Running on Empty (32 page)

‘Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?’

My name’s Tom and this is Grainne. Pat Feeney sent us to see you’.

‘Who’?

‘Pat Feeney, from Sligo’.

‘Oh, right, you’d better come in then. He opened the door slightly more, and they were about to enter.

‘Is that your motorbike’?

Tom nodded.

‘Well, if you want to get home, you better bring that in as well’.

As they walked in, they both recoiled as their senses were assaulted.

A cocktail of smells, excrement, stale tobacco, urine, beer, and body odor attacked their nostrils and made their eyes water. Although it was daylight outside, the curtains were drawn, the room illuminated by a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The filthy carpet seems to squelch as they walked upon it. Tom tried to remember when he last had a hepatitis shot. The television was blaring, showing a movie of two women performing sex acts on each other. Richie caught Grainne looking at the screen, his mouth breaking into a wide smile, displaying two rows of gap toothed rotten teeth.

‘Into that are ya’?

Grainne just shook her head, avoiding opening her mouth for fear of what she might breathe in. Richie looked disappointed.

Without speaking, she handed over a photograph of Pat Feeney as she had been asked to do, and Richie took it without responding.

‘So, you’re looking for an American passport, is that right’?

Tom nodded.

‘Well, follow me’ he gestured towards an adjoining room. ‘We’ll leave the lassie here for a few minutes to enjoy the show. Make yourself comfortable girl. Get yourself a cup of tea if you want, we won’t be long’.

Grainne just stood, not wanting to touch anything, even with her boots. In the other room, Richie had a passport camera set up on a tripod, and a stool against the wall, with a backdrop behind. A desk in the far corner was covered with laptops, printers, and various other peripherals, papers, documents and other things Tom had no idea of.

After taking the photographs, along with some other details, they returned to the main room. Richie turned to Grainne.

‘Did you not make yourself a cup of tea? Couldn’t drag yourself away from the show eh? I wouldn’t mind taking your picture some day, but it wouldn’t be a head and shoulders shot I’d be interested in taking, no sir. Look me up if you’re interested. Anyway, back to business. It’ll take three days to have this ready. American passports are the most difficult fuckers of all to do. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if you wanted to go to Spain or Portugal, or easier still if it was any of the Eastern European countries. Anyway, call back in three days and it’ll be sorted’.

‘What about cost? asked Tom, trying to breathe as little as possible.

‘Not to worry, Pat Feeney’s taking care of that’

Tom nodded, and he and Grainne said their goodbyes in as few words as practical given the circumstances, as they wheeled the bike out into the fresh air of Darndale.

‘Play your cards right, and you could be in there’ said Tom, as they mounted the bike.

‘Do you want to walk’?

Tom lay awake in the darkness, listening to Grainne’s rhythmic breathing as she slept beside him. He avoided the almost irresistible urge to just roll over to her, and feel their bodies touch, to bury his face in her hair, to smell her, to kiss. He resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a long night. He knew what he had to do tomorrow. He had to contact Sally. Next morning, as they ate breakfast, he looked up from his scrambled egg and toast.

‘This is weird Grainne, but I have a request. I need some money. I need to borrow some money from you, so as I can call another woman. I know it might seem strange, cheeky even, but it’s just something that’s got to be done. I won’t blame you if you tell me to get lost, but I’m hoping you’ll understand that it’s not something I necessarily want to do, but something I have to do. I feel embarrassed even having to ask’.

‘I understand. I don’t like it, but then I don’t have to like it, just realize that it’s the right thing to do. I’ll give you some money when we go back up to the room, ok’? Now, don’t look so glum and eat up your eggs’.

‘Thanks’.

After breakfast back up in the room, Grainne gave Tom a fifty euro note.

‘Do what you gotta do’ she said, giving him a hug. ‘I’ll talk to you later’.

Tom left the boarding house and began walking along the prom. He purchased a call card in a local shop and went looking for a payphone. His recently acquired instinct told him it may not be a good idea to call from where he was staying, just in case. He found a phone kiosk, entered, took a deep breath, and dialed Massachusetts General.

‘Hello’?

‘Hi, I’m looking to make contact with a patient of yours, by the name of Sally Carmichael’.

‘Hold the line please’

Tom waited, unsure of what to say if Sally came to the phone.

‘I’m afraid Ms Carmichael has been discharged’.

‘Already? Do you know where she is? Do you have a contact number’?

‘She was discharged to the care of a gentleman, but I’m not at liberty to give out the details, I’m afraid’.

A gentleman?

‘Listen, I know this may seem a bit unorthodox, but I’m a friend of hers, Tom Feeney is my name, and it’s vitally important I speak to her. I’m calling from Ireland. Would it be possible for you to call her, and give her my name and number, and let her call me back’.

There was a long pause.

‘Ok sir, give me your number and I’ll pass it on to her’

‘Thank you, I’d really appreciate that’.

Tom passed on the international code, followed by the area code and number of the phone booth he was calling from.

‘I’m not promising anything mind, but I’ll pass on the information to her. That’s all I can do’.

‘That’s fine, thank you again’ Tom said, and hung up.

He waited.

Finally the phone rang, making Tom jump.

‘Hello’?

‘Tom, I don’t believe it, is it really you’?

‘Afraid so, Sally. Before we go any further, let me explain. I know I said I’d write, and I fully intended to, but it’s been a bit crazy since I came here, to be honest. So many things have happened, I just haven’t had the time. How are you? I heard you had a rough time, heard Lowanski nearly killed you’.

‘He tried, but I’m tough as old boots, you know that. I’m on the mend now. I’m fine’.

‘Well, Lowanski is one person you needn’t worry about Sally, he’s dead’.

‘What’?

‘Yes, along with five more of his cronies who were sent over to kill me, all dead’.

‘Jesus Tom, what’s going on over there’?

‘Well, like I said, it’s been hectic. Anyway, what about you? I hear you’re moved in with some guy’.

‘Oh, it’s not like that Tom. He’s a really genuine man. Brad Johnson’s his name. It’s more a father/daughter thing really. He took me in, away from the hospital, and he’s looking after me, helping me get back on my feet, so to speak. He’s a real gentleman, a great guy. He’s even nagging me about going back to school. Says I’ve got brains to burn, and I’m wasting myself by doing nothing’.

‘Oh yes, he’s got a point Sally, sounds like he knows you pretty well. How did you two meet, anyway’?

‘He’s a detective, Tom. He came into the hospital to question me to see if I knew anything about the murders, Christine and the other guy’.

‘Sorry’? Tom was taken completely by surprise.

‘Yes, but he’s not questioning me now, just taking care of me really. So, where do you go from here, Tom? Don’t suppose you have any plans to get back to the States anytime soon’?

‘No, unfortunately’ Tom lied. Little did Sally know that at this very moment a pervert called Richie was working hard at forging a US passport for Tom. He was suddenly a bit dubious about proffering too much information to Sally, given the fact she was cohabitating with a detective. And not just any detective, but one who was directly involved in investigating a couple of murders Tom was implicated in.

‘You sound happy, Sally’.

‘I am. I miss you, and I’d like to see you face to face, but given the circumstances, yes, I’m happy’.

‘Listen Sally, this call is probably costing you or whoever pays the bills a fortune. Give me your number there, and I’ll call you again soon’.

Sally gave Tom the house number. He didn’t know what else to say, really.

‘Look Sally, I have to go now, but I’ll call you again soon. It’s been great to hear your voice, and I’ve missed you, but until this mess is sorted out, if ever, I’m still a wanted man, and I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t even know if I have a future’.

‘It’s been great to hear from you, Tom. You keep in touch, ok? And look after yourself. I’ll talk to you soon. Goodbye Tom’.

‘Goodbye Sally’.

So, that was it? Tom felt a bit betrayed, or jealous, or something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What was it? Was it the fact that she didn’t seem to need him anymore? Was it the fact that she was living with someone else, abet platonically, apparently. Or, was it the fact that she didn’t mention love in the conversation? Neither did he, he knew, but he sort of expected her to for some reason, probably irrationally. Then it dawned on him, the truth. He was subconsciously looking for holes in the relationship they had, seeking out fault lines, excuses, problems. Why? Because he was in love with someone else now. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say, but it can also make hearts drift apart. Sally seemed genuinely happy, as far he could tell. She seemed to be getting along nicely without him. She still cared for him, but did she love him? Probably not. And he? Well, if the truth be told, he was in love with Grainne now, of that he was finally sure.

Tom began to make his way back. On reaching the guest house, he climbed the stairs, and entered their room. He was surprised to find that Grainne wasn’t there. He headed back down to the street and stood there, looking left and right, until he spotted her, about a hundred yards away, sitting on a bench facing out to sea. He strolled over and stood beside her. She sat there, smoking a roll up cigarette. She said nothing as she offered Tom the pouch. She didn’t need to. Those big blue eyes were asking all the questions for her. Tom took the pouch and sat beside her, rolling himself a cigarette.

‘Well Grainne, I’m all yours, if you still want me, that is’.

Her head turned away, a smile creasing her lips as, without looking down, each of their hands found the other, and they both just sat there in silence for a time, holding hands and staring out to sea.

‘Just don’t do a Beckey on me, will you?’ said Grainne quietly.

‘What?’ asked Tom.

‘Oh, sorry. I’m beginning to talk in riddles, you must be contagious. See, when I was young I had a doll, Beckey her name was. I don’t remember getting her, but my mother told me she was a present from my father, a couple of weeks before he died. Anyway, Beckey was my constant companion, used to take her everywhere, dress her up, talk to her. She had a favorite pink dress with a silver collar, and a matching silver ribbon. Looked really pretty in that outfit with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Then one day I left her in her pram outside while I headed in for lunch. When I came back out, I went over to the pram to pick her up, and she wasn’t there anymore, she’d been taken. I cried myself to sleep for weeks, and during that time, and for a long time after, the only thing I could think of was ‘I hope wherever she is and whoever has her, looks after her and brushes her hair and keeps her pretty and loves her’ like I did. I fretted that she could be abandoned, her pretty clothes gone, her hair all matted, left on a park bench somewhere in the wind and cold and rain. I still wonder sometimes whatever happened to Beckey, and anytime someone mentions my father, she’s the first image that pops into my head. Silly isn’t it?

‘It’s never silly to feel sad when the things you care about are taken from you’ he answered, ‘and don’t worry, I won’t do a Beckey on you’

He placed an arm around her shoulder as they sat again in silence.

As the winter sun began to dip below the horizon, Tom spoke again.