‘This is going to sound a little strange,’ Ben said, ‘but if anything should happen to me, will you look out for Aoife? Maybe tell her about me. I’d be worried about what Jess says. She might grow up thinking that I didn’t love her. And if I disappeared, then…’

That’s enough, Benny Boy.

‘Whatever’s brought this on?’ his mother asked.

‘Nothing,’ Ben lied. ‘Sorry, I think I’m just tired, Mum, that’s all.’

‘Go back to bed,’ she said. ‘Sleep makes everything better, isn’t that right?’

‘That’s right,’ his father confirmed.

Ben laughed but he could feel himself falling apart. ‘I love you guys,’ he said, before it became too obvious.

‘We love you too.’

And that was that.

There was no choice but to return to Tír Mallacht. One day, one shot. That’s all Ben had left. He stood up from the table, every bone and muscle already anticipating the journey ahead. Light had edged further onto the wall and now leaked across the floor like spilled silver.

‘Okay,’ he said, steeling himself for the inevitable. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

After a whole night worrying about his daughter, Ben’s own wellbeing no longer concerned him. There was nothing like turning over a new leaf on the last day of your life.

He whipped the curtain open. Daylight blinded him. Such an ordinary sight and yet startlingly comforting in that moment. A misty rain spiralled soundlessly in the air. Ben pressed a palm against the pane, looking out at a world that had changed in a single night. His last unless he did something about it.

‘What time is it?’ Chloe asked, her squinty face emerging from the couch.

‘It’s time to go.’

22

The hum of the shutters signified the beginning of Alec’s day. He would always awaken early and lie awhile, listening to them rise amidst the soft lamplight of the room. No happiness awaited him. No laughter, no friendship, no surprises. In a mere ten hours the security system would lower them again. The night was a guillotine suspended. These dark and dismally short autumn days were not something he cared for. But he had learned to endure them. They made the mornings all the more special.

Alec set his mug down on the desk and went about his ritual of drawing back the curtains. There was no misdoing more unforgivable than a morning wasted. Some days, elements permitting, he was known to venture outside and steal a few steps from his front door, breathing in deep the fresh air denied to him during the night. On this autumnal day, however, given its inclemency, he was content to open the window closest to his desk and sit there while he enjoyed his coffee. Simple chores such as preparing his own French press and the daily admittance of daylight gave the man a wonderful sense of independence.