Another woman bustled up behind her and peered out at him. It was Fiona.

‘Oh! DI Farmer.’ The smile dropped from her face as she looked at him. ‘This is my daughter, Alison. There isn’t any . . . ?’

Still she was asking about that bastard Maguire. Of course there was no bloody news, it was all in the past, it was gone, it was as dead as he was.

Farmer shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I should have phoned ahead. No, Mrs Maguire, there’s no news. I just wanted to check in on you, see you were OK.’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ said Fiona, her smile returning like sunlight as she hugged her daughter tightly. ‘I’m going to be a grandmother soon, DI Farmer, as you can see.’

‘Congratulations,’ he said to them both.

‘Well, come in,’ said Fiona, stepping back. ‘My son William’s here, he’d like to meet you I’m sure.’

William. That rang a bell with Farmer. Callous, manipulative Donny Maguire had named his son in honour of his dead brother.

‘No, I won’t stop,’ he said. ‘I have to get down the station.’

He paused, looking at her face, which was made-up, and her hair, which was neatly styled. Her clothes were orderly, and her expression was serene. She had her grown-up kids, she had a grandchild on the way. Donny was gone and was already fading into memory. She was going to be fine.

‘Well, if you’re sure?’ said Fiona.

‘Yes. Goodbye, Alison. Goodbye, Mrs Maguire.’

He turned and walked off, down the path to the gate. He knew he wouldn’t be coming back here again. And now, he had some hard decisions to make.

165

‘What I am wondering,’ said Angel’s Aunt Lil, ‘is this. Are you listening to me, Angel?’

‘What?’ Angel asked vaguely.

‘She’s a dreamer,’ said Aunt June. ‘Just like her bloody mother.’

Angel hadn’t been dreaming. She’d been sitting at the breakfast table with her two aunts and Tom, barely nibbling at toast, hardly touching her tea, because all she could think of was that she hadn’t heard from Cory Farmer in days.

Misery was crushing her. It had been so wonderful making love with him. She had never thought of it like that before; making love. Before it had been rape, sex, bonking, getting your leg over, all those crude terms people used to bring the act down to its lowest level. But she and Cory Farmer had definitely made exquisite, ecstatic love.

And then she had seen the look on his face when she’d confessed to him in the park. The look of blank shock, of horror. She cringed when she remembered that. He’d suspected, but she’d confirmed it. She was a killer. Now, whenever there was a knock on the door she stiffened and her stomach churned, bile coming up into her mouth because she knew it would be him, one of these days it had to be him, saying Angel O’Brien, I am arresting you for the murder of Donny Maguire.