It was such a pathetic little story, a snip of nothing, the kind teenage girls fight over and forget every day. It had led us to this week and this room.

“Tell me,” I said. “Did he at least throw you a quick fuck, after all that?”

Imelda wasn’t looking at me, but the red patches deepened. “Oh, good. I’d hate to think you went to the hassle of selling me and Rosie down the river, all for nothing. This way, yeah, two people ended up dead and a big bunch of lives ended up getting blown to smithereens, but hey, at least you got the ride you were after.”

She said, in a thin stretched voice, “You mean . . . ? Me saying it to Shay. Did that get Rosie killed?”

“You’re a fucking genius.”

“Francis. Did . . . ?” Imelda shuddered all over, like a spooked horse. “Did Shay . . . ?”

“Did I say that?”

She shook her head.

“Well spotted. Pay attention, Imelda: if you go spreading that shite around, if you say it to even one person, you will regret it for the rest of your life. You’ve done your best to wreck one of my brothers’ name; I’m not having you wreck the other.”

“I’ll say nothing to anyone. I swear, Francis.”

“That includes your daughters. Just in case squealing runs in the family.” She flinched. “You never talked to Shay, and I was never here. Have you got me?”

“Yeah. Francis . . . I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I never once thought . . .”

I said, “Look what you did.” It was the only thing that would come out of my mouth. “Sweet Jesus, Imelda. Just look what you did.” And I left her there, staring at ash and broken glass and nothing.

Chapter 19

19