Faithful Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #3)(149)

Her voice trailed off. I said, “Shay used to do all that.”

“Yeah.”

I said, “Should I go over and give a hand?”

There was a startled instant of silence. “Should you . . . ? Ah, no; no, Francis. You’re all right.”

“I’ll get my arse down there tomorrow, if you think it’s a good idea. I’ve been staying clear because I figured I’d do more harm than good, but if I’m wrong . . .”

“Ah, no; I’d say you’re right. Not meaning that in a bad way, like; just . . .”

“No, I get you. That’s what I thought.”

Jackie said, “I’ll tell them you were asking after them.”

“You do that. And if anything changes down the road, just let me know, yeah?”

“I will, yeah. Thanks for the offer.”

I said, “What about Holly?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Is she going to be welcome over at Ma’s, from now on?”

“Do you want her to be? I thought for sure . . .”

“I don’t know, Jackie. I haven’t got that far yet. Probably not, no. But I do want to know exactly where she stands.”

Jackie sighed, a small sad flutter. “Sure, no one else knows that either. Not till . . . you know. Till things sort themselves out a bit.”

Till Shay had been tried and acquitted, or else convicted and put away for life twice over, either way due at least partly to what kind of job Holly did giving evidence against him. I said, “I can’t afford to wait that long, Jackie. And I can’t afford to have you being coy with me. This is my kid we’re talking about.”

Another sigh. “Being honest with you, Francis, if I was you I’d keep her away for a bit. For her own sake. Everyone’s a mess, everyone’s up to ninety, sooner or later someone’s going to say something that’ll hurt her feelings—not meaning to, but . . . Leave it for now. Do you think that’d be all right? It wouldn’t be too hard on her, like?”

I said, “That I can deal with. But here’s the thing, Jackie. Holly’s flat-out positive that what happened to Shay is her fault, and that even if it isn’t, the whole family thinks it is. Keeping her away from Ma’s—not that I have any problem with that, believe me—is only going to leave her more convinced. Frankly, I don’t give a f*ck if it’s one hundred percent true and everyone else in the family’s decided she’s a leper, but I need her to know that you’re the exception here. The kid is in pieces, and she’s already lost enough people to last her a lifetime. I need her to know that you’re still in her life, that you’ve got no intention of abandoning her, and that you don’t for one instant blame her for the anvil that’s after landing on all of our heads. Is any of that going to be a problem?”

Jackie was already making horrified sympathetic noises. “Ah, God love her, the poor little dote, how would I blame her—sure, she wasn’t even born when all this started! You give her a big hug from me and tell her I’ll be round to see her the second I get a chance.”

“Good. That’s what I figured. It doesn’t matter what I tell her, though: she needs to hear it from you. Can you give her a ring, set up a time to go hang out with her? Put the poor kid’s mind at ease. OK?”

“I will, of course. Come here, let me go do that now, I hate the thought of her sitting there getting herself all worried and upset—”

“Jackie,” I said. “Hang on a sec.”

“Yeah?”

I wanted to smack myself across the back of the head for asking, but it came out anyway. “Tell me something, while we’re on the subject. Am I going to be hearing from you again, too? Or is it just Holly?”

The pause only lasted a fraction of a second, but that was long enough. I said, “If that’s not on the cards, babe, I’m OK with it. I can see where you’d be having trouble here. I just like knowing what the story is; I find it saves time and hassle all round. Does that not sound fair enough?”

“Yeah. It does. Ah, God, Francis . . .” A quick catch of breath, almost a spasm, like she’d been gut-punched. “Course I’ll be back in touch. Course I will. Just . . . I might need a little while. A few weeks, maybe, or . . . I’m not going to lie to you: my head’s melted. I don’t know what to do with myself. It could be a while before . . .”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Believe me, I know the feeling.”

“I’m sorry, Francis. I’m really, really sorry.”

Her voice sounded thin and desperate, frayed to the last thread. It would have taken an even bigger sonofabitch than me to make her feel worse. I said, “Shit happens, kid. This wasn’t your fault, any more than it was Holly’s.”

“It was, but. If I hadn’t brought her over to Mammy’s to begin with . . .”

“Or if I hadn’t brought her that specific day. Or, better yet, if Shay hadn’t . . . Well, there we go.” The rest of the sentence unraveled into the empty air between us. “You did your best; that’s all anyone can do. You go unmelt your head, babe. Take your time. Call me when you’re done.”

“I will. Honest to God, I will. And, Francis . . . you look after yourself, meanwhile. Seriously, now.”