Plugged - Eoin Colfer [65]
I decide to think about that later; for the moment I’m thinking about how Mrs Delano just called me Daniel.
The human mind has layers, Simon Moriarty once told me. Some of them know what’s going on. Some of them don’t.
I really must call that guy.
So I do, call the guy, next evening over a late late breakfast before I head out to work. I’ve had eighteen hours’ sleep and three square meals and I feel like it’s time to solve some of my problems.
‘Hey, Doc. It’s Daniel McEvoy.’
Silence on the other end for a few moments, while Moriarty opens his mental filing cabinet.
‘Daniel? Daniel bloody McEvoy. A blast from the past. How are you doing, Dan? Not too well, I’m guessing.’
I allow my gaze to drift out the window. There’s a light drizzle coming down silver though the streetlights. Looks nice, like movie rain.
‘Well, I’m noticing how nice the rain’s looking, if that means anything.’
I hear the sound of a Zippo wheel spinning and it brings me back ten years.
‘Noticing rain? You are truly screwed, my boy. Nine out of ten serial killers start paying close attention to meteorology just before they cut loose. By the way, you do know it’s two in the morning over here. You’re lucky I was up carousing.’
I’m smiling into my phone, a sucker for the old accent.
‘Whatever, you arsehole.’
‘Gobshite.’
‘You sure you have a degree?’
‘You called me, Sergeant McEvoy. What’s your problem?’
‘Problems, Doc. Problems.’
‘Okay. Shoot, so long as you’re aware I’m billing the army for this.’
Down the street a couple are arguing about something. She’s big on the hand gestures, waving like a windmill. Would I find that cute or irritating? Shit, I’m already irritated.
‘Okay. I’ve got this woman in love with me.’
‘Well done. Live long, die happy.’
‘No. She thinks I’m someone else.’
‘Ah . . . Well, sometimes secrets are a good thing. I know that general thinking says holding things in can be damaging, but some things are better kept to oneself.’
‘It’s more than secrets, Doc. She actually believes I’m a different person. Her husband, I think.’
‘And you’re not her husband?’
‘No. I’d remember.’
‘Okay. I hate to diagnose on the phone, but it sounds like she’s de-lusional.’
‘You think so? Holy shit.’
Simon chuckles. In the tiny speaker it sounds like he’s gargling tar. ‘Okay. I’m re-membering you now, McEvoy.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Don’t shatter her illusions too harshly. You could do irreparable damage. Play along for the time being, until you can get professional help.’
‘That could be tricky.’
‘Tricky how?’
‘I think Sofia could turn violent. She’s been hurt before.’
I hear Moriarty drag deep on his cigar. ‘Christ, this is so unprofessional. Look, Dan, if you care for this woman, get her into treatment. Use some pretext or other, say it’s marriage counselling.’
‘Marriage counselling. Nice one.’
I am about to fold Macey Barrett’s phone when Dr Moriarty asks a question.
‘And what about you, Daniel? How are you?’
‘Cracked knuckle, maybe.’
‘Mentally, smartarse.’
How am I? There’s a question. I’m carrying around my best friend in my head. I’m obsessing about my hairline and I am giving serious consideration to entering a relationship under an assumed name.
‘Yeah, I’m fine, Simon. Really.’
I can hear Moriarty’s pen clicking on the other side of the Atlantic. ‘You’re lying to me, Daniel.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. It’s all Doc-Moriarty-arsehole. Then suddenly it’s Simon. You’re trying to gain my trust by humanising yourself. Textbook stuff.’
‘I am human, Simon.’
Another chuckle from Ireland. ‘Not to me. To me you’re nothing more than a few stripes on a sleeve.’
I realise that I like this guy and that it would be good to have a beer and not discuss my various hang-ups, fixations and neuroses.
‘I suppose I’m trans-parent to you, Doc.’
‘Absolutely.’
I take a deep breath, realising that there is no way to say what I am about to say without sounding a little section eight. ‘Okay, Doc. I have this friend.’
‘Really? You have this friend who can’t get an erection and could I make the prescription out in your name?’
‘No.