‘Ms Devlin,’ he says. ‘Do you want me to walk you to your car? I can ask this gentleman to leave if you want.’

Niall is looking at me. His facial expression pleading for me to believe him.

‘Or I can call the police for you?’ the security man adds.

I shake my head. ‘No. No, I’m fine. Thank you. I’m fine. Niall, I’m fine, too.’

The security guard nods and leaves, and Niall takes a step closer to me.

‘I really didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says. ‘But you had to know. You can double-check if you don’t believe me.’

I simply nod. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Ingrid,’ Niall says, ‘if it’s any consolation at all, I think you’re incredibly brave. It takes a lot of guts to put yourself on the line like this. I’m not sure I’d have the balls to keep digging, but I suppose that’s why I’m a primary school teacher and you’re the journalist with the book deal.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘For the tea, and the info.’

‘Take care, Ingrid,’ he says. ‘If you need anything else, get in touch.’

‘I will,’ I say as I finally leave him and head to my car.

I lock the doors as soon as I’m safely inside and when my hands have stopped shaking, I turn the key in the ignition to start the engine.

The radio bursts into life, much too loud for my current state, and I immediately turn the volume down. It’s 2 p.m. and I hear the presenter announce the news is coming next. No doubt they’ll lead with the Doherty attack. It wouldn’t hurt for me to hear what their top line is.

But instead of launching into the details of last night’s assault, the newsreader leads with news that the body of a man has been discovered on rail tracks between Portstewart and Coleraine.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Declan

Declan’s hand is throbbing, his knuckles bloodied and bruised. The fist-shaped dent in his wall doesn’t look too great, either.

He is angry at himself for losing his cool and lashing out, even if, this time, it was only the wall in his bedroom that bore the brunt of his physical aggression.

Ingrid Devlin is with Niall. In town. Having a coffee.

Of course she is.

He thinks again of how cold she was with him last night. How she looked as if she couldn’t wait for him to leave. Even though she had been shaken by what happened, she hadn’t reached out to him for comfort like he had hoped she would.

It was the first time he had seen something cold – disgust maybe – in her eyes when she looked at him. He’d been so stupid to think she could see him as anything more than the wastrel he is.