‘It’s really not OK.’ Every rib hurt with panic. ‘Your brother is a copper. Why didn’t you tell me about him? What he did for a fucking job?’

She gave the slightest flinch at the swear word. ‘I wanted to call him straightaway. But when you said no police, and I realised what might have happened—’

‘What do you care? Why didn’t you turn me in?’

‘These things don’t always go the victim’s way.’ She shrugged a shoulder. ‘I didn’t know he’d be on the case. I’m sorry.’ Spoken as if she was talking about something on the telly, not what was happening here, now. ‘But please. Calm down. You’ll only make yourself ill again.’

‘I have to go right now.’

‘Matty.’ Her eyes were large, maddeningly docile. ‘It’s all right.’

‘How often does he come here?’

‘Not that often. Once a week. Sometimes more.’

‘Jesus. You helped me, knowing he could find me.’

‘No, that’s not it, of course not. I promise it’s OK.’ She laid a palm on her breastbone. ‘I’m his sister. He’d never suspect.’

‘My bloody camper van is in your garage.’

‘He won’t see it.’

‘It’s right there.’

‘He won’t see it.’ She looked strangely calm. Serene. ‘Our dad was always in there, tinkering with his radios and whatnot. It reminds Cormac of him too much. He hasn’t set foot inside for years. And anyway, there’s not even been talk of the van on the television. It’s a quiet road, that one. I doubt anyone saw it.’

‘You’ve just incriminated yourself.’

‘It’s hiding in plain sight. You’re not fit to go, and I’m happy to have you here. Until you’ve healed up a bit more.’

Matty lay awake half the night. Wanting to punch her. Wanting to break her every rib. Wanting Rosa.

Wanting Joe.

***

They hadn’t really talked for over a day. And Matty hadn’t left.

The fear of staying, and the fear of going. The same questions spun endlessly round. What if Shifty is recognised. What if a description has been put out. What if Cormac knows. What if he doesn’t. What if Joe is there. Just there.

Another day of volatile weather. Hail clattering on the roof, followed by a tawny light and then a mist, sitting above the lough, as if the water was too powerful for it. The water, always finding its way through the skin. The water of the body answering the water out there.