I pull the curtains closed, to fend off the darkness in more ways than one, and then I pour myself two fingers of Jameson and throw it back, allowing the hot spice of the whiskey to burn then soothe my throat. Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll fall into a drunken sleep that won’t allow me to jump at every creak and rattle through the night.

I’m about to pour a second glass, when the buzzer for the door goes.

It buzzes a second time and I look at the grainy CCTV image, to see the familiar figure of Declan Heaney looking into the lens.

‘Ingrid?’ he asks. ‘It’s Declan. I’m just checking you’re okay. After what happened at the Dohertys’? I was just passing …’ he mumbles. ‘Can I come up?’

No, I think. I just want to drink myself into semi-oblivion and go to sleep.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ I say.

‘Sure, it’s only me,’ he says. ‘I won’t be long. Honest. I just wanted to have a quick chat. See if you’re okay. And here, I’ve heard a whisper about what happened at the Dohertys’. It might be a lead for you to follow. But look, if it makes you feel uncomfortable …’

I think of him. Harmless – lonely, too. Just like me, I suppose. I think of the contrast in his life compared to Niall’s and hit the button to let him in before quickly running to my room and changing into a pair of jeans and a jumper.

When I open the door, I’m glad to see he’s not in the same sorry state he was in when he last called. He seems sober. Or mostly sober. And while it’s clear he has been out in the rain, he isn’t soaked through.

‘Wild, isn’t it? That craic up in Creggan.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m told it was brutal. Derry rumours have them cutting his tongue out, but I don’t think that’s true.’

‘It isn’t,’ I say before thinking that I really shouldn’t say any more. ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but I do know that’s not the case.’

He nods. He’s a little fidgety, his eyes darting around the room. He spots the Jameson bottle on the worktop and I curse myself for not putting it away.

‘On the hard stuff?’ he asks as he slips off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of my dining chairs.

‘Just a nightcap after a busy week,’ I say. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘A swig of the Jameson would suit me better, but tea will do,’ he says, and I put the kettle on to boil.