous laugh.
“Stop calling me,” he said, a little louder now.
In the background was thumping music, loud voices, and a gabble of nonspecific words. He could hear glasses clinking and laughter exploding every few moments from different corners of the room. He could almost smell the alcohol fumes drifting through the phone and penetrating the innocent world of his daughter. Subconsciously, he blocked the receiver with his hand.
“Where are you?”
“Leeson Street. Somewhere,” he shouted back. “I met this girl, Lou. Fucking amazing! You’ll be proud of me. No, you’ll be proud of you!” Raucous laughter again.
“What?!” Lou barked loudly. “No! Don’t do anything!” he shouted, and Lucy’s eyes fluttered open momentarily like two little butterflies, big brown eyes glancing at him with fright, but then on seeing him—her daddy—she smiled and her eyes closed again with exhaustion. That look of trust, the faith she had put in him with that one simple look, did something to him right then. He knew he was her protector, the one who could take away the fright and put a smile on her face, and it gave him a better feeling than he’d ever felt in his life. Better than the deal at tonight’s dinner, better than seeing the look on Alfred’s face when he’d arrived at the restaurant. It made him loathe the man at the end of the phone, loathe him so much that he felt like knocking him out. His daughter was at home, throwing her guts up, so much so that her entire body was too exhausted for her to keep her eyes open, and there he was, out getting drunk, chasing skirts, expecting Ruth to do all this without him. He hated the man at the end of the phone.
“But she’s hot, if you could just see her,” he slurred.
“Don’t you even think about it,” he said threateningly, his voice low and mean. “I swear to God, if you do anything, I will…”
“You’ll what? Kill me?” More raucous laughter. “Sounds like you’d be cutting off your nose to spite your face, my friend. Well, where the hell am I supposed to go? Tell me that. I can’t go home, I can’t go to work.”
The door to the bedroom opened then and an equally exhausted Ruth appeared.
“I’ll call you back.” He hung up quickly.
“Who was on the phone at this hour?” she asked quietly. She was dressed in her robe, her arms hugging her body protectively. Her eyes were bleary and puffed, her hair pulled back in a ponytail; she looked so fragile, as if a raised voice might blow her over and break her. For the second time that night his heart melted, and he moved toward her, arms open.
“It was just a guy I know,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “He’s out drunk; I wish he’d stop calling. I wish he’d just go away,” he added quietly. He tossed his phone aside into a pile of teddy bears on the floor. “How are you?” He pulled away and examined her face closely. Her head was boiling hot, but she shivered in his arms.
“I’m fine.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
“No, you’re not fine, go back to bed, and I’ll get you a facecloth. I know where they are now,” he joked, and she smiled lightly. He kissed her affectionately on the forehead. Her eyes closed, and her body relaxed in his arms.
He almost broke their embrace to jump in the air and holler with celebration, because for the first time in a long time he felt her give up the fight with him. For the past six months, whenever he’d held her she had been rigid and taut, as though she was protesting him somehow, refusing to validate his behavior. He reveled in this moment, feeling her relax against him: a silent but huge victory for their marriage.
Among the pile of teddies his phone vibrated again, bouncing around in Paddington Bear’s arms. His screen flashed on again, and he had to look away, not able to stand the thought of himself. Now he could understand how Ruth felt.
“There’s your friend again,” Ruth said, pulling away slightly, allowing him to reach for his phone.
“No, leave him.” He ignored the call, bringing her closer to him again. “Ruth,” he said gently, lifting her chin so she could look at him. “I’m sorry.”
Ruth looked up at him in shock, then examined him carefully for the catch. There had to be a catch. Lou Suffern had said he was sorry. Sorry was not a word in his vocabulary.
From the corner of Lou’s eye, the phone kept vibrating, hopping around and falling out of Paddington Bear’s paws and onto Winnie the Pooh’s head, being passed around from teddy to teddy like a hot potato. Each time the phone stopped, it quickly started again, as if laughing at him, telling him he was weak for uttering those words to Ruth. He fought that side of himself, that drunken, foolish, childish, irrational side of him, and refused to answer the phone, refused to let go of his wife. He swallowe
d hard.
“I love you, you know.”
It was as though it was the first time she’d ever heard it. It was as though they were back at the very first Christmas they’d spent together, sitting in her parents’ living room in Galway—the cat curled in a ball on its favorite cushion by the fire; the crazy dog a few years too many in this world outside in the backyard, barking at everything that moved and everything that didn’t. Lou had told her then, by the fake white Christmas tree. The gaudy tree would slowly be lit up by tiny green, red, and blue bulbs, and then the lights would slowly fade out before gearing up again. Despite its ugliness, it was relaxing, like a chest heaving slowly up and down. It was the first moment they’d had together all day, the only moments they’d have before he’d have to sleep on the couch and Ruth would disappear to her room. He wasn’t planning on saying it; in fact, he was planning on never saying it, but it had popped out. Then the words were out, and his world had immediately changed. Twenty years later in their daughter’s bedroom, it felt like the same moment all over again, with that same look of pleasure and surprise on Ruth’s face.
“Oh, Lou,” she said softly, closing her eyes and savoring the moment. Then suddenly her eyes flicked open, a flash of alarm in them that scared Lou to death about what she was about to say. What did she know? His past behavior came gushing back at him as he panicked. He thought of the other part of him, out there and drunk, possibly destroying this new relationship with his wife, destroying the repairs they had just achieved. He had a vision of the two Lous: one building a brick wall, the other moving behind him with a sledgehammer and knocking down everything as soon as it was built. In reality, that’s what Lou had been doing all along. Building his family up with one hand, while the other shattered everything he’d strived so hard to create.
Ruth quickly let go of him and rushed away into Lucy’s bathroom, where he heard the toilet seat go up and the contents of her insides empty into the bowl. Hating anyone being with her during moments like this, Ruth, ever the multitasker, managed, in mid-vomit, to lift her foot to kick the bathroom door closed.
Lou sighed and collapsed to the floor on the pile of teddies. He picked up the phone that had begun to vibrate yet again.
“What now?” he said in a dull voice, expecting to hear his own drunken voice on the other end. But he didn’t.
CHAPTER 18
The Turkey Boy 3
BULLSHIT,” THE TURKEY BOY SAID as Raphie paused for breath.
Raphie didn’t say anything; instead, he chose to wait for something more constructive to come out of the boy’s mouth.
“Total bullshit,” he said again.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Raphie said, standing up from the table and gathering the mug, Styrofoam cup, and candy wrappers from the chocolates he’d managed to munch through while he was telling his story. “I’ll leave you alone in peace now to wait for your mother.”
“No, wait!” Turkey Boy spoke up.
Raphie continued walking to the door.
“You can’t just end the story there,” the boy said incredulously. “You can’t leave me hanging.”
“Ah, well, that’s what you get for being unappreciative,” Raphie said with a shrug, “and for throwing turkeys through windows.” He left the interrogation room.
Jessica was in the station’s tiny kitchen, having another coffee. Her eyes were red, and the bags under them had darkened.
“Coffee break already?” He pretended not to notice her withering appearance.
“You’ve been in there for ages.” She blew on her coffee and sipped, not moving the mug from her lips as she spoke, eyes looking away in the distance.
“It’s a long story. Your face okay?”
She gave a single nod, the closest she’d ever get to commenting on the cuts and scrapes across her skin. She changed the subject. “So how far did you get in the story?”
“Lou Suffern’s first pill.”
“What did he say?”
“I do believe ‘Bullshit’ was the expression he used, which was then closely followed by ‘Total bullshit.’”
Jessica smiled lightly. “You got further than I thought. You should show him the tapes of that night. They just came in from the audiovisual conference call. They show a guy who looks exactly like Lou walking out of the boardroom, while at the same time another guy, who also looks exactly like Lou, is sitting at the conference table. Still no sight or word from Gabe though.”
“It could be Gabe in the conference call video.” Raphie thought hard. “He and Lou look very alike.”
“That would be much easier to believe but…”
“You don’t believe it?”
“You don’t believe the cloning version?”
“I’m telling it, aren’t I?”
Jessica lowered the mug slowly from her lips, and those intense, secretive eyes stared deep into his. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Raphie ignored her and instead poured himself another coffee, adding two sugars, which Jessica—sensing his mood—did not protest. Then he filled a Styrofoam cup with water and shuffled off down the corridor again.
“Where are you going?” she called after him.
“To finish the story,” he grumbled. “And yes, that still doesn’t answer your question.”
CHAPTER 19
Man of the Moment
WAKEY WAKEY,” A SINGSONG VOICE penetrated Lou’s drunken dreams, where everything was being rerun a hundred times over: mopping Lucy’s brow; plugging Bud’s pacifier back into his mouth; holding Lucy’s hair back as she threw up; hugging Ruth close, her body relaxing against his; then back to Lucy’s heated brow again; Bud spitting out his pacifier; Ruth’s smile when he’d told her he loved her.
He smelled fresh coffee under his nose. Finally opening his eyes, he jumped back at the sight that greeted him, bumping his already throbbing head against a concrete wall.
Lou took a moment to adjust to his surroundings. Some of the visions that greeted his newly opened eyes in the morning were less comforting than others. Rather than the mug of coffee that at that moment was thrust mere inches from his nose, he was more accustomed to the sound of a toilet flush occasionally as his wake-up call. Often the wait for the mystery toilet flusher to exit the bathroom and show her face was a long and unnerving one, and, on a few occasions, Lou had taken it upon himself to disappear from the bed, and the building, before the mystery woman had the opportunity to show her face.
On this particular morning after Lou Suffern had been doubled up for the very first time, he was faced with a new scenario: a man of similar age was offering him a mug of coffee with a satisfied look on his face. This was certainly a new one for the books. Thankfully, the young man was Gabe, and Lou found, with much relief, that they were both fully dressed. With a throbbing head and the foul stench of something rotting in his mouth, he took in his surroundings.
He was on the ground. That he could tell by his proximity to the concrete and the long distance to the open paneled ceiling with its wires dripping down. The floor was hard despite the sleeping bag beneath him. He had a crick in his neck from the position to which his head had been rather unfortunately lodged. Above him, metal shelves towered to the ceiling: hard, gray, cold, and depressing, they stood like the cranes that littered Dublin’s skyline, metal invaders umpiring a developing city. To the left, the new addition of a shadeless lamp was the guilty party behind the unforgiving bright white light that wasn’t so much thrown around the room as it was aimed at Lou’s head, like a pistol in a steady hand. What was glaringly obvious was that he was in Gabe’s room in the basement. Gabe now stood over him. The sight was familiar, a mirror image of only a week ago, when Lou had stopped on the street to offer Gabe a coffee. Only this time the image was as distorted and disturbing as a mirror at a carnival, because when Lou assessed the situation, it was he who was down here, and Gabe who was up there.
“Thanks.” He took the mug from Gabe, wrapping his cold hands around the porcelain.
He shivered. “It’s freezing in here.” His first words were a croak, and as he sat up he felt the weight of the world crashing down on his head, another hangover for the second morning running.
“Yeah, someone promised to bring me an electric heater, but I’m still waiting.” Gabe grinned. “Don’t worry, I hear blue lips are in this season.”
“Oh, sorry, I’ll get Alison right on that,” Lou mumbled, and sipped the black coffee. He had taken his initial wakening moment to figure out where he was. His first sip of caffeine alerted him to another problem.
“What the hell am I doing here?” he asked. He sat up properly, attentive now, and studied himself for clues. He was dressed in yesterday’s suit, a crumpled, rumpled mess with some questionable, though mostly self-explanatory, stains on his shirt, tie, and jacket. “What the hell is that smell?”
“I think it’s you,” Gabe said. “I found you around the back of the building last night throwing up into a trash bin.”
“Oh God,” Lou whispered, covering his face with his hands. Then he looked up, confused. “But last night I was home. Ruth and Lucy; they were sick. And as soon as they fell asleep, Bud woke up.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “Did I just dream that?”
“Nope,” Gabe replied chirpily, pouring hot water into his one mug of instant coffee. “You did that, too. You were very busy last night, don’t you remember?”
It took a moment for last night’s events to register with Lou, but the onslaught of memories of the previous night—the pill, the doubling up—came rushing back to his mind.