‘Only?’ His voice rose sharply over the syllables.

‘You’ve got to trust me.’24

‘You think I don’t? I’m here, aren’t I?’

‘I know.’

‘Then trust me.’

‘I do trust you. It’s just…I found it, okay? That’s all you need to know.’

The road evolved boundlessly beneath them, neither source nor end.

‘Whose is it? Orla, answer me, whose is it? Whose is the money?’

‘Only bad people.’

‘How do you know they’re bad?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Did they see you?’

The baby woke and grunted and Orla hushed her, stroking her leg until she fell silent. Orla hated herself for creating another drudge to be exploited. But maybe she would do better than them, be better than them. Orla hoped so. But the apple seldom fell far. It was time to pick up the apple and throw it as far as she could. A sign for a services appeared and he pulled across the lanes and turned in.

She took the baby to the women’s and changed her and then sat back in the van, listening to the news on the radio while he refuelled. Unable to stomach the constant sewer stream of fear-mongering and abjection from the airwaves, she switched it off and looked across at the payphone beside the entrance to the services. Three digits and it was over. Back to zero. No harm, no foul. Liam appeared and asked her if she wanted breakfast.

They sat in the food court eating sandwiches and drinking tea. He ate slowly, staring through the table, mind elsewhere. She ate quickly, watching customers, listening to their dislocated conversations. A babbling river of noise. The baby slept through it all. 25Liam set down his cup and inhaled loudly through his nose and irritably ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her with an expression that said he was about to say something. He didn’t.

On their way back to the van, she told him to go on ahead and she watched him walk off with the baby and then she stopped at a cash machine and withdrew all she could on their cards, maxing out each one. When she got back in the van, he was listening to a sad song from the sixties on the radio, something about cold lonely summers and saying goodbye. The sky clouded over and the temperature dropped and rain pattered the roof, the windows. A chill touched her and her skin cringed across her bones like a shying animal. He switched on the wipers and merged with the northbound traffic.

‘Listen, I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I should stay at Fran’s.’

‘What are you talking about?’