He knelt down and ran his fingers along one of the gashes. They were so deep and so many. A dent could be talked around or even hidden. But this was going to cost someone a small fortune and Ben was damned if he was going to bear the brunt of it. Sparling told them to park the car here, so the good doctor could pay the fine.

‘Why would they do this?’ Chloe asked him, hugging her shoulders as she stepped back towards the gate.

‘It’s just mind games. Look, that lad in the field told us as much when we arrived. We were never welcome here. This is their way of telling us not to come back.’

‘The car’s ruined,’ she said, approaching it cautiously, as though the villagers had boobytrapped it with more bells.

‘Let Sparling worry about that,’ Ben said as he threw his rucksack into the back seat. ‘We got what we came for.’

11

‘I’ve been thinking about last night,’ Ben said.

Chloe’s eyes were closed, her face at rest. She had reclined the seat and jerked it back like a lounger. The air was warm and dusty from the fan, and the wipers’ hypnotic meter was steadily putting her under.

‘What were you thinking about last night?’ she replied lazily, succumbing to the lullaby of a homeward-bound car.

Don’t scare her – that was his priority. Wherever Chloe’s thoughts and fears had landed, Ben wanted to guide them to brighter territories.

‘I was thinking about that bastard from the village who was spying on us,’ he said. ‘He must be dying of a cold after standing out there for as long as he did.’

‘But you saw him, didn’t you?’ she asked, opening her eyes.

‘It was so dark. I’m not sure what I saw.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘If I saw him, then you saw him. He didn’t look right.’

‘He was too far away to look like anything.’

‘And you remember what the kid said to us. Three times you see him. The first night he’s far, far away.’

‘Chloe,’ he said firmly, ‘don’t tell me you believe all that? I’ve heard these stories a hundred times and that’s all they are. The Tír Mallachts sent him out into the field to fuck with us.’

‘Maybe,’ she replied, sinking lower into her seat like a sulking child, ‘maybe not.’

‘They’re just stories, trust me.’

‘I trust you, Benny Boy,’ she said through a yawn. ‘I trust you to wake me when we’re home, okay?’

*

The rain cleared eventually, leaving the flat surfaces dark and damp with a dove-grey sky that hinted at a second round. The warmth from the heater had returned some colour to Chloe’s cheeks. But she still looked like a porcelain doll thrown on the passenger seat.