Tallulah reappeared. She'd composed herself. I helped her ferry their stuff – which meant everything apart from my small holdall – to the two rooms Ruby had bagged. Both were upstairs.
Tallulah had a big double with an old panelled ceiling. Ruby had the single next to it. They also had the only bathroom.
'And what have you picked for me, Ruby? The barn?'
She pointed downstairs. 'It's nice. There's a basin.'
16
I tipped out my holdall on the double bed and studied the badly wrapped parcel. I wondered if I'd bought the right thing.
It was strange to think of myself having a family Christmas – if you could call it that. First, because it wasn't my family. Second, because my own family's Christmases had been a nightmare. My stepdad would get pissed the night before and come home and beat up my mum. The presents were normally clothes for school, and the dinner was always crap because my mum would be in shit state. The only good bit was not having to go to school.
I threw my few clothes into a chest of drawers and listened to the sound of laughter drifting downstairs. They had lost a partner and a father, but they still had each other. I had no one, male or female; no friends, let alone a partner. I hadn't been lying. They were doing me a favour. At least this trip meant I got to talk to someone normal for a few days.
'Nick?'
Tallulah stood in the doorway.
'One other thing . . .' She didn't quite know where to look. 'It's just that I don't want you to think this can go beyond friendship . . . for now, anyway. Everything is still very raw . . .'
'That's not why I'm here.' I edged past her into the corridor. 'Fancy a brew?'
Her eyes suddenly sparkled and I felt her breath on my cheek. 'At the same time, Nick, don't run away from it.'
'Milk and sugar?'
As I disappeared to the kitchen, I heard her laugh out loud for the very first time.
17
I woke up early. It was still dark outside but I could tell the weather was going to be against us. Rain splattered the window. This was more like the Ireland I knew. I liked it. I'd had some good Christmases here in the army.
I got up and went and filled the kettle. While I was waiting for it to boil, I grabbed a lighter and a couple of old newspapers and headed for the living room. It would be nice for the girls to come down to a roaring fire. I was rolling and twisting a few pages as kindling when a photograph made me do a double-take. It was definitely him: the word
Liam Duff was kissing and telling. In fact, to quote his actual words: 'Since the Republican leadership has sold out, I might as well too.'
The article beneath his picture was a taster for what was to come – broad-brush stuff to make sure the readers ordered next week's copy. 'For many years I was loyal to the Republican cause, but I also supplied information to the British when I felt the leadership had strayed from its principles.'
He went on to say that the
I put a match to the pyramid of paper sticks and sat back on my haunches. I checked, but the other papers I'd brought in pre-dated this one, and so did the ones in the kitchen. Last week's edition, when Duff would have spilled the beans, was nowhere to be found.
I laid a slab of turf on the blazing kindling and it began to glow. I added a couple more and put the guard across. I wasn't too worried. The paper was old, and there couldn't be anything to link me to it or Dom would have said something – if Special Branch hadn't got there first. For all that, Duff was an idiot. If he thought guys like Richard Isham would take this lying down, he had another think coming. He was going to be spending the rest of his days on the run.
I felt myself break into a smile. Not a bad idea: I could do with a bit of exercise myself.
18
It was weeks since I'd been near a gym or done any road work and I missed the endorphins. I poured water over a teabag and went and threw on my running gear. By the time I came back the brew was ready and it was just coming to first light. I drank it looking out of the window. The rain had done Avis a favour. The newly washed Merc gleamed like it was straight from the showroom.
I jogged down the drive in my usual steady rhythm. My ears and hands burned with cold, and my nose started to run as I breathed in freezing rain. I'd always liked running in winter. Maybe it was because I got wet and muddy, so the run felt a bit more gruelling, and I had accomplished more. How many thousands of miles had I run in my time as an infantryman and SAS trooper, then since? Eight years a soldier . . . Ten years in the Regiment . . . About twelve since I'd left. Thirty years, man and boy. I got to the bottom of the drive. Fifty weeks times thirty was
