‘I didn’t use you. I didn’t do anything. It was your idea to bring me back to— Why did you even help me?’ She didn’t answer, and Matty remembered what Cormac had said. She liked projects. ‘You just want some bloody drama in your life.’

Her palms slammed down on the table. ‘You think that’s it? That I want drama in my life? You don’t think I’ve had enough? You’re unbelievable. If it wasn’t for me—’ She gave a sudden, tart laugh.

‘If it wasn’t for you, what?’

She laughed again, shaking her head. ‘You’re like a bloody teenage boy.’

‘Is that why you like me?’

‘Don’t be a child.’ She shook her head. ‘I would have thought after everything I did for you … I could have told him. At any time.’

‘Go on, then. Phone him.’ Part of Matty wanted Brigid to. To break everything open. For the guilt to have something new to grip onto.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Leave.’

‘I will.’

‘Use a bag if you need one.’ She was looking at the wall. ‘I’m assuming you’re not taking the van. Leaving that for me to deal with.’ She took a breath in, exhaled vehemently. ‘I thought we had something nice.’ Eyes finally coming back over, wounded.

Matty didn’t say anything.

‘I’m going out,’ Brigid said.

There was a sickly, yellow tinge to the deep grey of the sky. The low clouds looked as if they were full of rain but hadn’t released any. Instead, the sun picked out the highest mountain peak like a beacon, the striations jaggedly visible.

Matty found a bag in Brigid’s wardrobe. Packed up. Clothes stuffed in, toothbrush. Both of Cormac’s CDs. Nicked a couple of slices of banana loaf from the breadbin. Felt lighter.

It would have to be a taxi. An expensive one, to somewhere with a long-distance bus route. It was a challenge finding a cab two days after Christmas – most of the numbers were home phones, the drivers sounding surprised. The fourth guy said he could be free in two hours.

Note paper. Matty wrote a cursory few words to Cormac, thought about leaving Heather’s number, in case he found anything out, and decided it was too risky. Could always ring from a phone box sometime, just to check. He wasn’t going to find anything out.

Matty wrote one for Brigid, too, shorter, with a cheque for one grand, to hopefully cover the van being taken, or resprayed and given a new number plate. Folded both notes, wrote their names on each, and placed them side by side on the kitchen table.

Shifty’s metal was ice-cold, the door stiff. The closed air and the silence inside.

A few things from the glove compartment. The country music tapes.