Damien kept hold of Sara’s arm, his grip tightening, as she climbed down from the van. “Go on in the house,” he said, lifting the shopping bag from the footwell and placing it in her arms. His eyes met hers. “I’ll see you in there.”

Sara made no attempt to argue and walked towards the open front door, her head down. She paused once, glanced back, and saw Tony looking back at her, the muscles in his jaw working. Inside, she left the door open a few inches and listened.

“What the fuck do you think you’re at?” Damien asked, his voice rasping.

Tell him I asked you, she thought, willing Tony to somehow hear the words.

“Mrs. Keane asked me for a lift into the village,” Tony said, and Sara exhaled. “She said she needed a few things. It was no trouble.”

“Your work’s not done,” Damien said. “There’s still wiring hanging from the walls.”

“I’ve done all I can today,” Tony said. “I’m picking up the switch plates for the upstairs lights at the suppliers in the morning, and we’re still waiting on—”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Damien said, and Sara heard the van door slam.

She hurried into the kitchen and set the bag on the island and began unpacking. The front door closed, and she turned to see Damien on the kitchen’s threshold.

“Does your phone not work?” he asked, his voice low in his chest.

She kept her own voice light, as if nothing was the matter, as if she could soothe him with reason. “Sorry I didn’t answer, we were just at the end of the road, so I knew I’d be back in a minute or—”

“What are you doing, disappearing like that? I come home, you’re not here, what am I supposed to think?”

“I told you we needed some things,” Sara said. “You wouldn’t let me have the car, so I asked—”

“That fucking toerag?” Damien crossed the kitchen to her in three strides, and she backed into the island, her hands instinctively up. “You got into that piece of shit’s van so you could go for a wee ride?”

“You wouldn’t let me have the car,” she said, fighting the quiver in her throat, “and we needed some things.”

Less than an inch between them. She felt the heat of him. Smelled his breath.

“What for?” he asked.

“I wanted to make us dinner. For you. I wanted to cook for you.”

He remained there, frozen in his anger, as seconds dragged by. Then he exhaled, the muscles in his jaws relaxing. The sliver of air between them expanded.

“I’m going to Ma’s for dinner,” he said, taking a step back. “I need to go over some stuff with my da.”