‘Duly noted, thanks,’ I shouted back.
‘And they sell urns, you know?’
Wow. Just wow.
I didn’t even wait until he was out of sight before tossing the foot in the river and shoving the blood-soaked liner in the nearest park bin.
When I hopped back into the car, I let myself relax, loosened my shoulders, and practised breathing exercises I had watched on ‘Meditation Minute’ on trashy daytime TV. It was done. I had to keep reminding myself that Gordon O’Neill was dead, and I was the one who had killed him. Part of me almost wanted to tell Gareth, to accept all the consequences of my actions just to be able to confide in my husband, but my better judgement – or maybe self-preservation – won out.
I smoothed my hands over the steering wheel as if it was giving me some kind of stress relief. I glanced over to Tony in the passenger seat, who was still watching me intently, his little body continuing to tremble.
‘I killed him, Tony. I killed Gordon O’Neill, and if you tell anyone, no one will ever believe you,’ I said, jabbing my finger in his direction.
Tony just stared back at me vacantly in response, one of his eyes bulging more bulbously than the other. I think he was still irritated that I had thrown away potentially the most delicious thing that could have ever passed his lips.
I realised that there was one person I could tell, and found Angus in my phone.
I hesitated before pressing the call button, comprehending that involving my brother-who-wasn’t-really-my-brother might just lead to the world’s longest lecture. But before I knew it, the phone was ringing loudly through the car speakers. At the first blare, Tony squealed and scrambled to dash into the footwell.
‘Hey, hey, it’s okay, buddy,’ I said, stretching my arm across in an attempt to console him.
I had told Angus about the last time, and he had managed to keep his mouth shut for seven-odd years, so why would this time be any different? I reasoned to myself.
‘Hi,’ Angus answered in his usual miserable tone.
‘Hi, Angus…’
I paused, knowing I should just hang up or ask him how his day was, but I felt like a hyperactive child trying to hold in a secret about where Mum and Dad had hidden the presents on Christmas Eve.
‘I did it,’ I said, trying to suppress the triumphant grin that was pushing through my face. ‘Gordon O’Neill? I killed him. Not only can I send you the photo, but I got his goddamn ring too, just like Macleod.’
There was silence on the other end of the line. I could only imagine the look on Angus’s face right now. Shock, relief, despair, disappointment?
And then, as if on cue, Tony promptly lifted his rear end and began to explosively spray his shit all over the car seat.
THREE
GARETH
Just walked Beryl’s dog, that was a bucket load of laughs. Going to see Angus for a little bit, babe, how’s your day going?
I made a silent ‘aww’ sound to myself. I loved Tony; he had the sweetest, most adorable face I had ever seen on a dog. I switched over to the messenger app on my phone and started to text back:
Good. Say hi 2 him from me. Lyl. X.
I almost jumped out of my skin when the door in the cubicle next to me smacked open, reverberating across the flimsy wooden separator. I could tell by the squeal of the cheap shoes that it was Carl. Also, it was past 10 a.m.; he had just had his morning sacrament of Colombian coffee, and that man’s whole digestive system was like clockwork.
I shut out any additional jump-inducing noise by cranking up the volume on my earphones. I rested my elbows on my knees and pressed play again on the video, performing a swift scan around my surroundings as I did so. All my secondary school days of kids using the toilet bowl to prop themselves over theseparator and take a glance into the next stall had really given me a mild case of PTSD.
And it wasn’t that I was embarrassed. It was just that, honestly, I thought I hadn’t really been performing that well recently, and I felt like maybe Fran was beginning to notice. I just wanted to see what had worked for other men in similar situations, no harm in that. I just preferred if my colleagues didn’t find out about it, because I’d never hear the end of it if they did. The squeeze technique honestly sounded kind of painful, but mental distraction seemed to be the one thing the other people in the comments had said worked well for them, although thinking of my nana and her doilies the whole time seemed like a pretty disgusting thing to do.
The bathroom door slapped open again, jolting me and my heart upwards as I clasped my chest and fumbled to get a grip of my phone before it clattered onto the tiled floor.
‘Donoghue, if you’re in here, you fat bastard, the DI wants to see you,’ I heard Steve yell as he strolled over to occupy the cubicle next to mine.
I groaned silently, closed the incognito tab, and flushed the empty bowl of the toilet. As I walked out, I saw Darren standing by the sinks, swiping his finger across his phone in a variety of directions whilst smoking a cigarette, puffing the excess smoke out of the small gap in the restricted window.
‘Did she tell you to come and get me from here?’ I asked, trying to make my voice as baritone as possible. I washed my hands using the rather sticky, pretty revolting hand soap which I suspected hadn’t been replaced – or even used – since the poll tax riots.
