The gully was wider than she’d realised, hard to cross without the pull of Michael’s arm. Her right foot reached the far bank but began to slither down. She scurried back up, her hand grasping the barbed wire of the fence. She squeezed, felt the cold metal push through her skin. There was relief in the pain and she tightened her grip until she couldn’t stand it. She opened her hand. The puncture was small and clean and bubbling blood. She saw him step across the gully, the shyness of him as he handed her the gorse. It was bad luck for the giver and receiver, he had said. Where was he now? On a cold table, someone in a mask picking fragments of shot from a brain that had, until yesterday, finished a crossword in minutes and argued in a court of law for a living. His body a piece of evidence now.

Gina had not come home from the shops. The Teacher’s bottle they had emptied the previous night was on the kitchen windowsill. Cushla brought it outside and dropped it in the bin. She took a cigarette from the pack in her pocket, leaning against the back wall of the house to smoke it. Apart from the grass, the only colour in the garden was from the brownish buds of roses. She heard a cough, a polite sound: Mr Reid announcing himself. She wondered if he knew. Michael had been careful not to park outside the Laverys’ house, and the old man would have had a clear view from his window seat. Cushla saw herself as he must have. Strutting past his window in high, tight boots and gauzy dresses, a man’s cardigan over them. She tossed the butt in the grating and went inside.

She was dunking a teabag in a mug when the doorbell rang. They had callers so seldom she placed her foot against the kickboard on the bottom and opened it an inch.

It was Gerry Devlin. She pulled the door just wide enough for him to slip in, closing it when he was barely on the mat. Any chance of a coffee? he said.

Yeah. He followed her to the kitchen. I missed the last day with the kids, she said, flicking on the kettle again. And poor wee Davy. How did he get to school with that limp?

Bradley told me you weren’t coming in, so I took a quick spin up the road to get him.

Thanks, Gerry. Were the kids all right? I had promised them a party, she said.

They were grand. You’re the best teacher ever, apparently. Even when you don’t turn up. He hesitated. It was him, wasn’t it?

She opened her mouth to deny it but felt exhausted at the prospect of more lying. Yes, she said.

Jesus. Go and sit down. I’ll bring your tea.