‘With respect,’ Declan said, his face serious, ‘what happened to Kelly happened to all of us. We were all touched by it, Ingrid. Even you. Every single one of us changed that day and don’t tell me you don’t know that to be true as much as I do.’

I don’t want to get dragged down this rabbit hole again.

‘Look, Declan. It’s been a bastard of a day, so if there is anything you want to tell me – anything new – then just get to the point and tell me. I’m tired and I’m not in the mood for riddles or trying to make anyone else feel better about things.’

He blinks. Taken aback by the harshness of my tone. To be honest, I’m a bit surprised by it too, but it’s clear that Declan Heaney has made up some stuff and nonsense about what happened in Creggan just to come here and find out how my chat with his brother went.

‘Sorry for giving a shite,’ Declan says. ‘I just wanted to check you were okay after you met with him. You don’t know him like I do.’

‘I don’t know either of you, Declan,’ I say. ‘Not any more. Just because we played together twenty-five years ago, it doesn’t mean we have any knowledge of each other now. Niall didn’t tell me anything to alarm me. He didn’t behave like a madman. The only person behaving strangely is you, coming to my flat again for a second night in a row. We aren’t friends, Declan. We’re barely even acquaintances.’

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Then he stands up and walks to the kitchen, pours his tea down the sink and says he must be going. I don’t do anything to stop him. I just want him out of my flat.

I jump as the door slams shut and he leaves, but I refuse to feel bad for how I spoke to him. I just lock the door, pull the chain across and put the chair back in front of it before going to bed.

I can deal with everything else – the car, the Dohertys, how uncomfortable I feel – tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-One

Declan

Saturday, 26 October 2019

Declan Heaney wakes under a black cloud. For the first few moments of consciousness, he can’t quite figure out why. He often wakes up like this – angry at the world for every reason and no reason at the same time. Being angry at himself for waking up to another day is nothing new. But today, today there is something more.

He senses it as he stretches, smells the stench of his own morning breath on his pillow. He senses it as he scratches himself, wondering when it was he stopped waking up with an erection. Is it because of ageing? Or something else?