I shake my head, lift the cup, immediately using the heat from it to warm my hands. I could almost cry from this small feeling of physical comfort.

I just have to get through the next few days and weeks, I tell myself. I just have to believe in myself. I know I didn’t hurt anyone. I know I’m innocent. I have to believe that will be enough to get me through this.

I feel a heaviness in the pit of my stomach. I look at my coffee. I don’t think I’ve the stomach to drink it any more. My sense of freedom is slipping away.

Suddenly, I have to leave the café, even though I’ve just arrived. It feels, like so much in life, just too small. Much, much too claustrophobic. The scarf around my neck feels too tight. My coat too hot. The chatter of people around me too noisy. I feel as if they are looking at me. Talking about me. And us. Gossiping. The thing with living in Derry is that while it’s a city, it still retains that small-town mentality. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. Ironic really, given that no one stepped in when my life was falling apart after my mother died.

But they will all be talking. The rumour mill will be in full flow. Someone will have heard something and passed it on, and the Chinese whispers will have spread. He’s not home yet. Something must be up. Did someone hurt him? I always thought that girl of his looked like a bad sort! Do you remember the time …

I push the pram out of the shop, out onto the quay again, without making eye contact with anyone. I hear their voices anyway, as I walk as fast as I can, the rain thumping down now – thick, icy drops. I try to focus on my senses. What I see, smell and hear again. But it’s all too much.

I want to scream at everyone to just shut up. I keep my head down trying to block out the noise, but it just seems to be getting louder and louder. It comes as a huge shock to me then when I look up and see that save for a few cars driving past, the street is empty.

I pause as tears roll down my cheeks, mixing with the raindrops. I pause and focus on the real noises around me. Try to slow my breathing.

Then my phone rings.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Ciara

Now

‘I never thought I’d have him back under this roof,’ Mum says.

The coroner has agreed to release Joe’s remains to her. He is satisfied there is no further physical evidence to be gathered from his body, and that we can go ahead and lay him to rest.

Well, I say we. There was no way they were letting his remains come back to his home at Aberfoyle Crescent and certainly not to any of us ‘suspects’.

My mother, on the other hand, with the help of a canny solicitor, has come to an arrangement that her home would be suitable for him to be brought back to.