I can’t do it. There’s no one, on all that list, who I can make myself ring up to say Hi, I can’t do this, come help me. To every single one of them, I’d be a different person after that call. The emptiness of my gaff feels dense enough to tilt it on its foundations.

The guy’s got some self-control, at least: it’s twenty-five minutes before a thicker darkness moves in the shadows outside the street-lamp’s circle. In the same second I feel my heartbeat rise to it, I realise that I’ve known all along what I’m gonna do.

The thicker darkness settles and stays. I get out my phone, I take a breath and I ring Steve.

It takes him a few rings to pick up. ‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi. Are you doing anything important?’

‘Not a lot.’

He leaves it there. That carefully neutral voice, while he tries to work out, or decide, whether we’re still partners.

I don’t have time for fancy dancing. ‘Steve,’ I say. ‘Listen. I need a hand.’ It feels rough in my throat, but when I glance out the window, the guy is still there, motionless at the edge of the lamplight.

There’s a long second of silence. I shut my eyes.

Then Steve says, ‘OK. What’s up?’

His voice has thawed two notches, maybe three. It’s fucking ridiculous how relieved I am, but I don’t have time to deal with that either. ‘Some fucker’s been casing my gaff for the last few days,’ I say, ‘and I’ve had enough. I can’t go out there and get him myself; he’s got a clear line of sight on every route I can take, and if he sees me coming he’ll do a legger.’

Steve says, and he’s put everything else aside to focus on this, ‘But he’s not watching for me.’

‘That’s what I’m hoping.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘At the top of my road.’ Steve knows my gaff; he’s never been inside, but we’ve swung by to pick something up once or twice. ‘He was looking in my front window earlier on, and I’ve seen him down the laneway out the back, but he mostly hangs out at the corner. Tall guy, solid build, middle-aged, dark overcoat, trilby-type hat.’

I feel Steve clock the match to the guy who went over Aislinn’s wall. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘What do you want me to do with him?’

‘Bring him in here. I want a word with him.’

‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, tops.’ I can hear him moving already: pulling on shoes, or getting into a coat.

‘Ring me when you’re almost at my road. Let it ring once, then hang up.’

‘Right.’ Keys jingling; Steve’s ready. ‘Mind yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘See you soon.’