‘Dead.’

The bravado in his expression caught halfway.

‘I did it.’ There was a release, a sudden flurry of small breaths, one after the other. ‘I was defending myself. He was going to – he was – I thought I was going to die.’ It was becoming harder to breathe, chest and throat restricting. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘Matty. Try and breathe.’

‘I just wanted to get him off me. He was going to r—’ Say it. Just say it. The room began spinning. ‘R– rape me.’

‘It’s OK. Just breathe for me.’

‘I – can’t.’ The smash against the van, face in the water, fingers against neck.

‘I’m right here. Just keep breathing.’ Joe’s hand, on an arm. On Matty’s back. He seemed very far away. ‘You’re all right.’

Matty was panting, exhaling wordless sounds. Chest, rising and falling. Spikes of light on every blink.

‘You’re all right now,’ Joe was saying again.

‘I’m sorry.’ Nose and eyes running.

‘It’s OK. You’re OK.’

I’m not. ‘I’m sorry.’

He was shaking his head. There seemed a year-long moment as breaths began to smooth, the room slowly coming back into focus. The fireplace, the carpet, the stray hairs on his shoulder.

Matty drew up a sweatshirt cuff, wiped both cheeks. Nose.

‘OK,’ said Joe. He put his lips together, a long, intense outbreath through his nose. ‘Right. Where did this happen? In London?’

‘No, here. Just up the road.’ A shuddering inbreath, almost a laugh. ‘He crashed his car. Think he died from that, but …’

‘Christ. That one? I saw that on the news, I think. Youngish lad? Your age or so?’

‘Yeah.’

‘OK.’ He was nodding a lot. It was too much for him, of course it was. He was weak.

Matty explained how Brigid had been there, had provided harbour, respite. That Cormac was her brother, and a detective. That he’d seen the van. Realised. The sleeping with them part was omitted. ‘And I – it was left badly.’

‘You scarpered. On the bike.’

‘I handcuffed him to his car first. I hurt him. Accidentally.’

‘OK,’ said Joe, manfully. ‘Right.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Throat, scratchy. ‘I didn’t mean for any of it.’

‘Of course you didn’t.’ A self-motivating nod. ‘OK. We’ll work it out.’

‘How?’

‘I’m not sure yet. Let me talk to Franklin.’

‘Don’t tell him.’

He hummed, a short, darkly sceptical sound. ‘Let me think about this.’

‘I should just go. I really need to go.’

‘No,’ said Joe, suddenly vehement. ‘That’s not happening. You’re not going anywhere. Not now.’