‘No, thanks.’ If PhoneWatch doesn’t get an answer off you when there’s a breach, they ring the Guards. I’d rather have a serial killer use me for parts than have the squad find out I went squealing for uniform help like some civilian. ‘I’m grand. I got you good and proper, didn’t I?’

‘I wasn’t here to kill you,’ Fleas points out. ‘Not the same thing. I know you’re well able for anyone, and I pity the poor little bollix that takes you on, but you have to sleep sometime, yeah?’

‘I’ll get the locks looked at in the morning.’

‘And the alarm.’

‘And the alarm. Mammy.’

Fleas watches me, over the rim of his mug. For once he isn’t moving. He says, ‘Will I stay the night?’

There are a few different ways he could mean that. Tonight, all of them sound good. If it wasn’t for the guy at the top of the road, wasn’t for the shite I’m taking at work, I would say yes, one way or another.

I can’t handle either of us thinking I need him there. ‘You’re all right,’ I say. ‘Thanks, but.’

‘No one’ll miss me.’

‘Ahhh. Poor baby.’

‘You sure, yeah?’

‘Positive. Just: if you see this fella again on your way out, give us a text, yeah?’

‘No probs,’ Fleas says. He slides off the sofa, hitches up his tracksuit bottoms and picks up his plate and mug. ‘I’ll get out of your hair, so.’

‘Leave that. I’ll do it.’ I was going to make another round of coffee, but it’s too late to say it now.

‘Ah, no. My mammy taught me to tidy up after meself.’ He heads into the kitchen. ‘Thanks for feeding me. You make a gorgeous fish-finger sambo, so you do.’

I follow him. He’s bent over the dishwasher, slotting his plate into place. ‘Here,’ he says, holding out his hand. ‘Give us that.’

I hand over my plate. ‘I’m glad you came,’ I say. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Same here. Yeah.’ Fleas slams the dishwasher and straightens up. ‘If I spot any of the lads acting a bit stressed, I’ll let you know – swear to God I’ll e-mail first, this time. Otherwise . . .’

I say, ‘Otherwise I’ll see you when I see you.’

Fleas gives me a grin and a quick, one-armed hug. His tough skinny arm and the smell of him – cheapo body spray, straight out of when I was fifteen – hit me with a blast of weakness that makes me glad he’s leaving. Then he switches off the motion-sensor light, unlocks the back door and is gone, over the wall, neat and silent as a fox. I lock the door behind him and wait, but he doesn’t text me.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10