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Back Trespasses Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. COVER
  2. HALF-TITLE PAGE
  3. BY THE SAME AUTHOR
  4. DEDICATION PAGE
  5. TITLE PAGE
  6. 2015
  7. THE IRISH FOR NO
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. DÚIL
  15. 7
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. CHIAROSCURO
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. IN CALVARY’S FLOW
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. WHEN I MOVE TO THE SKY
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. 29
  41. 30
  42. 2015
  43. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  44. A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR

She got out of the car and sat on the bonnet to smoke a cigarette, leaving the package of photographs on the passenger seat. The lambs she and Michael had seen skittering in the field were waddling now, fat on the grass. There had been no connection after all. It was just bad luck, the sort of thing that happened here all the time.

30

30

An eighteen-year-old has been sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Michael Agnew, the prominent Belfast barrister. Thomas Ronald McGeown, of Hollyburn Estate, showed no reaction as he was led away from the dock.

An incendiary device exploded in a public house in County Down, causing extensive damage. No one has claimed responsibility.

Gina was by the fence, on which Mr Reid was resting his bony elbows. He had knocked the front door the previous night, offering help he couldn’t give, reducing Gina to tears. Gerry had called later, carrying sugared almonds and a half-brick of lavender soap, gifts from his summer abroad. No one else had come near them.

Cushla went to the table and took the wallet of photographs from her basket, tucking it into the pocket of Michael’s cardigan. She grabbed her keys from the hall table as she left the house.

The radio came on when she started the car. The news bulletin had finished. They were in for an Indian summer; typical, the presenter said, a hot spell on the way after the school holidays. At the bottom of the road she glanced to the left, in the direction of St Dallan’s; she had been replaced by a girl from Ballyclare called Bride, according to Gerry, who claimed to have the gift of tongues.

Cushla turned the dial to another station. ‘Superstar’ by the Carpenters was playing. She sang along, but as it built to the chorus realised it had been written from the point of view of a despondent groupie.

Fuck up, Karen, she said, switching it off.

The pub car park was empty; Eamonn’s Capri had taken much of the impact of the explosion and was on its way to a breaker’s yard. To the right of the door – shattered windows aside – it was almost as if nothing had happened. To the left it was a different story. Part of the gable wall was gone, and the upstairs lounge resembled a squalid doll’s house. Cushla took in a deep breath and went inside.