Sara-Jade shrugged. ‘Not sure. But it was definitely one of the men’s.’

At that moment, Cillian and Titus walked in. Sara-Jade dashed over to Titus and, standing on tiptoe, planted a gentle kiss on his bruised cheek. Imelda wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss Cillian or slap him. On his left cheek, a purple bruise was blooming, and his lip was split and swollen. He met her gaze with a weary smile and she felt herself weaken for just a moment. But then the memory of Vivienne’s arms around his neck and her face nestled into his chest hardened her heart once more. Without a word, she handed him a cup of tea.

‘You stood me up last night,’ he said sadly. ‘I was hoping we could have the last dance.’

‘Me too,’ Imelda replied. ‘And I was here. But you already had a partner.’

Chapter 47

Chapter 47

1973

Imelda sat outside with Grisha on the steps of the vardo, waiting for Cillian. It was a perfect summer evening. The garden was bathed in mellow light and a warm breeze carried the scent of jasmine from constellations of tiny star-shaped flowers that cascaded over the pergola at the back of the house. Imelda felt sick; a muddle of shifting emotions, each taking turns to rise and fall in both intensity and significance, manifest in a single physical symptom. She felt excited at the prospect of seeing him, angry with him, guilty for doubting him, stupid for trusting him, frightened of losing him, frightened for wanting him. So badly. She felt as though she was falling but had no idea where she might land. Only Cillian had the answer. She had refused to talk to him about Vivienne at Larkins. It was now a crime scene to her in more ways than one. She hoped that here, on home ground, she might feel calmer, more in control. The vardo had always been a sanctuary – first for her mother, and now for her. The rich colours and fabrics of its interior glowed under the flickering illumination of a dozen or so tealights. Music played from an old radio, and a bottle of wine was chilling in an ice bucket. Whether one or two glasses would be called for remained to be seen.

‘Listen first, think next and speak last,’ her father had counselled her.

‘Give him hell!’ Shunty-Mae had demanded. But she had tempered her words with a smile. Grisha sat up and cocked his head to one side, listening. His tail twitched. Cillian appeared at the back door of the house and hesitated for a moment before walking towards them. His swagger hadn’t entirely deserted him, but his certainty had. He looked relieved to see Grisha who charged to meet him, almost bowling him over before jumping up to greet him, paws on his shoulders, face to face.

‘Steady on, big fella. I’m thrilled to see you too!’