“No, thank you,” said Aifric. “I’m afraid I have to work. But I’m making coffee, if anyone needs a cup?” The words were polite, but the tone was stone cold.

“Bloody hell,” said Niall, at the sound of Aifric’s voice. “What are you? Sisters from another mister?”

“Sorry?” Aifric said.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“It’s just, your accent, like,” said Niall, who came from the depths of Carlow and sounded like it. “But maybe you went to different schools?”

“No,” Aifric said. She turned her back and went to the kettle, then emptied the water into the sink and slowly filled it again from the tap. Carrie met Martin’s eye, and she felt herself flush, even though he grinned at her. The situation didn’t feel funny to her. It felt awkward and horribly uncomfortable.

Niall coughed and shifted his weight on the couch. The music ended with a sudden silence that made things even worse. Aifric just continued making her coffee, her face as smooth and unbothered as if she were entirely alone in the room.

“Celebrating?” she asked, with a glance toward the empties.

“We were, Aifric, we were. You could say that we put away one particularly nasty little ruffian today, and if you can’t celebrate that, then what’s the point of it all?” Niall said.

Aifric raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t exactly a request for further information, but Niall didn’t let that stop him.

“Panel-beater by day, wife-beater by night. That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Carrie? Been at it for years, but the wife always refused to give a statement.”

“So what changed?”

Martin put his beer down and stood up. “Your sister, as I understand it,” he said coolly. His relaxed vibe was disappearing fast.

“Really?” Aifric said.

“She sat with the wife for an hour in the hospital. Got her to give a statement.”

“Carrie’s got the patience for it,” Niall said. He shook his head. “That kind of thing would do my head in. But she kept at it, just slow and easy does it, until she got the statement. And then we went to pick the guy up, and she got a bit of a thumping in the process. Took it like a man, too. So we went for a drink.”

Carrie was very aware of her sister’s eyes upon her.

“Are you all right?” Aifric asked.

“I’m fine,” said Carrie. She was fairly sure she had at least one cracked rib, actually, as well as a badly bruised backside, but the pain had retreated under the thick layer of alcohol.

Martin gave Gerry’s leg a nudge. “We’ll go. Come on, lads.” There was a bit of a groan from Gerry, the suggestion of an objection from Niall, quickly stilled. Martin the sergeant was back.

“We’ll see you tomorrow at the station, Carrie,” he said.

She avoided his eye, mortified that her sister was running them out of the place, as if they were badly behaved teenagers and Aifric was her mother. A moment later and the men were gone. Suddenly, Carrie could feel every ache: the sharp pain in her ribs and the duller ache in her backside and shoulders from where she’d hit the ground.