BRUNO HEADS HOME FOR a shower. Whatever happened to the O’Grady family isn’t getting solved without sleep. In the living room, his brother Danny sits in front of Sale of the Century with a beer. Bruno grabs a XXXX Bitter and joins him, pecking at the lukewarm fish and chips on the coffee table.
‘Rough day?’ says Danny.
‘Just a day.’
‘Gracie called.’
Their sister. The youngest.
‘What did she want?’
‘She wants to know when we’re going to start cleaning out Dad’s place.’
‘What did you tell her?’
Danny smiles a little, keeps his eyes on the TV. ‘I told her I’d drop the keys round whenever she’s ready to get started.’
Bruno can’t be fucked with this tonight.
He takes a sip of his beer.
He closes his eyes.
Years ago, when Danny was nine and Bruno was fourteen, the two of them got caught in a rip during a swim. It was Danny’s fault. He went out too far and Bruno—already a cop in some capacity—went out to tell him to come back in. They both got swept away.
It wasn’t a big deal. Both of them were strong swimmers, and the lifeguards were on hand. It was really just about staying calm, and Bruno was always calm.
‘What do we do now?’ said Danny, dog paddling in the water, the shoreline receding in the distance. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Save your energy.’
‘I feel like we should try to swim up a bit.’
Bruno could already see the lifeboat coming down the beach. ‘They’re on their way.’
For minutes, they remained in the current. The water flat and quiet.
‘Mum’s going to be pissed,’ said Danny.
‘One thing at a time.’
Mum was at home. She hated the beach.
Danny craned his head, searched the shore. ‘What do you think Dad’s going to say?’
‘He’s probably still asleep.’
They’d left the old man passed out on the sand with the newspaper spread across his face.
Danny laughed. ‘Jeez, I hope so.’
But Dad wasn’t asleep. He was wide awake and red-faced. He gave them an earful when they got back to shore.
The boys took it. It was fair enough.
He had told them a hundred times.
And yet he never told their mother. No, their dad watched them get washed out to sea and never said a word.
No one did.
No one wanted to worry her.
‘Al Pacino,’ shouts Danny, pointing at Tony Barber on the TV. ‘Holy shit, I could have the car, mate. I’m good at this.’
Bruno jolts awake, half-asleep in the chair. ‘What?’
‘Go to bed.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Go on.’
Bruno slowly drags himself up. He goes to his room and opens the closet. There’s a safe in the floor and Bruno lifts a steel box out of it, then opens the box with a key from his belt. He puts his service gun inside. Then he takes the photograph from his jacket—the one that came with the deck of house shots—and he places that in the box with the gun and locks it in. He tries to sleep but finds he’s so tired that his mind is playing tricks on him. Bruno checks and rechecks the safe a half-dozen times before he finally passes out.