I could feel her still watching me, out of the shadows. Finally she said, “I’d like that too. Thank you for asking me.”

There was a tumbling split second when I almost moved towards her, almost reached out to do I don’t know what: grab her, crush her against me, go on my knees on the marble tiles and bury my face in her soft lap. I stopped myself by clenching my teeth so hard, I almost snapped my jaw. When I could move again, I took the tray out to the kitchen and left.

Olivia didn’t move. I let myself out; maybe I said good night, I don’t remember. All the way out to the car I could feel her behind me, the heat of her, like a clear white light burning steadily in the dark conservatory. It was the only thing that got me home.

Chapter 23

23

I left my family alone while Stephen put together his case, and while he charged Shay with two counts of murder, and while the High Court turned Shay down for bail. George, God bless his cotton socks, let me come back to work without saying a word; he even threw me a new and insanely complicated operation, involving Lithuania and AK-47s and several interesting guys named Vytautas, on which I could easily work hundred-hour weeks if I felt the urge, which I did. Squad rumor claimed that Scorcher had filed an outraged complaint about my general lack of protocol, and that George had surfaced from his usual semicoma long enough to hit him with several years’ worth of nitpicky paperwork requesting further information in triplicate.

When I figured my family’s emotional pitch might have dropped a notch or two, I picked an evening and got home from work early, around ten o’clock. I put whatever was in the fridge between two slices of bread and ate it. Then I took a smoke and a glass of Jameson’s finest out onto the balcony, and phoned Jackie.

“Jaysus,” she said. She was at home, with the telly going in the background. Her voice was blank with surprise; I couldn’t tell what else was under there. To Gavin: “It’s Francis.”

An unintelligible mutter from Gav, and then the TV noise fading as Jackie moved away. She said, “Jaysus. I didn’t think . . . How’re you getting on, anyway?”

“Hanging in there. How about you?”

“Ah, sure. You know yourself.”

I said, “How’s Ma doing?”

A sigh. “Ah, she’s not great, Francis.”

“What way?”

“She’s looking a bit peaky, and she’s awful quiet—and you know yourself, that’s not like her. I’d be happier if she was giving out right and left.”

“I was afraid she’d have a heart attack on us.” I tried to make it sound like I was joking. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t give us the satisfaction.”