The suspect walked down Gilabbey Street past the Abbey Tavern in the direction of Fort Street and out of coverage. Six minutes later he walked back, moving faster but not running, going out of view again as he headed in the direction of College Road. The timing dovetailed with the burning of my car. And the figure was male and bulky. It looked like Pawel Zdziarski, but because he kept his hood up and head down, it was hard to tell.

I played and replayed the video and tried to tune out Ruth’s running commentary in my left ear. There was one section where it was almost possible to see the suspect’s face but only for a microsecond. Every time I went back over it I missed it. I slid the laptop across to Ruth and asked her to try. She went back and forth repeatedly, grimacing, until she got a freeze-frame on the face. Then she passed the laptop back to me.

‘Holy shit,’ I said.

‘Do you know him? Do you?’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Who is he? What’s his name?’

‘He’s on your system. He has previous. He works in his dad’s garage on the Kinsale Road. His name is … it’s Joey O’Connor.’

35

I woke with a start.

Remembering.

Last time I saw her.

Her coming to collect me for a visit. Mam letting her in.

‘Come in, Nora, good to see you.’

Me in the dining room, hearing her voice.

Her rushing in, standing, looking.

‘Hello you,’ her saying. ‘Bigger every time I see you. Come here for a hug.’

Me. Nine years old. Staying back, standing, far side of the table from her, the door to the garden open behind me, sunny day. Me watching. Her. Summer dress on. Pink with black lace. Bracelets jangling. Pink lipstick. Hair high, all fresh blonde, dark roots hidden, flowery scarf around her head. Pretty today. Like Barbie. Like Madonna.

Won’t last.

‘No hug?’ she says. ‘Plenty of time for hugs in our new home, that’s where we’re going, our own house, two bedrooms, a little garden, we can plant sunflowers, look?’

Her taking a packet of seeds out of her bag, pushing them at me, teeth smiling.

Her putting the seeds back in the bag, the purple bag, always full of her stuff.

Books.

Ciggies.

Vodka.

Me saying nothing.

‘That’s okay,’ she says. ‘We can decide later.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ I say.

‘Now, Finn,’ Mam says. ‘We talked about this.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ I say again.

‘I didn’t say it right,’ she says. ‘We’re only visiting today. Just for a look. We’ll go as slowly as you want. The judge says I’m nearly ready to get you back, and I know I am, but I want you to be ready too, so we’ll be really gradual, won’t we, Doreen?’

‘We will,’ Mam says.