My phone pinged. It was a message from Sadie O’Riordan asking if I wanted to go to a film. Any other Sunday, I would have. We often met up to go to the cinema while her husband Jack Lehane went to a match (hurling in summer, rugby in winter, the Premiership on telly, if he was stuck). Sadie was a detective in the Garda Síochána, based at Detective HQ in Coughlan’s Quay. She had been in my law class at UCC. Our closeness was situationally inevitable: she and I sat in the back row at every lecture. By the end of week one, we were friends for life.

After college, Sadie had opted for Garda training in Templemore instead of going into legal practice. It was a decision I hadn’t understood at the time. I had always seen the law from a defence rather than a prosecution standpoint. But, based on my behaviour over the last few days, I was beginning to understand that we were more alike than I’d realised. I would have liked to have shown the evidence I had to her to see what she thought. As I was bound by client confidentiality, I couldn’t do that unless the clients permitted the disclosure. Though why wouldn’t they? I’d check it with them. I texted Sadie to say I couldn’t meet today but that I’d call her during the week to arrange something else.

Along with the messages from Sadie and Ann, I had a voicemail from my mam, Doreen, wondering how I was, as she hadn’t heard from me for days and didn’t know was I alive or dead, let alone if I was coming around for the dinner and should she put on spuds for me or not and would I please phone soon or my father was going to have to drive over and see what was wrong. I groaned as I listened. Then I rang her.

‘Finn! At last. Thank God. We were worried,’ Mam said.

‘Sure wasn’t I only talking to you Friday afternoon? Anyway, how are things?’

My mother went into an animated recital of local news, weather, sick relatives, dead neighbours, funerals attended and upcoming medical appointments, ending with ‘So we’ll see you later on?’

‘Not for dinner, Mam, but I might be able to call in – or during the week. I’ve been busy, sorry, working all weekend as it happens so …’

‘I knew that’s why we didn’t hear from you. Your father wants to talk to you.’

I heard muffled voices as my mother summoned Jim, my dad, to the phone. He’s not a phone person and would have been a lot happier saying whatever he had to say when he saw me next. But if Doreen wanted him to talk to me now, he would. Otherwise he had no hope of a quiet read of the Sunday papers.