Barry paused, his nostrils flaring, still gripping the steering wheel tightly. Then he said, ‘Keep me in the loop, all right, Dougal? Minute by minute. If it wasn’t Lenny who shopped us then I’m going to find out who it was and by all that’s holy I’m going to make them beg on their bended knees for me to kill them.’

*

When he reached home he found Megan in the kitchen, ironing his shirts. She was still wearing a plaster across the bridge of her nose, but her face was much less swollen and the bruises under her eyes had faded to a dull yellow.

He had slammed the front door and when he came into the kitchen he went straight to the bottle of Paddy’s whiskey on top of the fridge, half-filled a teacup, and swallowed it in one.

‘What’s the matter, Barry?’ Megan asked him. ‘Is it still lashing out?’

He couldn’t speak for a few moments, because of the whiskey, and he had to punch his chest before he could say, ‘What? Has God struck you blind or something? Look out the window and you can see for yourself it’s still lashing. What you can’t see is that the whole world’s gone arse over tit.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well you wouldn’t because you’re too fecking thick. But somebody’s shopped us and it looks like four of the boys have been shot dead by the shades and another seven have been lifted.’

‘Mother of God, Barry. When was this?’

Barry poured himself another half-cupful of whiskey and lit a cigarette. ‘You don’t need to know about it and if the shades come around asking about it you don’t know nothing. Do you have me?’

‘But who’s dead?’

‘I told you. You don’t need to know about it. Feargal, as it happens. Feargal and Jimmy and Cathal and Padraig. And you’re stupid enough to ask me what’s wrong?’

‘How did it happen?’

‘I told you, you stupid ganky. You don’t need to know. Now shut your bake and carry on with your pressing, will you? Christ almighty!’

Megan stood behind the ironing board, genuinely shocked.

‘Well, get on with it,’ Barry barked at her. ‘Those fecking shirts aren’t going to press themselves, are they?’

‘But what are you going to do?’

‘What can I do? If they’re dead they’re dead. You want me to go round to the funeral parlour and give them the kiss of life?’

‘Aren’t you going to get in touch with their families or nothing? Cathal’s sister, she’s going to be devastated. And Jimmy’s ma.’

‘You don’t get it, do you? I don’t know nothing about them being shot and neither do you.’

‘What were they up to? Was it some job they were on?’