The vehicle was fitted with roof lights and a bull bar and sat on a dirt road beside the cat’s cradle of a felled pylon dissolving to rust. Keys still in the ignition. Joseph started the engine and Dolan tapped Orla McCabe’s address into the GPS. The Defender accelerated and then braked and a rear door swung open. Dolan whistled and the dog sprang soaked from the reed bed and galloped up the bank. It stood staring at him through the open door, head cocked in strained contemplation. Then it shook itself dry, barked once and jumped in. The door shut and the Defender vanished.16

65

Six hours ago Orla McCabe was standing at her kitchen table looking at the money in the case. The money lay stacked in a block the exact size to plug the hole beaten through the middle of her life. She wiped her arm across her sweaty face and looked at the case itself. A brutal thing, deep and bulky, like something a paramedic would lug. Bright orange shell made from some type of thermoplastic polymer. Unbreakable, watertight. Black foam lining imperfectly cut to accommodate the money block. She shut the case and went upstairs.

In the doorway of the box room at the back of the house, she stood watching her baby sleep. A flickering street light intermittently laddered the room through the vertical blinds. At the cot she kissed her fingertips and touched them to the baby’s forehead. The baby flexed a chubby paw and made a noise in her throat.

Orla switched off the TV in her bedroom and watched Liam sleeping fully clothed on top of the covers. Was she in his dreams like he was in hers? She often wondered this but never asked. Afraid of the answer. She was covering him with the blanket when he asked her the time.

‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘Has she been okay?’

‘Yeah, she’s fine. I’ve been calling you. Where’ve you been?’

She walked around the bed and held him. He reached out and stroked her shoulder. She pressed her cheek against his beard.

‘You okay?’ he said.

She said nothing.

‘Get in bed,’ he said. ‘I can feel the cold coming off you.’

‘Come downstairs.’17

‘What for? What’s wrong?’

‘I need to show you something.’

After she’d shown him what she’d brought home with her from the moor, she packed a bag while he called his Uncle Fran. She’d never met the man and Liam himself hadn’t seen him in years but they’d no one else to turn to. They lived small lives. The phone call was difficult for Liam and no doubt for Fran given the nature of the call and the hour.