“No thanks—”
“She’ll take a tea, two sugars, and a drop of milk.” Shrugging off my jacket and tossing it onto the coat hook by the door, I help Katie out of her coat and guide her into the open-plan living room.
Robbie turns to me, smirking. “How much of a drop?”
“The tea better match Scott’s skin tone, or you can fuck it down the sink and start again.” Guiding Katie to the couch, I notice her shoulders drop a notch by the time we settle against the vast array of plush cushions my mother has adorning her suite of furniture.
“Oh, I meant to say.” Robbie’s voice carries its way into the room. “We had another visitor at Dandelions.”
Walsh is really starting to piss me off. “Who?” I toss over my shoulder, not bothering to take my eyes off Katie, who is glaring at me, silently demanding answers.
“Moore.”
“Moore?”
“More!” I hear Scott sing, then come into view, dancing around the kitchen island. “How do you like it? How do you—”
Robbie levels him with a glare.
“—Bad timing? Ok then,” Scott deflates.
Katie all but slaps me. “Who’s Moore?”
What do I say? She knows I do some less than savoury shit, but she doesn’t know to what extent. I can’t just come out and announce it, especially not in front of my mother and Scott. For one, it would break my mother’s heart, and as for Scott, I’d have to kill him, and then I’d have Robbie on my arse crying over his dead boyfriend.
I’ve gotten away with telling her selective truths so far, so I’ll stick with that strategy for now. “Moore is the detective who worked on Éabha’s case and was one of the reasons that she was wrongly convicted.”
“And then released!” Robbie adds, gracing us with hispresence long enough to hand Katie her cup of tea.
“Why was he at your restaurant?” Katie presses.
“I don’t know. He’s probably working on that missing person’s case and wanted to speak with me about the CCTV footage.” I recline as far back against the cushions as I can go, snaking my arm around her waist.
“So, Katie,” Scott charges in from the kitchen, handing a cup of tea to my mam, who is settling on the armchair to our left, by the window. “Robbie said you’re originally from Tallaght?”
She nods in response, her eyes focused on the steam rising from her tea. “Yeah, Killinarden.”
“Oh really,” Scott perches himself on the arm of the couch. “Do you know Dean Kelly or Gary Dempsey?”
“Yeah, I know Dean; I went to school with him. I only know Gary to see; I don’t think I’ve ever said two words to him.”
“No way! What about Keane McCarthy?”
Katie curls into herself; the blood draining from her face.
“I used to play football with him back in the day,” Scott continues, unaware of Katie’s sudden change in demeanour. “He’s a nice lad.”
Katie looks like she could bolt, and I know in my bones that Scott has unintentionally named my first victim. I just don’t know which one he is. Is he the scumbag who got to her when she was a child? Is he the soon-to-be Eunuch who raped her when she was fifteen? Or maybe he’s one of the arseholes her “friend” allowed to take advantage of her after getting her dangerously drunk.
Facts matter to me.
I want to know which one he is because I need to know how slowly I can kill him.
I’m not allowing this conversation to continue; Katie is already triggered and trying to hold herself together. “Come on, bug,” grabbing her hand, I pull her from the couch. “I’ll show you around.”
Scott gives me a quizzical look but knows better than to demand an answer from me.
My mam isn’t exactly a minimalist, but she has a knack for keeping things organised and clutter-free. The house looks like a show home, with everything in its proper place and not a speck of dust in sight. The pastels and neutral tones used on the walls and matching decor create a calm and inviting atmosphere, something we need right now with Katie being so upset.
