Alex Barclay - Darkhouse

‘Yes.’

‘Do you get pain in your neck or your cheeks?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ever get diagnosed with toothache, earache or sinusitis?’

‘Yes, look I appreciate this, but I really have to get a move on.’

‘Have you ever suffered an injury to your face or jaw?’

Images of childhood fights flashed through his mind, a teenage car accident, a punch-up in a bar at his bachelor party, a door slammed against him in a raid, the explosion...

‘Uh-huh,’ he said.

She stepped back. ‘Good news or bad?’

‘Bad.’

She shook her head. ‘Pessimist?’

‘Worst Case Scenario Man.’

‘First of all, I’m not your GP, so what I’m giving you here is an educated guess. It could be one of two things: some form of facial neuralgia or possibly, TMJ dysfunction. The TMJ bit stands for Temporo-Mandibular Joint, the all-important joint that helps you open and close your jaw. And you’re American, you’ll understand the dysfunction part.’

Nothing was beyond a comment with Lara McClatchie.

‘I’m leaning towards TMJ dysfunction,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it before. And my brother has it.’

She studied him for a moment. ‘Why am I getting the impression you’re just playing along?’

Joe said nothing.

‘You know this already, don’t you?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Why haven’t you done anything about it?’

‘I was too busy.’

‘You really should find the time to get treated. Your brain spends a lot of energy looking after that joint. And the problem is worse if you’re stressed, which, under the circumstances, I’d say you are.

‘They’ll probably just fit you with a splint — a mouth guard that you wear all the time or just at night. And there are other options as well — surgery...’ She laughed when she saw his reaction. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to the root of the denial.’

He shrugged.

‘It won’t go away,’ she said.

‘Can’t you give me anything for now?’

‘You’re forgetting. I see dead people.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He smiled.

‘Bet you haven’t been doing a lot of that lately,’ she said.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Here,’ she said, bending over the desk, scribbling on a notepad. ‘Here’s the name of a specialist in the Eye and Ear Hospital, Dr Morley. She should sort you out. We went to college together. She stole my boyfriend.’

‘And what? Sending me in is your revenge?’

‘Good point,’ said Lara with a smirk. ‘Give me that back.’ She crossed out the name and wrote another one. ‘Here. Go with this guy. He’s not a big fan of surgery.’ She smiled.

He thanked her and left. Lara walked out the door to her assistant.

‘Gill?’ she said. ‘You know my forceps?’

Gill nodded.

‘Well, if I could remove one thing with them right now, it would be the platinum band on the fourth digit of that man’s left hand.’

‘Platinum,’ said Gill, ‘says it all.’

‘I can’t believe I nearly sent him to that cow in the Eye and Ear.’ She sighed. ‘On a more serious note, I need you to get me a file.’

‘But you were being serious about him.’

‘True.’

John Miller was sitting at the bar holding a pint and playing with a shot glass of whisky. Ed stood watching him for a few minutes, then suddenly leaned across the counter and spoke firmly into his ear.

‘I’m going to tell you something,’ he said, ‘and I hope you’re listening.’

‘What?’ said John.

‘You’re not an alcoholic.’

John put his pint down gently.

‘What I’m saying to you, Miller, is that your body is not addicted to alcohol. You’re just addicted to being out of your mind so you can forget. You could stop in the morning without help and I think you know that yourself. But in six months’ time, it might be a different story.’

‘Jesus, I just came in for a couple of drinks,’ said John. Ed slammed his fist down on the bar. Then he turned around and grabbed one of the photos from the wall. It was the Munster rugby team, 1979. Ed slapped it down on the counter and pointed angrily to the back row where John Miller stood, young and healthy, with a wide, friendly smile.

‘You were a winner!’ said Ed.

‘Ah, it’s all a load of bollocks in the end,’ said John.

Ed almost shouted at him, ‘Stop being so bloody difficult, for the love of God! I have enough customers that one less isn’t going to matter a flying fiddler’s. I’ve listened to you shite on about your wife and kids every day for over a month now. What I’m telling you is stop your moaning and do something about it. If your wife didn’t want the nice guy back, she definitely won’t want the waster you’ve turned into.’

Victor Nicotero was about to make a call when he saw the flashing red light on his machine. He hit play.

‘Hi, Nic, it’s Joe. Texas trip’s off. I’m not sure, I... What can I say? Everything and nothing’s adding up. My head’s all screwed up. But thanks anyway.’

Anna was tired and pale when she arrived at the supermarket. She moved quickly through the short aisles, trying to ignore the looks being directed her way. Her face was growing hot, her hands clammy. The basket almost slipped from her grip and when she bent to keep it under control she saw two fishermen’s boots on the ground in front of her. She looked up.

‘I’m not happy with what Shaun did,’ said Mick Harrington. He had prepared for this, but he was clearly embarrassed.

‘What do you mean?’ said Anna.

‘You know, he got Robert to cover his tracks. He got him to go to Seascapes and turn out the light after he was in the place with Katie. Robert could have been arrested.’

‘I didn’t know that Shaun had done that,’ said Anna. ‘But I know it wasn’t right. I cannot say much to you, Mick. Shaun is very upset. I had no idea any of this was going on. I would have done something about it.’

‘You and Joe seem to be in the dark a fair bit, don’t you?’ said Mick. ‘Or is it denial you’re in?’

Anna couldn’t speak.

‘Robert won’t be around again,’ said Mick.

Anna was alone in the aisle. She held back tears as she walked to the checkout. As she stood in line, she heard someone call out her name. She didn’t want to look around.

‘Anna,’ came the voice again, this time with a tap on the shoulder. ‘How are you?’

She turned to face Nora Deegan who was smiling warmly.

‘It must be just awful what you’re going through. Awful.’ Her voice was loud and firm.

She squeezed Anna’s arm. The woman at the till stared.

‘Anyway, we won’t dwell on that,’ said Nora. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come over for coffee this afternoon.’

‘Sure,’ said Anna. ‘That would be great.’

Barry Shanley came to his front door, dabbing a bloody spot on his shaved head. He took a deep breath when he saw who was outside.

‘Hello, Barry. Can I come in?’ said Frank. He glanced at Barry’s combats and his black T-shirt stamped with Leave No Man Behind .

‘Yeah, sure.’ Barry stepped back.

‘Is your father here?’

Barry’s father worked on the ferries out of Rosslare. He was rarely home.

‘Uh, yeah.’

‘Is your mother?’

Barry nodded. ‘Do you want me to get them? I’m in the middle of my homework.’ He grabbed on to the banister.

‘I need to speak with you too,’ said Frank.

‘Oh. OK.’

Mr and Mrs Shanley led Frank into the living room and sat on the sofa warily. Barry slouched by the door. Frank pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded the email, handing it to Mr Shanley.

‘What’s this?’ he said.

‘Well, in the old days, we’d call it a poison pen letter. But these days, you can do it by email. It was sent to Shaun Lucchesi and I believe it came from Barry.’ His parents looked at him.