In the house, Cushla didn’t object when Gina poured herself a gin and turned up the volume on the radio news. Davy’s father’s attack had been downgraded to an assault and was the second item, after a fatal shooting. Getting hacked to bits doesn’t get you the top slot, said Gina. What sort of hellhole are we living in?

The phone began to ring. Cushla went to the hall to answer it. The sound of coins dropping. Hello? she said.

It’s Michael. I’m in a phone box, he said, as though this was the most surprising thing that had ever happened to him. Would you like to know what else is in the phone box?

A feeling of ease was washing through her body. I’m afraid you’re going to tell me anyway, she said.

Several chips in an alarming shade of yellow. A beer can printed with the image of a young lady called Cheryl who has an implausibly large bosom. A pale slimy thing which I won’t examine closely, as I fear it is a used prophylactic. He paused and said, I’ll be passing your door in two minutes. I could pick you up.

She looked towards the kitchen. Gina was trotting across the tiles in the direction of the gin bottle. OK, said Cushla.

She combed her hair with her fingers in front of the hall mirror and took her trench coat from the banister. I’m going for a walk, she called. So much for never seeing Michael Agnew again; one phone call and she was streeling from the house.

His car was between the Laverys’ and Mr Reid’s. He glanced at her as she sat in the passenger seat. She felt ugly, in her plaid skirt and jumper, and pulled her coat-tails across herself.

He was driving away from the town. I called to the pub, he said. I thought you’d be working.

Not tonight.

Good day? he said. There was a shadow where the collar on the white shirt should have been, a light trim of grime. Another smell, mixed with the laundry detergent and leather, ripe and elemental. Greyish chaff on his chin and jowls. He looked vaguely wrecked. Beautiful.

The father of one of my pupils was attacked last night, she said.

The man who was found this morning?

Yeah.

Christ, he said. I heard about that.

The estate was on their left, drab against the bright fields. The family live in there, at the very back, she said. It’s a mixed marriage. She watched his profile for a reaction but if there was one she couldn’t see it.

Apparently he went for a drink after work and left at ten to get a bus. He must have been dragged into a car, because he was found a mile and a half away, said Michael.

How do you know that? said Cushla.

We hear everything in chambers, he said.