That was when Declan realised monsters existed and sometimes they existed right beside you. Sometimes they looked just like you. And Declan knew he could never, ever tell anyone, because losing his brother would be like losing a part of himself.

But, it seems, he lost him anyway.

And now, now he has to open up and tell the truth. For him, for Jamesy, for Ingrid. He might be angry with her, disappointed with her, but a large part of him still wants her enough to do what he needs to do to protect her. No matter the consequences in his own family. He has covered for Niall for too long.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Ingrid

I can no longer hear the noise around us. I can only hear what is happening right here and right now in the eye of our own storm. I can feel the adrenaline surge through my body, the fight or flight instinct telling me to run. It is almost painful not to, yet I have to hear what he is going to say next.

‘You hate me,’ he says suddenly, his voice quieter.

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

‘I was only ten,’ he says. ‘Just like you. You remember that, don’t you? We were so young. So stupid. So naive. Not like kids these days. I had no wit about me, my whole life ahead of me, and I was just so scared. I couldn’t speak. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell people. I did, but what would happen to me if I did? And my mum? And Declan? They didn’t deserve that. To have their lives destroyed. I know our life was far from perfect, but that would have blown it to pieces. I was young, but I knew that much.’

I can’t find any words. I try, but nothing comes to me except that I am standing in front of a man who has kept the darkest secret anyone could keep for the past twenty-five years. He has built a successful life, while Kelly and her life stopped. I think of Bernie – broken, bloodied, terrified. I think of Liam Doherty lying in hospital. I think of Jamesy, torn to pieces on a railway line. So many lives destroyed.

And this man in front of me is responsible and could’ve stopped it.

It dawns on me, as he stands, tears trickling down his face, that maybe he has tried to stop it in his own way. Maybe he’s the one who has tried to kill this story, bury any mention of it. Maybe he knows who targeted my car. Who held Liam Doherty down. Who pulled Jamesy Harte from his bedsit in the middle of the night.

‘You can still do the right thing,’ I say, my voice shaky.