“Sorry, boss. This is Niamh, Jane’s sister.”
He hovers from his chair to take her proffered hand, subtly inspecting to see if there’s a ring on the other hanging limply by her side. There isn’t.
“Nice to meet you, Niamh. I’m Liam. I’m Ferguson’s…”
How does he put this? He hates to sound pompous.
“He’s my new boss,” Ferguson smiles, taking over.
“Well, I guessed that,” Niamh laughs, her thick Derry accent taking McNally aback for a second, “you called him boss before, and no one else calls Cian here Ferguson, now do they?”
McNally smiles.
“Are you joining us?”
“I’m actually just coming back from the toilet, me and a few of the girls from the salon just came in for a bite to eat and a few wee cocktails after work, but thanks. Anyway, Cian, what big crime had ye missin’ my sister’s lovely gammon dinner tonight?”
The link between the two clicks in McNally’s head. He isn’t sure if Ferguson ever told him his wife’s name. Jane, he’ll have to remember that one.
“Police business, as I’m sure you well know, nosy hole. Like I’d tell a hairdresser of all people.”
“A beautician, ya cheeky bastard,” Niamh wags a finger at him, “and sure it’s all well and good when you need to get the word out. I’m always the first person you come to then.”
She winks at McNally and he can’t help but chuckle, despite himself.
“Well, anyway, I’ll let you boys get back to it. Make you think that you’re doing a bit of work.”
She slaps Ferguson playfully on the back of the head, making him growl, before placing a hand daintily on McNally’s shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, pet. I hear you’re new. I-“
“Niamh!”
“What? Us girls talk, we’re sisters, for buck sake, Cian. Anyway, if you ever need someone to show you the ropes, let me know. Can be lonely on your own.”
“Oh, like you know what it’s like to be lonely.”
“Shut up you,” she turns back towards her brother-in-law with a smile, “you’re giving me a bad first impression. But seriously, could be a double date sort of thing.”
“Not a hope,” Ferguson lifts a boot and gives her a jab with it, “now away with ye.”
Niamh cackles and waves at the two as she retreats down to the restaurant area. McNally doesn’t realise that his head is following her departure, pint against his lips, until he resumes his attention back in front. Towards Ferguson’s look of disapproval.
“What?”
“No disrespect, sir. But don’t go there.”
“Go where?”
Ferguson raises an eyebrow as he takes another slug of his beer.
“Believe me, she’s trouble.”
“She looks it,” McNally barely stifles a snicker.
“Honestly, a maneater if ever I’ve seen one. She was after me before I met Jane.”
“Now I know you’re talking shite, who’d be after you?”
The two laugh and clink glasses, before the 10 o’clock news theme blasts from the TV above the bar. They wait with bated breath to see if any snake had managed to slither its way into their story.
Chapter Twelve:
Cathal O’Flaherty watches Niamh from Suzie’s Salon as she returns to her seat by the window. She sees him glaring over as she tucks herself in and gives a friendly wave. He nods politely at her. She’s not the story tonight. She’d been good for a source once or twice, but not tonight. Tonight is big, he can smell it. No one rings the office requesting to meet at this time of night with a suggestion of a story in exchange for a pricey sum if it isn’t important.
Cathal had just been putting the finishing touches on his story about the controlled explosion in the Bogside when the phone had rung. With only himself and his editor, Jodie, in the office, he knew where he was in the pecking order. He thought it was a prank call to start, with nothing but heavy breathing down the phone. He was just about to put it down when he heard shuffling and a ruffled woman’s voice in the background, encouraging the caller to ‘say something.’ Journalistic instincts taking over, Cathal had glanced to Jodie in her office, the door closed but her fingers scrambling across the keyboard, no doubt knee-deep in an important email.
“Have you a story for me?”
The breathing was cut short. A slap was heard before a voice finally broke through the headset. A clipped ‘aye.’
“Well it must be a good one if you’re this nervous about it…”
“You… You won’t regret it, son.”
Protruding his bottom lip, Cathal plucked a blue biro from the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Go on…”
“Not over the phone.”
“Okay…”
Silence.
“Do you want to meet me somewhere?”
“Somewhere we won’t be overheard.”
Blinking confusedly, Cathal had begun to bite the top of his pen lid.
“Okay… How about the Icon?” he glances at his watch. Close to seven o’clock. By the time he edits this story and submits it for print… “Half seven?”
“No… Too early. Too many people.”
“When, then?”
“10 o’clock.”
He’d have to wait about the office for a few hours, he’s sure there were things that needed done. But this better be good. Worth it.
“That’ll do, who will I look out for?”
“I’ll be wearing a black hat… Red coat.”
“Okay, see you then.”
He brought the office phone away and was about to return it to the receiver when he heard the tinny sound of the voice still talking, but by the time he’d brought it
