Closing the cupboard door and climbing down from her makeshift step ladder, she smiles over towards her brother as she puts the vodka in the open Tesco bag, where a litre bottle of Diet Pepsi and a huge bag of cheese and onion crisps also rest.
“Alright, Cath?”
“What are you at?”
“What you mean?”
“I mean where are you away with my vodka.”
“Awk, fuck off. Stop going on all parental, and don’t act like you weren’t drinking at my age.”
“I wasn’t, naw. I was too busy working full time to put you through school, keep clothes on your back and a roof over your head.”
“Awk, such a nice sob story, should try out for The X Factor with that one,” she punches him playfully on the arm, making Cathal unable to resist a dry smirk. “Naw, a girl from work asked me around to hers tonight for a Chinese and to watch a film. She only lives up at the top of Brooke Park there, so I won’t be home late. We’re both off tomorrow anyway, but I don’t feel up to a mad one, so just gonna have a few… What’s wrong with you?”
She frowns and edges her neck back in disgust as she takes in Cathal’s stance.
“You’re not going.”
“Am I not?”
“Naw, you’re only 17.”
“Oh, fuck up, Cath. You’ve bought us drink before, like.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
How indeed, what way could he tell her…
“Because it’s been in this house, in my house. I can keep an eye on you.”
“’Keep an eye on me?’ Oh, piss off, Cathal. I’m not going to go runaway on you, I’m not fucking Dad.”
The look on her face for blurting that out shows that she’s as shocked as Cathal is. Their father is still a sore subject, and not often is his name breathed in this house, despite it being his originally before it was signed over to Cathal after his death the year before last.
“I… I’m sorry, I went too far.”
“It’s fine, Orl… Just… Please, trust me. I don’t want you going there tonight.”
“Why? Because you don’t know her?”
“No, I-“
“She’s 23, she’s not some silly schoolgirl like you obviously think I am.”
“I don’t think that, Orla. Look, I can only ask that you trust me.”
“And I ask that you stop treating me like a wain. I’m 17, Cathal. As you said, when you were my age you were out working full time to keep this house,” she brandishes her flailing arms above her to the ceiling, “I’m not stupid, I know how hard you worked. And I’m grateful for it. But you’re fucking suffocating me, Cathal. It’s either no parents, or overparenting. And at the moment, I prefer neither.”
She lifts the bag and pushes past him. Several seconds later, he winces as he hears the front door slam. Bringing the stool back over to the table, Cathal sighs as he sinks into it, folding his arms on the table and resting his head in them. What a day. At least it’s the start of September, so the nights are still bright. The thought of her traipsing about in the dark would make him feel worse. He’ll sit down with her later and try and think of a rational explanation for his actions. He sits up and gazes out the window at the shed in the back garden. Bad people do bad things, he thinks, biting his lip. He knows that all too well. A vibration in his pocket makes him reach into his jacket.
‘Sorry, I just need some space.’
He nods, leaving the message from his sister on read as he places the phone on the table. Deciding to make a dinner for one, with leftovers for lunch tomorrow, he goes over to the sink and washes his hands, his eyes still roaming to the shed. He’s nothing like their dad, he tells himself. That’s why he wants to keep her safe. But the night their dad died he found out some revelations, and did something he isn’t proud of, that would beg to differ.
As he starts cutting a slab of chicken from the fridge into slices, another vibration lights up his phone. A new email. Swiping the screen with a curled knuckle, intent on not getting uncooked chicken juice on his phone, he startles when he sees it’s from the same user from earlier. The jumbled letters and numbers of the email giving him Deja vu. Another picture file, but with no message this time. Clicking on download, his heart jolts. He sees a picture of what looks to be his street… Yes, he can make out Mr Graham’s untrimmed hedges leaking over the pavement. But in the middle of the road is the back of a retreating girl. He recognises her blonde ponytail. The Tesco shopping bag. And the same pink sweatshirt Orla had on when she left just moments ago.
“Orla!”
Thundering out of the kitchen, crossing the living room and speeding out of the unlocked door, Cathal reaches the road and looks up and down… But there’s no one to be seen.
Chapter Thirty:
“So, what are you going to do with this new information?”
McNally rests back in his chair and smiles sympathetically. On the sofa sit the four Parkers, the blonde girl, who he guesses must be a family friend, was sent upstairs upon his arrival. Dermott Curry, after introducing himself, sits in the chair beside him where its hard to believe that Ferguson sat only yesterday. He was expecting this. The family wanting him to blast through all guns blazing into Boyle’s house and the relatively known nationalist pub, the Bull’s Horn, in the west of the city.
“We need to treat this information sensitively. We-“
“Sensitively?” Nuala practically shrieks, startling her children, “I said from the word go that these scumbags were the culprits behind my husband’s disap… Death. Yet because he’s Boyle big bollox in the underground scene, he’s basically untouchable. It’s a fucking joke. I want to find out what they know
