'In his room?' I asked.
'Not quite. Outside. He said he saw shadows at his window, trying to peer in through the crack in the curtains.'
I was reminded of our own experience several nights before. Could the two incidents be linked? 'He didn't see their face?' I asked.
'No,' Miriam replied. 'I just thought it might be important.'
'You could have phoned me with this, Miriam,' I said, standing up.
'I know you're mad at me,' she said quickly. 'I know you hate me for what I did to you. With Thomas.'
'I don't hate you, Miriam,' I said.
'You do. You're right. It was horrid of me. But, I've paid the price for it. My wonderful husband. He's standing in the next election. It'll be the first time he's stood near me in years. His waitresses and nurses, they do it for him. He thinks I'm withered up. Used goods, he says.' The words tumbled out without pause, as if Miriam were somehow aware that if she stopped now, she would never have a chance to unburden herself again. Or perhaps she just liked an audience. 'Am I used goods, Ben?'
'I need to go, Miriam,' I said, moving towards the door.
'You used to be a better man than this, Ben. I remember. I remember touching you. You were so excited you couldn't hold yourself back. I remember. You do, as well. I know you find me attractive. Oh, Debbie's a great mother, I'm sure. But would she do what I'd do? Remember you and me down by the water station? We have unfinished business, Ben. Let's finish it,' she said, playfully. She moved towards me, swaying gently from side to side, her head lowered slightly so that she looked up at me through her fringe. 'No one need ever know,' she said. 'Just a bit of harmless fun.'
She was close to me now and I could feel the heat radiating from her body. Her skin seemed to emanate something more than warmth. I could smell again the exotic coconut of her skin and taste again her mouth, cold and sharp. I wanted to feel the soft tug of her lips. She put one hand on my chest, the tip of a finger finding its way between the buttons and rubbing the hairs of my chest. She ran her fingernail along the skin and something deep inside me began to well up. She smiled at me with her mouth, but her eyes remained slightly out of focus, as though she were not really there, and in their emptiness I saw my children and my wife. I felt again Deb's neck and the softness of her hair. I took Miriam's hand and lifted it from my chest, then moved away from her. Her smile wavered, as if she could not understand what had happened. Then it faltered completely as I moved backwards towards the door.
'Goodbye, Miriam,' I said. 'I want to go home to my family. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that there was something else there.'
She set her face defiantly against the shafts of winter sunlight streaming down the hallway. 'Get out, you useless shit!' she spat. 'See if your wife will be a whore for you on the back seat of a car.'
As I turned to open the door, I came face-to-face with Thomas Powell, who flashed his most political smile. He looked freshly showered, his hair still damp and slightly spiked. He had recently shaved and smelt strongly of aftershave, despite it being late afternoon. 'Have I missed something?' he said.
I did not tell Debbie of my visit to Miriam Powell, and all evening I debated with myself over the real reason for it. Miriam had sensed the unfinished nature of our relationship; but it was also vanity on my part. Miriam Powell would still sleep with me out of pity, or charity, or some obsessive need to debase herself even further.
Perhaps she wanted revenge against her adulterous husband. Perhaps she just wanted to enjoy herself.
If I had not seen the emptiness in her eyes, would I have gone ahead and given myself to her and given away all that was important to me? I told myself that I would not. And, as I kissed my children goodnight and curled up to sleep behind Debbie, I believed that to be the truth.
I dreamt that night of Miriam Powell. She and I were together in the back of a car, parked behind the cinema. We were kissing and her breath was hot and urgent against my ear as she pressed her cheek to mine. Over her naked shoulder, through the windshield, I could see the body of Angela Cashell lying on the grass. Debbie was standing over her, shaking her head. Miriam tugged at my shirt, flicking open the buttons, and I heard shouting. Rubbing the condensation from the window, I looked across to another car, parked beside us. The light was on inside and I could see Costello with a faceless woman. She had brown hair and brown eyes and her body was scarred and abused. She looked at me and screamed. Then the car I was in began to move. Behind me, flames forked out of the boot and I believed I could hear the petrol bubbling in the tank, ready to explode. My stomach lurched, and when I looked again, Terry Boyle was sitting beside me, the fetid smell of his breath and his scorched flesh thick in my mouth and nose, the charred remains of his hand clasped on my knee. Then Whitey McKelvey was driving, his face contorted and frozen, his hands lying useless on the melting wheel, which spun wildly out of all control.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday, 29th December
I awoke at four in the morning with an irresistible need for food. I settled for coffee and a cigarette, which I smoked at the back door as Frank lay in his basket, watching me with critical eyes. I went out into the garden, which was frozen under a clear night sky. The stars were bright and numerous. The moon was almost new and as thin and curved as a curl of lemon rind. I inspected the outside of Frank's shed while I walked to keep myself warm. At the back, hidden under the branches of the fir hedge, I finally found where the boards had rotted and broken and Frank had been squeezing in and out. Inside the shed, the hole was hidden behind bags of cloths that we had used to cover furniture when we had painted the house. I saw, too, the stain of blood on the floor from the night of the hunt and knew, though I had tried not to think on it, that if Frank were killing livestock, sooner or later he would have to be put down.
I lay on the sofa that night, unable to dispel the thought that whoever had attacked my home would do so again. I sat awake till dawn. Then, having turned on early morning TV, I must have fallen asleep. I woke cramped and uncomfortable, my face hot and stubbly. My eyes were dry and sore and my skin smelt of salt and sweat. Penny stood looking at me, her head bent to one side.
'Did you and Mommy fight?' she asked, with a matter-of-factness that I found disconcerting in my five-year- old daughter.
'No, pet. I couldn't sleep, so I came down here,' I said, trying to smile, while I stretched the crick out of my neck.
'Why?' she asked.
'Because I couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake anyone else.'
'Okay,' she said. 'Can you move, please? I want to watch television.' Then she sat down at the end of the sofa, having given me just enough time to lift my head out of the way.
As I showered, I ran over the dream of the night before and resolved to face the thing I dreaded: confronting Costello over Mary Knox.
For the second time in a week, I found myself walking up Costello's tarmac driveway, my innards constricted. The morning sky was a brilliant blue, the white shreds of cloud contrasting all the more strongly. The sun shone low in the sky, struggling to clear the mountains in the east. However, the temperature had dropped again overnight and a skin of ice was forming on the water in the concrete birdbath in the centre of the Costellos' front lawn.
Emily answered the door and smiled in a confused way. 'Is something wrong, Benedict? You look terrible.'
I could not look her in the eyes, holding in my pocket the diamond ring that her husband had given to a prostitute twenty-six years earlier. The eldest Costello child was thirty-five.
The Super appeared behind her, tucking his striped shirt into his voluminous brown corduroy trousers. 'Benedict,' he said, smiling. 'Come in.' He had not yet shaved and his hair stood slightly on end.
'I'd like a word, sir. If you don't mind,' I said, refusing to cross the threshold into their home out of respect for Emily.
He looked a little startled, but nodded and lifted a heavy quilted coat off the hooks beside the door and
