‘Thugs, is it?’ said Noel junior. ‘You’re one to talk. Why don’t you give one of us a dig, like you used to in the old days? That’d go down well with your pals above in Dublin. It’d put an end to your political notions, anyway. Uncle Paddy must be rolling in his grave, watching a scumbag like you get a job in the cabinet.’

‘Come on, Tessy,’ said Tom. ‘We’d better leave them be. We don’t want to attract an audience. They’d only get a kick out of that. It’d be the first time in years that anybody listened to them.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, turning away. ‘I think you lost a couple of votes there.’

He placed an arm around her. ‘Jesus, you’re shaking. You shouldn’t let them get to you. They’re a pack of clowns. Nobody around here takes them seriously.’

‘If only it was that simple.’ Her voice wobbled.

Two stern lines appeared at the top of Tom’s nose. ‘I’m going outside for a smoke. Do you want to talk about it?’

Tess drained her brandy glass. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I think I do.’

Chapter 39

Conor barely slept. Over and over again, he asked himself if Hannah Galvin’s story was significant. If she’d come forward in 1982, would the information have made a difference? His every instinct told him that he needed to ask more questions.

He explained what he was doing to Sharon, who felt he should wait.

‘Give it a week or two,’ she said. ‘What Hannah told you won’t change.’

‘In two weeks, Christmas will be here. And Tom will probably be the minister for justice.’

‘So? This isn’t about Tom. It’s about Father Galvin and the woman, whoever she was.’

‘It’s still about Tom.’

It was also about his dad. Conor was scared of detonating another explosion. He would have to move with caution.

When he called in sick to work, there wasn’t a word of complaint. His hero status remained intact, and he could probably coast for another year before anyone protested. That was the problem. He’d become a totem. A mascot, who looked good in the pictures but wasn’t allowed to tog out for the team. Before the shooting, he’d got to see a bit of life, no matter how rancid that life could be. Now his superiors had him hemmed in behind a desk, shuffling paperwork and making pointless phone calls. He suspected his colleagues didn’t trust his decision-making. They worried that he’d crack under pressure. Although the flashbacks had become less frequent, they hadn’t gone away. For no reason, he would find his head back in the Avondhu. He couldn’t quite see the room, but he could hear it all: the screams and the persistent pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.

By comparison, everything felt trivial. Well, almost everything.