Cormac’s manner changed. Less pesky younger brother, more offhand. ‘Probably working.’

‘Well, are you or aren’t you? So I can tell her?’

‘Probably,’ he said, sounding rattled. ‘Not all criminals stop for Christmas. You off to family?’ He was looking over at Matty, who’d remained standing by the wall.

‘I asked Matty to stay here,’ Brigid said.

He didn’t seem to let out the long breath he took in. Nodded. ‘Very good.’

***

The days piled on top of each other, moving towards Christmas. A heavy, thickening feeling. Matty’s hips were losing their rakishness, abdominal muscles starting to become less defined. Press-ups and sit-ups had been unthinkable since the attack, the usual diet ignored. Had to get back to it.

Brigid caught Matty with a vest hoisted up on one side in front of the mirror in the hallway. She put a hand out, touched the skin below the ribs’ eczema patch, which was a pearly, barely there glimmer now. ‘Lovely.’

Not lovely.

‘What’s that you’re listening to? Is it the radio?’

‘No, it’s one of mine.’ Gang Starr, a horizontally lazy style, plenty of scratching and an insistent ringing bell. ‘It’s a long way to go when you don’t know where you’re going. You don’t know where you’re going when you’re lost.’

‘Really? That doesn’t seem like you.’

It’s exactly like me, Matty thought.

The criticism started to come in other ways. Baths too long, even though Brigid liked to have the heat up high. How Matty smelt nicer before the first cigarette of the day. Too much TV. ‘I liked it when you were reading everything in sight,’ she said, with a hint of what was probably her teacher’s voice. She’d always temper it with compliments, but they were never the ones that Matty wanted.

***

A cold evening. The pink-bellied clouds slid over the mountains, over the silver of the lough. That water-call – it practically hummed in Matty’s blood. Three and a half weeks of no swimming. The last time it had been that long was aged eighteen, laid up with flu.

Their voices could be heard before the door opened. Matty turned the TV down a bit. Trading Places was on, the seasonal parts causing a pang of wistful sadness.

‘Well, I need a drink after that,’ Cormac was saying.

‘You’re so mean. It’s the highlight of her year.’

‘Then Miss Draper needs a lot more excitement in her life.’

It had been the village panto, an annual collaboration between the community hall and the school, Brigid stage-managing. Matty had declined, though would have been curious to see if Sheanna included the moves she’d demonstrated. But being spotted by those two little bullies might not have been such a good idea. Brigid had been told, and though she seemed a little surprised about Matty knowing Sheanna, had nodded, and said she’d deal with it.