In the kitchen, bending at the knees to minimise the pain, Matty silently unlaced both boots and stepped out. Tiger-feet, cat-feet, just in case. There was a tiny snapping sound from further inside the house, or in the wall.

The back door burst open and Matty darted backwards, almost falling over.

Cormac came into the kitchen, out of breath. He’d been running. His eyes were dark with shock.

Another step back. Spine hitting table. ‘You – you don’t know why.’

He cast a surprised glance over, but seemed far too preoccupied with breathing to do or say anything else, standing with his hands on his hips, elbows out, torso bent over slightly. His cheeks and neck were blotched red, and he had a reflective coat on and shorts. White, skinny calves. Running trainers. ‘Know why what now?’ he said, dragging a breath in and heaving it straight back out, loudly.

‘Nothing,’ Matty said, in not much more than a whisper.

His breath was slowing a little. He tipped his chin up to the ceiling, hands on his back, and stretched his side a little. ‘You’re still here, then?’ Another sideways glance.

‘Yeah.’ He couldn’t suspect. He’d have arrested Matty by now. Why would he be asking? ‘Recovering. You know.’

He put a hand out on the counter, holding his side. ‘Tell me about it.’ He turned on the cold tap. The water slammed against the sink, and he opened a cupboard and filled a glass to the brim, drinking it in one go. Wiped his mouth. ‘So what’s your deal?’ he said, quite suddenly, turning.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What brings you over here?’

Lie. Lie well. ‘Friends,’ said Matty, remembering Brigid’s breezy excuse. ‘Just visiting a few friends.’

‘And climbing,’ he said. Another shrewd look, the sort that people often gave. Wondering. Except he’d seen everything, in the bath. So he thought he knew.

‘Yeah.’

‘How’s all that feeling?’ Everything. He’d seen the bruises.

‘OK. Hurts.’

‘Not surprised. How far did you fall?’ He wasn’t being friendly, exactly. There was something examinatory about it.

‘Don’t know,’ Matty said to the wall. ‘It wasn’t a straight fall. Caught a ledge. Blacked out for a bit.’ Change the subject. ‘You’re a runner.’

His gaze was steady, before he filled his glass up again. ‘That’s a very generous way of putting it.’ A hint of a dry grin. ‘It’s nicer here than in town. And my sister is better at making cakes than me.’ He leant down to the fridge and opened the door. ‘I’m allowed it if I’ve been out for a run. Isn’t that what girls say?’

A smarting irritation, even though now wasn’t the time. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

His smile levelled out. ‘Right.’ He cut a slice of Brigid’s carrot cake. Looked over.

‘I’m good. Thanks.’