HOW I MANAGED to get myself out of Tony’s house and into the square to find a taxi, I’ll never know. How I endured the chat on the journey back, found my keys and got myself into my house and bathroom before I threw up, I’ll also never know. But I did. And when I had done all of that, I took three painkillers, locked the doors and windows and went to bed with Guinness sleeping at my feet.
Amazingly, I slept for a full nine hours. It was only when I awoke the following morning, New Year’s Day, that I allowed myself to begin to absorb what had happened. My phone rang and I picked it up from my bedside locker. It was Maeve. She sounded worried.
“Are you okay? You ran out of Tony’s last night like you’d heard a shot. I went after you, but you’d disappeared.”
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. You left before midnight, on New Year’s Eve. What happened?”
I knew I would have to tell Maeve at some stage, but I wasn’t ready; I hadn’t yet processed it myself. And I certainly couldn’t tell her over the phone.
“I’ll tell you later. I just have to work out a few things first.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “But if you don’t call me by tonight, I’m coming over.”
“I will, I promise.”
When I ended the call, Guinness, who had made his way to the top of the bed, rubbed his cheek against my hand, and I scratched the little white patch on the top of his head. My own head was spinning. All the questions I’d blocked out the night before came flooding back in as if someone had opened a sluice gate. What the hell was Luke Kirby doing in Glendara, and what was he doing with Susanne Craig? Where had they met? Did she even know who he was?
The full implications of his presence began to hit. Inishowen was my sanctuary. It was where I had come to escape my past, to see if I could, over time, put the pieces of my life back together. If I could somehow forget, not my sister, but the awful way in which she had died and the man who had killed her. The man who I’d thought I loved, and who I now hated with all my being.
Was I now going to have to start seeing this man on the street? Accept him as a neighbor? Welcome him into the town I had come to consider my home? The town that had helped me recover from something I never thought I could? It had been bad enough last year when he had rung my office. Now I felt as if he had invaded my home and soiled everything that was important to me.
I knew I couldn’t handle this on my own. I rang Molloy and got his voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I called the Garda station and got McFadden. He told me that Molloy had gone to see Stan MacLochlainn, who had regained consciousness, and that he’d be back at the station in an hour.
When I climbed out of bed, I found I was shaking as if I had a really bad hangover. I massaged the bones around my eyes, my skin feeling too tight for my skull. I decided to have a bath, threw in some lavender and soaked for about twenty minutes. I was almost asleep again when I heard a knock at the door downstairs. I sat up in shock, spilling water onto the mat. I began to shiver. Kirby wouldn’t come here, would he? To my house? Last night he’d seemed happy to keep up the pretense that we’d never met. But it wouldn’t be hard to find out where I lived, assuming he didn’t know already.
I forced myself to throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt and make my way slowly down the stairs, legs trembling. At the door, I hesitated, wishing suddenly for a spyhole so I could see who was outside. I steeled myself, took a deep breath, and opened the door to find Phyllis holding a basket of homemade mince pies and a pot of cream. I almost cried with relief.
“Okay, pet,” she said. “I’m going to make us a big pot of tea, I’m going to heat these up and you’re going to spill.”
I shook my head but was powerless to stop her marching past me and making her way to the kitchen, where she ignored my pleas while she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Then she turned, her large rump pressed against the sink.
“Now,” she said gently, “sit down and tell me exactly what’s going on. You left Tony’s last night as if you’d seen a ghost. I’ve never seen you like that. Tony and Maeve both followed you. What with everything that’s been going on, they were worried sick. It was only when Tony spoke to one of the taxi drivers that we knew you’d got home safely and we decided to let you be.”
The taxi drivers in Glendara seemed to be awfully chatty this season, I thought.
Phyllis nodded. “You raced out of there as soon as you were introduced to Susanne’s new boyfriend.” She looked worried. “Don’t you remember?”
Susanne’s new boyfriend. I had a flashback of a hand outstretched, that arrogant smile. I sank into one of the kitchen chairs, my head pounding and muggy. I was beginning to think I might be developing flu along with everything else.
“I remember.”
How would Tony react if he knew that his daughter’s new boyfriend was a convicted killer? I thought. The age difference was the least of his worries.
“You don’t look well,” Phyllis said. “Are you coming down with something?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, you just sit there quietly. I’ll make this tea and then we can chat.”
She turned towards the sink and I watched her busying herself about my kitchen as if she’d spent all her life in it. I knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Not so long ago, a woman who had worked for her had been murdered, and she was still haunted by the fact that she had been unable to make the woman confide in her before she died. She wasn’t going to allow me to fob her off now.
But the only people in Inishowen I had told about my sister’s killing were Maeve and Molloy. I’d always thought that was the best policy. I’d come here to escape my past and start a new life. It would have completely defeated the purpose if I were to tell everyone and become the subject of town chatter. Now, though, without any notice, the rules seemed to have changed. Luke Kirby had changed them. With an unpleasant jolt, I realized there was no way he was here by accident. He knew this was where I lived. I had known that since he had called me last year. And now he was throwing down the gauntlet and awaiting my response.
So when Phyllis had taken her seat at the table, poured me a cup of tea and handed me a mince pie with a huge dollop of cream, I told her. I told her everything, kept nothing back. I told her about my relationship with Luke, about how he had moved on to my younger sister, breaking my heart in the process, and how he had introduced her to cocaine. I told her how Faye had been found strangled in her own flat and how Luke Kirby had eventually been convicted and sentenced for her manslaughter.
I avoided looking at Phyllis for most of the time I talked, the notion that the very man I was talking about was within ten miles of where we were sitting too much to bear. When I had finished, I looked up.
Phyllis was in tears. She had allowed her eyes to fill while I was talking, fearful maybe that if she moved, she would cause me to lose my nerve. And so when I stopped, she rooted in the pocket of her dress for a large handkerchief, which she used to wipe her eyes and nose. It was the third time I had related the story of my sister’s death and the first time I was the one with dry eyes.
“I remember it, you know,” she said. “From the news. Your sister’s name was …”
“Faye.”
“Yes. So that was you, the older sister. This is your story,” she said quietly.
I nodded.
“I always knew you had a sadness about you, but I never imagined it was something like this …” She trailed off, then suddenly stood up to envelop me in her huge arms.
I accepted her embrace gladly. There was a solid comfort and safety about her hug, as if I was being held by someone who could protect me. But it was then that the sickening realization hit – if Luke Kirby really wanted to hurt me, there was very little anyone could do about it.
When Phyllis finally released me, she sat back down and helped herself to another mince pie. I joined her, feeling light-headed, and watched mesmerized as she added spoonful after spoonful of cream until the pie was an island in a pool of white. “And he’s a lawyer, like you?” she said, taking a spoonful of her mince pie soup.
“He was. We worked for the same firm. I don’t think he’s allowed to practice anymore. At least I hope he isn’t.”
“He probably advises all the other prisoners,” Phyllis said with a wry expression. “That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?”
“Probably. Although now that he’s out, I don’t know what he’s doing for a living. And what the hell he’s doing here …”
Phyllis widened her eyes in horror and I realized that I hadn’t finished my story. “Oh, good God, that’s why you ran out of Tony’s last night. That’s him, isn’t it? Susanne’s new boyfriend. He’s the man who killed your sister.”
“Yes. Luke Kirby,” I said. I felt stupid. My reactions seemed dulled, as if everything I had had been poured into telling the story and there was nothing left. “Isn’t that what he’s calling himself?”
“I don’t know – he was just introduced to me as Luke, and you called him Kirby when you were telling your story. He might be using a different surname. If he isn’t, Tony might recognize it even if Susanne doesn’t.” Phyllis paused to think. “Although he might not, since it was a good few years ago.”
“Ten. The trial was ten years ago.”
“Do you think Susanne’s in danger?” Phyllis asked.
“I don’t know, Phyllis. I only know that Luke Kirby killed my sister and he seemed absolutely certain that he would get away with it. He was utterly shocked when he was convicted.”
“A bit of a God complex,” Phyllis said. “So what can we do about it? I mean, if he’s served his sentence, I suppose that means he’s entitled to live his life wherever he wants.”
“I suppose. I don’t know,” I said.
“Have you talked to the sergeant?”
“Not yet.” I checked my watch. “I’m going into Glendara now.”
“Should I tell Tony about this?” Phyllis asked.
“Maybe hold off until I speak to Molloy. It might be better to let him handle it.”
Driving into Glendara, I felt as if I’d let something out of the bag that I’d managed to keep contained for years. I wondered if it had been a mistake; I had no idea what the consequences would be. But then it hadn’t been my choice, it had been Luke’s; he was the one in control. I was afraid that nothing in Glendara would ever be the same again.
I parked in front of the Garda station, pausing to take a gulp from a bottle of water I’d left on the front seat. My throat felt scratchy and sore and my head was full, and as I walked the few steps to the door, I noticed that my limbs were beginning to ache too. Flu was the last thing I needed. I reached for the door and it swung outwards, forcing me to stand back to let someone out. It was Kirby.
“Excuse me,” he said, without looking at my face.
He walked past me, leaving a trail of expensive scent in his wake, the one he’d always worn, the one I’d smelled the night before. I watched in stunned silence as he continued up the street. The door of the station swung shut. My hand trembled as I pushed it open again. Molloy was alone at the front desk; no sign of McFadden. He shook his head when he saw me. He looked appalled.
“No need to ask if you’ve seen him then?”
I nodded, unable to speak. He came around the front of the desk and took me in his arms, clasping my head to his front, the rough fabric of his uniform solid against my cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded against his chest.
“He came to check in with us,” he said, when we pulled apart. “He doesn’t have to; it wasn’t part of the terms of his release, but because he now knows you live around here, he said he thought he should do the right thing and let us know.”
“Now knows?”
“Claims he only realized when he saw you last night.”
My hackles rose. “You know that’s a complete lie. He’s always known. Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“Unfortunately, he’s served his sentence,” Molloy said.
“Did he not get remission?” I asked.
“Only the bare minimum. He’s subject to the usual requirement to keep the peace and be of good behavior, but that’s it. No obligation to stay away from anyone or out of any particular town. The only thing you could do to make him leave is make an application to the courts yourself. But he’d have to have done something to cause you to do that.”
Molloy was only telling me what I knew myself.
“I know it’s no comfort, but I don’t think he intends staying here long,” he said.
I put my head in my hands. “I suppose it’s better he’s here than in Chapelizod, running into my parents.”
Molloy looked at me. “You don’t seem as shocked as I thought you’d be.”
“I met him last night at Tony’s,” I said.
“So that’s where he saw you. What was he doing there?”
“He’s Susanne Craig’s new boyfriend.”
Molloy’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. He said he had a relationship with someone here but he didn’t give me a name.”
“I’m going to have to tell Tony.”
Molloy was quiet.
“What?” I demanded. “You don’t agree? I presume she doesn’t know about his past.”
“He claims he told his girlfriend he’s been in prison and she’s fine with it. He says he has been completely open with her.”
I felt my remaining power drain away. All I wanted to do was sleep.