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Lilith
Niamh answered the door with a tearful, red-faced Sol in her arms and the moment I saw her own bloodshot eyes I knew something had gone badly wrong. “What’s happened?” I demanded as I strode into her home.
“Oh God Lilith, I’m so sorry! Sinéad came back early and I stupidly thought that if I told her what was wrong, she might back off a bit, but she was drunk off her face and she just had a massive go at Finn instead. Fearg and I went outside to talk to her and now she’s stormed off and…”
“And you’ve left him alone?” I asked, incredulous, and Niamh gave a guilty little nod.
“It looks like he’s gone through the press for something to drink; there’s stuff all over the kitchen floor, and Feargal’s mates brought him some disgusting-looking absinthe back from a stag do a couple of years ago and that’s gone missing.”
“Oh, well that’s just stupendous.” I looked at the carnage that Finn had left in the kitchen. “And where is he now?”
This time it was Feargal who answered. “Bathroom. With the door locked.”
Niamh had to run to keep up with me as I stormed down the hallway. “God, Lilith, you don’t think he’s done anything stupid, do you?”
“Well yes, on the basis that he’s barricaded himself in the bathroom with a bottle of absinthe I should imagine he’s done something colossally fucking stupid,” I said, and it was only when she gave a soft cry of horror I realised what she’d been implying. “Oh for crying out loud, not that,” I snapped, and made myself think like Finn. In the circumstances it was a depressingly easy thing to do. “What I mean is, is there anything in your medicine cabinet that the nihilistic bastard could get down his neck as an absinthe chaser?”
“Ooh shit,” Feargal said in response, and my heart sank. “Last year. I did my back in lifting a wardrobe. It needed a relaxant to unlock it so the doc gave me a load of temazepam…”
All thoughts of negotiating my way into the bathroom vanished in that instant. “Feargal, would you be so kind as to put your bathroom door in?” I asked, as politely and calmly as I could manage.
Feargal stared at me. “Do what?”
“Get your shoulder behind the door and break the lock. I’ll pay for any damage if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Jesus, I’m not worried about the bloody damage,” Feargal said, clearly wounded at the suggestion. “It’s just, well, a bit… aggressive, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t want to scare the fella -”
I’d had enough talk. I fixed the man with a look that I hadn’t had to use in anger for months. “Look, we can debate the ethics of violent intervention when we’ve confirmed that idiot hasn’t choked to death on his own vomit. Right now, I’m telling you to get that fucking door open.”
By the look of mild fear on Feargal’s face I knew I had completed my transformation into a heartless upper-class martinet, and I didn’t care. My only concern now was for the man on the other side of the door.
The thin plywood was no match for Feargal’s bulk and he only had to shoulder it once for the lock to break with an almighty crack.
Finn was lying in a foetal curl on the bathroom floor, out cold and surrounded by rainbow-hued towels and a mountain of bright plastic bath toys; the detritus of a normal family life, side by side with a near-finished bottle of absinthe and an empty blister pack of temazepam.
I knelt and felt at his neck for a pulse. It was slow from alcohol and dope, but to my relief it was still steady and apart from the crimson dot of a new cigarette-burn on the back of his hand, no blood had been shed; it meant I had time.
His eyes flickered open at my touch, and his pupils were dilated to all hell so that his eyes looked black rather than their usual moss-green. “Lili?” he slurred, trying – and failing – to focus on my face. “You got here…”
“Of course I bloody did, you utter wanker,” I muttered as I hauled him upright against the side of the bath.
Sol chose that moment to decide that the clamour had become too much and began screeching like a little banshee in Niamh’s arms. Finn flinched away at the sound. “For Christ’s sake would one of you please take that fucking child elsewhere?” I snapped through gritted teeth.
“Give him here.” Feargal took Sol off her. “Shout if you need me, okay? I’ll just be in the kitchen.” He took the baby out, and to my relief I was left in silence to work.
Niamh still hovered over me. “Oh God Lilith, I’m so sorry… This is the last thing I wanted to happen – is he goin’ to be okay? I mean, I know he’s not okay, but…”
I rounded on her. “Niamh, if you’re just going to stand and panic you can go and do it elsewhere. I really need you to calm down or fuck off, alright?”
Her eyes filled with tears but she gave a mute nod and sat on the edge of the bath, no doubt awaiting further orders. I felt a momentary flicker of guilt but at least now I could give all my attention to Finn. “Right Strachan, look at me,” I commanded. I grabbed his pale, cold face in my hands so that he was forced to meet my gaze. “This is important. Did the voices speak to you?”
“Wha’?”
I resisted the urge to shake him until his teeth rattled. “When you decided to do all this -” I gestured at the empty blister pack and spilled absinthe, “was it because you heard the voices again?”
I waited for what felt like an eternity for him to process my question and then find a reply. Finally he frowned. “No voices, no. Just memories an’ bad thoughts. Needed… needed not to think. Not to hurt. Hurt Sol.”
Pieces clicked into place and I sighed. “You dickhead. Is that what Sinéad said to you? You were never going to do that, okay? The only person you’re capable of hurting is yourself, and it appears you’re still depressingly skilled at that.”
