Patricia’s house – my house, that is – is on Cypress Avenue. We were united in the bidding for it for different reasons – she thought it was the nicest part of the city, and I knew it had inspired the Van Morrison song. Now that we had split, the song was tainted for ever. Another big fat fucking mark against her, that.
The house itself is a red-brick Victorian with dodgy slates and an infestation of woodlice. It is cold and draughty and costs a fortune to heat, which it never quite does. There are too many rooms for too few people. There are four guest bedrooms. We never had that many friends. We were a tight little unit, Trish and I, when the times were good. But with the first sign of trouble I was out on my arse, and I was now forced to stand outside the front door and ring the bell, as if I didn’t even have a key. It crossed my mind that she might have changed the locks, but I didn’t have the heart to check. Because it’s such a big house, if you’re caught on the wrong side when the bell rings, you usually miss whoever’s there. I knew this, and waited. It was gone four in the afternoon. When she eventually opened the door, she was wearing a dressing gown. A black silk one I had bought her for Christmas and which I’d never yet seen her in.
I complimented it and her. And then added, ‘You’re home from work early.’
‘You said you were calling. In fact you’re the one who’s early.’
‘I’m not looking for a fight,’ I said.
‘Then stop trying to pick one.’
‘I wasn’t. How’s your lover?’
‘Oh fuck off.’
I held my hands up. ‘Okay. Truce. You know what I’m here for.’ She nodded and stepped aside. As I passed her I said, ‘Did he slip out the back way?’
She said, ‘No, he’s still tied to the bed.’
I smiled. She did not.
I followed her up the stairs to my study. I’d never done much studying there, but it was where I kept my music. There was a lot of vinyl and several hundred CDs already packed in cardboard boxes.
She said, ‘I don’t know why you don’t just toss all that shit out. I mean, you can download it for nothing.’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘Yes it is,’ she said.
‘You’ll never understand. That’s why we don’t work.’
‘Really. I thought it was because you’re such an arse.’
‘Takes one to know one. Though, nice arse.’
‘I couldn’t not, the way you waggled it in my face coming up.’
‘That’s just the way I walk.’
‘You should get that checked out.’
‘Maybe I am.’
She gave me a smile. I didn’t give it back.
I was flicking through the CDs, taking them out randomly and checking that she hadn’t removed the discs from within.
She said, ‘How’s the case?’
‘It’s not a case. It’s a job.’
‘How’s the job, then, pedant?’
It was the second time I’d been called something similar in the last half-hour. I shrugged.
She sat on one of the boxes and said, ‘Tell me. I’m interested.’
I gave her a long look. When she didn’t crack a smile, I said, ‘Jack’s been championing this woman and kid from the Shankill the UVF are trying to chase out.’
‘Jean Murray.’
‘You know her?’
‘No, dummy, I’ve been listening to his show since you mentioned you were working for him.’
‘I’m not working for him. He’s one of my customers.’
She sighed. She said, ‘Well, despite you being an arse, I am interested. She’s hard as nails, isn’t she? And brave to the point of stupidity.’
‘Yep,’ I said.
‘So you’re thinking she and the kid are tied into the threat Jack got?’
‘It’s a possibility. I went out to see them. Not a great situation.’
‘Why did you feel the need to go and see them? Didn’t it all come out on the show?’
‘Not really, no. She keeps saying it, and God knows Jack keeps saying it too, that they know who’s responsible, but they won’t let her name them on the radio. Too worried about getting sued. The show’s not quite live, there’s like a twenty-second delay to allow them to yank something if it gets dodgy. Anyway, you know I always prefer to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.’
‘And sometimes you get taken for a ride.’
‘Nature of the business.’
‘And what business would that be?’
I looked at her. ‘I’m not a private eye.’
‘No you’re not, Dan. You’re a PA.’
‘P . . .’
‘Private arse. And you’ll get it kicked if you start messing around on the Shankill. You know that.’
‘It’s a distinct possibility.’
‘So why do it? There’ll be other customers; you just have to be patient.’
‘Trish. I need the money. We need the money. Unless you want to sell swanky Cypress Avenue here, then maybe I could afford to be a bit choosier.’
She smiled. ‘That’ll be the day,’ she said.
I put the last box in the car. She stood at the door and watched.
She said, ‘Somebody’s written on your car. Unless you’re advertising.’
‘Ten minutes on the Shankill and my reputation’s in ruins.’
‘Darlin’ . . .’ she began.
I put my hand up. ‘Enough already.’
‘So what’re you going to do now?’
‘A pie and a pint had crossed my mind.’
‘I mean about the case.’
‘It’s not a case.’
‘Dan . . .’
‘I’m going to ruminate, that’s what I’m going to do. But before that, if you don’t mind.’ I came up the steps. She stood against the frame, and there was a very slight arch to her back, as if she was expecting a kiss. ‘Do you mind if I use the bog before I go? Been on the road all day.’
She moved to the side, and I hurried past and up the stairs. I turned at the top towards the bathroom, but kept on going until I got to her bedroom. I had to check if that fucker was tied to the bed.