It was a little after 6.30 a.m. and Billie sat on the balcony of her flat cradling a mug of tea in her hands and waiting for the sun to rise. She had pulled on a winter coat over her pyjamas and wrapped a woolly scarf around her neck and over her head. It was freezing but she hoped that the crisp, sharp air would dispel the stupor brought on by last night’s wine and her friends’ interrogation. She had barely slept and had spent the night chasing thoughts of Imelda and Cillian Byrne around her head like a border collie attempting to herd a flock of errant sheep. The protectiveness she felt towards Imelda after their single encounter had taken her by surprise. She was sure that Imelda was not a liar or a hussy and had been uneasy when Annie had suggested it even jokingly, but she had neither the evidence nor experience to substantiate her faith in the woman’s character. And she was equally certain that Imelda was hiding far more than she was revealing.

A watery light was just bleeding into the darkness on the horizon.

‘Awake! for Morning in the bowl of night

Has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight:

And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught

The Sultan’s turret in a noose of light.’

There was no sultan’s turret to be seen from Billie’s balcony, but the majestic backlit silhouette of St Cuthbert’s church was almost as magical as the view described in Omar Khayyám’s Rubáiyát, a poem Billie had loved since finding a battered copy in a second-hand bookshop when she was a student. In a neighbour’s garden, a blackbird tested out a tentative warble, which was soon bolstered by other birdsong. A modest choir rather than a full dawn chorus, but nonetheless an avian overture to the new day. As the first sliver of sunlight surfaced above the horizon, Billie wondered if the whole truth about her own beginnings would ever be revealed.

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

1973

Imelda was surprised to see Ruby at her booth on the promenade, but welcomed her in and offered her a seat.

‘I didn’t want to see you at Larkins. You know how tongues wag. And I have to be so careful – Marty watches me like a hawk.’

Imelda took in Ruby’s weary eyes and drawn features.

‘Actually, I was going to ask you if there was anything I could do to help. Something seemed to be worrying you when I saw you on Saturday night.’

Ruby looked to be on the verge of tears.

‘It’s Treasure.’

Imelda picked up her favourite pack of tarot cards and handed it to Ruby.

‘Give them a shuffle, and let’s see what they have to say.’

The Moon, the Hermit, the Tower, Death and the Fives of every suit told of Treasure’s troubles.