In pubs and kitchens and front rooms all around us, people were already talking: thinking back, dredging up old memories, comparing and contrasting, pooling them to come up with a million theories. In my neighborhood, gossip is a competitive sport that’s been raised to Olympic standard, and I never diss gossip; I revere it with all my heart. Like I told Scorch, info is ammo, and there was bound to be plenty of live ammo being tossed around, in with the dud stuff. I wanted all that good gossip to be focused on dredging up the live rounds, and I wanted to make very sure they would get back to me, one way or another-if Scorcher had snubbed the Dalys, he was going to have a hard time extracting any kind of info from anyone in a half-mile radius. And I wanted to know that, if someone out there had something to worry about, he was going to be worrying hard.
I said, “If I hear anything else that the Dalys should know, I won’t let them get left out of the loop.”
Jackie put out a hand and touched my wrist. She said, “I’m so sorry, Francis. I was hoping it’d turn out to be something else-some kind of mix-up, I don’t know, anything…”
“That poor young one,” Carmel said softly. “What age was she? Eighteen?”
I said, “Nineteen and a bit.”
“Ah, God; that’s barely older than my Darren. And left on her own in that awful house all these years. Her parents going mad wondering where she was, and all the time…”
Jackie said, “I never thought I’d say this, but thank God for your man PJ Lavery.”
“Let’s hope,” Kevin said. He drained his pint. “Who’s ready for another?”
“Might as well,” said Jackie. “What d’you mean, let’s hope?”
Kevin shrugged. “Let’s hope it turns out OK, is all I’m saying.”
“Janey Mac, Kevin, how’s it going to turn out OK? The poor girl’s dead! Sorry, Francis.”
Shay said, “He means let’s hope the cops don’t turn up anything that makes us all wish Lavery’s boys had dumped that suitcase in a skip and let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Like what?” Jackie demanded. “Kev?”
Kevin shoved back his stool and said, with a sudden burst of authority, “I’ve had this conversation right up to my tits, and Frank probably has too. I’m going up to the bar. If you’re still talking about this crap when I get back, I’m leaving you the drinks and I’m going home.”
“Will you look at that,” Shay said, one corner of his mouth lifting. “The mouse that roared. Fair play to you, Kev; you’re dead right. We’ll talk about Survivor. Now get us a pint.”
We got another round in, and then another. Hard rain gusted up against the windows, but the barman had the heating up high, and all the weather we got was the cold draft when the door opened. Carmel plucked up the courage to go to the bar and order half a dozen toasted sandwiches, and I realized that the last food I’d had was half of Ma’s fry-up and that I was starving, the ferocious kind of hunger where you could spear something and eat it warm. Shay and I took turns telling jokes that made G &T go down Jackie’s nose and made Carmel squeak and smack our wrists, once she got the punch lines; Kevin did a viciously accurate impression of Ma at Christmas dinner that sent us all into convulsions of hard, helpless, painful laughter. “Stop,” Jackie gasped desperately, flapping a hand at him. “I swear to God, my bladder won’t take it, if you don’t stop I’ll wet myself.”
“She’ll do it,” I said, trying to get my breath back. “And you’ll be the one that has to get a J-cloth and clean up.”
“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” Shay told me. “This Christmas, you’ll be right there suffering with the rest of us.”
“My bollix. I’ll be safe at home, drinking single malt and laughing every time I think about yous poor suckers.”
“Just you wait, pal. Now that Ma’s got her claws back into you, you think she’ll let go with Christmas just around the corner? Miss her chance to make all of us miserable at once? Just you wait.”
“Want to bet?”
Shay held out a hand. “Fifty quid. You’ll be sat across the table from me for Christmas dinner.”
“You’re on,” I said. We shook on it. His hand was dry and strong and callused, and the grip flicked a spark of static between us. Neither of us flinched.
Carmel said, “D’you know something, Francis, we said we wouldn’t ask you, but I can’t help it-Jackie, would you ever stop that, don’t be pinching me!”
Jackie had got her bladder back under control and was giving Carmel the evil stare of doom. Carmel said, with dignity, “If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he can tell me himself, so he can. Francis, why did you never come back before this?”
I said, “I was too scared that Ma would get the wooden spoon and beat the living shite out of me. Do you blame me?”
Shay snorted. Carmel said, “Ah, seriously, but, Francis. Why?”
She and Kevin and even Jackie-who had asked this question a bunch of times and never got an answer-were gazing at me, tipsy and perplexed and even a little hurt. Shay was picking a fleck of something out of his pint.
I said, “Let me ask yous something. What would you die for?”
