I’d turned all the hate and hurt I felt for him towards her. And that, ultimately, makes me complicit in his crimes.

If she was pushed to put a pillow over his head and end his life, then I was as guilty as if I had handed her the pillow myself.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Ciara

Then

I told someone once. A school friend. Someone I thought I could really trust. Someone I was sure would understand.

I think I was maybe sixteen or seventeen. Going through one of my rebellious phases. Dying my hair (and my scalp) jet black with cheap home hair dye. Wearing too much eyeliner and lipstick much too dark for my complexion. Rolling my eyes and swearing when my mum asked where I was going and when I would be home.

Talking back. Stealing from her purse. Enough for a carryout from the offie. A three-litre bottle of the cheapest, most disgusting cider money could buy. I’d pool my resources with the people I regarded as friends, so we had enough to get pissed and have enough cheap cigarettes to smoke ourselves hoarse.

We weren’t original in our rebellion. We joined the other underage drinkers up on Derry’s historic walls, sitting on benches or on the cold cobbles and smoking and drinking into the wee hours. Being rowdy. Making what my mother would call a ‘holy show’ of ourselves.

There was always someone to ‘get off’ with, too – and that was part of the rebellion. Random, meaningless sex acts that fulfilled some sort of need, I suppose. That was before I admitted that boys were not my thing – before I realised that sex didn’t always have to feel shameful, intrusive and wrong.

When we were suitably pissed, and sated from our teenage fumbling, we would have those big philosophical discussions that only really seem very important at two in the morning when the rest of the world has gone quiet. We’d say things we’d never say in the light of day. Things it seemed easier to say under the soft cover of the stars.

Jude. That was her name. Short for Judith. She was shorter than I was, but her presence was larger. Everyone wanted to be Jude’s friend, and when you were in her company she had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world.

Unlike me, she could apply her winged eyeliner perfectly and her blood-red lipstick never found its way onto her teeth. She could drink an entire bottle of cider without having the need to throw up, or find a quiet place to have a pee.

But as well as being, seemingly effortlessly, cool, she was also a good listener. She showed a maturity beyond her years and it’s fair to say I hero-worshipped her. In hindsight, she was probably my first girl crush.

So I’d found myself worse for wear one night, having one of our deep and meaningful conversations sometime after 1 a.m., when I told her what I didn’t dare tell anyone else.