No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(21)

Sixteen





Cafferty’s Bar was quiet when Lottie and Boyd entered shortly after 4.30. They sat in a corner and ordered tea and house special sandwiches. The television was showing a soap. A few men sat at the bar slurping soup, thumbing through the local newspapers, pints of Guinness at hand.

‘After what I witnessed this morning, I hate this damn town. But you know what?’ Lottie said.

‘What?’ Boyd sipped his tea.

‘I hate it but I love it at the same time.’

‘Bit like the way you feel about me then?’

‘You know what?’

‘You’re repeating yourself now.’

‘It’s impossible to have a normal conversation with you.’ When their sandwiches arrived, she pushed hers around on the plate until the filling squeezed out of it.

‘Right, this is my serious face,’ Boyd said. ‘I know what you’re saying, kind of. I haven’t lived here long, so it’s not the same for me. But I get it. Ragmullin gets under your skin. Some days you love it, and other days it’s just a bitch.’

‘Eloquent. As usual.’ Picking at the tuna that had spilled out onto the plate, she shoved some of it into her mouth and licked her fingers.

‘I’ll get you a fork, shall I, or maybe you prefer eating like a baby?’

‘Speaking of babies, I must have that conversation with Katie this evening.’

‘And what conversation would that be?’

‘About visiting Tom Rickard in New York.’ Rickard blamed Lottie for the death of his son, but she had never spoken to him about it.

Boyd said, ‘Let the girl go. Rickard is the baby’s grandfather and it’ll be good to have him in Louis’ life as he grows up.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘One, he’s bloody loaded, and two … he’s bloody loaded.’

‘It’s just … Oh, I don’t know.’

‘I think I do.’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘You’re scared of losing Katie and your grandson to Rickard. She didn’t travel in November because you were recuperating from that nasty stab wound. But now there’s nothing holding her back and you’re frightened he will introduce her to a world you can’t afford. You’re also fearful that she might not want to come home.’

‘She has to come home. She only has a holiday visa.’

‘Money talks in strange places, and as I said, Tom Rickard is—’

‘Bloody loaded. I know. Why do I carry such fear around with me? And before you say it,’ she held up her finger in warning, ‘don’t mention Adam. You’ve given me that lesson once too often.’

Boyd chewed on a piece of chicken before putting down his sandwich. She didn’t like it when he thought things through too seriously. He usually came out with a long-winded notion that ultimately proved correct.

‘You’re right, I used to think your fear of loss stemmed from Adam’s death. But now, with the revelations about your family history, I’m thinking this thing inside of you originates from your childhood.’

‘Yes, Sherlock. I lost my father to a suicide that was quite possibly murder, and my brother was murdered in a hellhole of an institution. Then my husband died of cancer and I recently discovered my mother isn’t in fact my biological mother. I may also have a half-sibling whom I know nothing about, and my biological mother was incarcerated … How could I be right in the head?’

‘About your biological mother—’

‘Shut up. You know that conversation is totally out of bounds. Just eat your sandwich like a good boy.’ She really didn’t want to go back there. Too many lies.

‘Oh Lottie, you wouldn’t like me when I’m a good boy.’

‘That’s enough.’ She smiled, despite herself.

Boyd picked up his sandwich and she looked at the mess she’d made of her own. She still felt hungry, but the food now looked so far removed from what she’d ordered, she couldn’t face eating it.

‘I promised Sean I’d bring him to his hurling training tomorrow evening,’ Boyd said with his mouth full. ‘Hopefully we’ll have this murder solved soon.’

‘It’s good to see him back at his hurling.’

‘And once the evenings get a bit brighter, he wants to join the cycling club with me.’

She looked at him then. Really looked at his thin, finely featured face and his brown eyes with their sparkling flecks of hazel. ‘You know more about my own son than I do.’

‘He talks to me.’

‘When? How?’

‘When I take him to his training sessions. Since you were injured. Since Christmas. You know that.’

‘I thought you were just giving him a lift, not interrogating him.’ She felt her chest tighten with jealousy. She knew she could never be a substitute for the boy’s father. But she didn’t want Boyd stepping in either. ‘What does he talk about?’

‘Not much. If he wants to chat, to go training or cycling with me, let him.’

She bit her lip, the silence hanging between them like an invisible sword. Eventually she said, ‘It’s hard. Damn hard.’

‘Nothing in this life is easy.’