The whole team had gone to the pub straight after their shift, but then hunger got the better of them, and they went looking for food. They’d been drinking in Graingers on Talbot Street, and when they’d all spilled outside, it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to grab pizzas at the place across the road and walk the few steps back to her place. Everyone had greeted the idea with enthusiasm, though by the time the pizzas were ready, they’d lost a few, and only three of the lads came back with her in the end: tall Gerry, with his serious eyes and seriously bad haircut; Niall Reynolds, who was nearly always in good humor, and with whom she was partnered more often than no; and Martin Talbot. Martin was a sergeant in the Special Detective Unit. If she got the transfer she’d just applied for, he might be her next boss. He was surprisingly good company: very relaxed and willing to have a laugh and to share a bit of advice about the best way to make a good start if she did transfer over. After a while, it was easy to forget that he was a senior officer.

It was Niall who stopped for more beer on the way to the flat, and at the time she was glad he did. It kept the party atmosphere going, and she wasn’t ready for it to end. They’d piled upstairs, making too much noise, and she lit the fire and threw on some music. They sat wherever there was space in the cramped flat, on the floor or on the couch, and ate too much pizza and drank most of the beer. She’d felt muddled with the drink and the rare moment of comradery. And then Carrie heard Aifric’s footsteps on the stairs and her key in the lock, and there she was, standing in the doorway, cool gray eyes appraising the scene.

Just like that, the party atmosphere had been punctured, and Carrie was suddenly aware of Martin’s arm, slung along the back of the couch, dangerously close to falling around her shoulders. Gerry, sitting on the floor, was slumped against the armchair, so hammered his head was nodding as he tried to fight off sleep. The half-full pizza boxes sat open on the coffee table, and the whole place smelled of melted cheese and grease.

“Who’s this?” Niall said, grinning up at Aifric as if she’d arrived by mail order, just for him. He had some spinach stuck between his two front teeth.

“This is my sister, Aifric,” Carrie said. She made the introductions. Aifric nodded to everyone, then pushed the door shut behind her and stepped over Gerry’s legs to get to the kitchen.

“Will you have a drink?” Niall asked. “There’s plenty.” He reached out to find a beer for her and knocked over one of the empties. “Whoops.” Carrie rescued it before too much of the dregs ended up on the rug.