Faithful Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #3)(125)

“Now,” Carmel said softly, to herself. She took a breath and ran her fingers under her eyes, making sure nothing was left of her cry. “Now.”

I said, “Next time we get a chance, you’ll have to finish telling me what happened last Sunday.”

Shay said, “And then it got late, Ma and Da and me headed for bed, and Kev and Jackie headed for home.” He threw his cigarette over the railings and stood up. “The end,” he said.





As soon as we all got back into the flat Ma kicked things up a gear, to punish us for leaving her to her own terrifying devices. She was doing ferocious things to vegetables and issuing orders at warp speed: “You, Carmel-Jackie-Carmel-whoever-you-are, get them potatoes started—Shay, put that over there, no, you simpleton, there—Ashley, love, give the table a wipe for your nana—and Francis, you go in and have a word with your da, he’s after getting back into the bed and he wants a bit of company. Go on!” She smacked me across the head with a dish towel, to get me moving.

Holly had been leaning against my side, showing me some painted ceramic thing she had bought in the Christmas Village to give Olivia and explaining in detail how she had met Santa’s elves, but at that she melted neatly away among the cousins, which I felt showed good sense. I considered doing the same thing, but Ma has the ability to keep nagging for so long that it borders on a superpower, and the dishcloth was aimed in my direction again. I got out of her way.

The bedroom was colder than the rest of the flat, and quiet. Da was in bed, propped up on pillows and apparently doing nothing at all except, maybe, listening to the voices coming from the other rooms. The fussy softness all round him—peach decor, fringed things, muted glow from a standing lamp—made him look bizarrely out of place and somehow stronger, more savage. You could see why girls had fought over him: the tilt of his jaw, the arrogant jut of his cheekbones, the restless blue spark in his eyes. For a moment, in that untrustworthy light, he looked like wild Jimmy Mackey still.

His hands were what gave him away. They were a mess—fingers swollen huge and curled inwards, nails white and rough like they were already decaying—and they never stopped moving on the bed, plucking fretfully at loose threads in the duvet. The room stank of sickness and medicine and feet.

I said, “Ma said you fancied a chat.”

Da said, “Give us a smoke.”

He still seemed sober, but then my da has poured a lifetime of dedication into building up his tolerance, and it takes a lot to put a visible dent in it. I swung the chair from Ma’s dressing table over to the bed, not too close. “I thought Ma didn’t let you smoke in here.”

“That bitch can go and shite.”

“Nice to see the romance isn’t dead.”

“And you can go and shite too. Give us a smoke.”

“Not a chance. You can piss Ma off all you want; I’m staying in her good books.”

That made Da grin, not in a pleasant way. “Good luck with that,” he said, but all of a sudden he looked wide awake and his focus on my face had got sharper. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“You were never arsed about keeping her happy in your life.”

I shrugged. “My kid’s mad about her nana. If that means I have to spend one afternoon a week gritting my teeth and sucking up to Ma, so Holly won’t see us tearing strips off each other, I’ll do it. Ask me nicely and I’ll even suck up to you, at least when Holly’s in the room.”

Da started to laugh. He leaned back on his pillows and laughed so hard that it turned into a spasm of deep, wet coughing. He waved a hand at me, gasping for breath, and motioned at a box of tissues on the dresser. I passed them over. He hawked, spat into a tissue, tossed it at the bin and missed; I didn’t pick it up. When he could talk, he said, “Bollix.”

I said, “Want to elaborate on that?”

“You won’t like it.”

“I’ll live. When was the last time I liked anything that came out of your mouth?”

Da reached painfully over to the bedside table for his glass of water or whatever, took his time drinking. “All that about your young one,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Load of bollix. She’s grand. She doesn’t give a f*ck if you and Josie get on, and you know it. You’ve got reasons of your own for keeping your ma sweet.”

I said, “Sometimes, Da, people try to be nice to each other. For no reason at all. I know it’s tough to picture, but take it from me: it happens.”

He shook his head. That hard grin was back on his face. “Not you,” he said.

“Maybe, maybe not. You might want to keep in mind that you know just under shag-all about me.”

“Don’t need to. I know your brother, and I know the pair of yous were always as like as two peas in a pod.”

I didn’t get the sense he was talking about Kevin. I said, “I’m not seeing the resemblance.”

“Spitting image. Neither of yous ever did anything in his life without a bloody good reason, and neither one of yous ever told anyone what the reason was unless he had to. I couldn’t deny the pair of yous, anyway, that’s for sure.”

He was enjoying himself. I knew I should keep my gob shut, but I couldn’t do it. I said, “I’m nothing like any of this family. Nothing. I walked away from this house so that I wouldn’t be. I’ve spent my whole life making damn sure of it.”