too exhausted and hungover and wretched even to cry.
My phone dinged and I grabbed for it, fumbling and catching like someone out of a sitcom. Voice message.
“Toby, hiya. Rafferty here.” The reception in the Ivy House was patchy, but I was willing to bet he had deliberately rung my voicemail. “Sorry I missed you earlier. Listen, we’re still sorting out a few things, so Hugo’s going to stay here overnight. Don’t be worrying: we got in pizza, he’s taken his medication, he’s grand. Just thought you should know so you’re not waiting up for him. See you tomorrow.” Click.
I rang Hugo’s mobile: voicemail. “Hugo, it’s me. I’m just checking that you’re OK. Listen, if you change your mind, if you want me to come pick you up or if you want a lawyer, just ring me or text me, any time”—could he do that, would they let him? did he even have his phone or had they taken it away?—“and I’ll sort it out. OK? Otherwise, just . . . look after yourself. Please. I’ll try you again in the morning. Bye.”
I sat there with the phone in front of me on the table for a long time, in case Hugo rang back, which he didn’t. I tried Rafferty, with some vague idea of demanding to talk to Hugo, but of course he didn’t pick up.
It was getting late. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had spent a night on my own since my apartment. I was so tired I could barely move, but I didn’t like the thought of going to bed: asleep, undressed, far enough from all the likely entry points that I wouldn’t hear an intruder till it was too late. Instead I got the duvet from my room and stretched out on the sofa, with the standing lamp on. I wasn’t expecting to get any sleep—I was jumping at every floorboard crack and radiator burble—but at some point deep in the night I must have dozed off.
* * *
There was a phone ringing somewhere, but I couldn’t drag myself out of sleep properly. It was one of those old black wall-mounted phones with a heavy ornate receiver, in a fuzzy glow of gold light but I couldn’t remember where it was, landing maybe? Hugo’s bedroom? and my body wasn’t working right, I couldn’t get to it. It kept ringing and I realized that was probably all wrong, it had to be my mobile— My eyes still wouldn’t work, all I could see was a thick fog of gray speckles, but I groped for my phone and swiped blindly. “Hello?”
“Toby,” said a rich warm voice that for a moment felt almost comforting, a lifeline amid the confusion. “This is Detective Mike Rafferty. Listen: your uncle’s collapsed. He’s in an ambulance, on his way to St. Ciaran’s Hospital.”
“What?” I said, after a moment. I managed to sit up, dizzy and rocking. “What happened?”
“We don’t know yet. Who’s his next of kin?”
“What? He doesn’t have, I mean—”
“He’s the oldest brother, right? Who’s next? Your dad?”
“Phil. My uncle Phil.” Gradually my eyesight was clearing, but the room looked wrong, unstable and dangerous: armchairs canting at subtle angles, rug rucked up, gray-tinged darkness that could have been dawn, twilight, storm.
“Can you send me his number? Like now, right away?”
“Is Hugo dead?”
“He was alive five minutes ago, anyway. The paramedics were stabilizing him. I’m following them to the hospital”—for the first time I realized there was background noise, engine rush, Rafferty had me on speakerphone as he drove. “We should be there in ten minutes, if you want to meet us there. Get me that number first.”
“OK,” I said. “I’m coming,” but he had already hung up.
My phone said it was quarter to seven in the morning. Somehow I texted him Phil’s number and ordered a taxi and found my coat and shoes—dazed, heart rattling, unsure whether this was really happening or whether I was still trapped in the dream. Raw wet air, streetlamps still on. The taxi jolting from side to side. Thick vanilla stench of air freshener, the rearview mirror festooned with rosaries and miraculous medals and yellowed pictures of saints. The driver was a hunched, skinny old guy who hadn’t said a word since I got in, and I wanted to lean forwards and tell him there had been a change of plan and I needed to go to Donegal, Kerry, just keep on driving so I would never have to get out.
* *