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He was still smarting from the argument with Lottie when he got back to his apartment. His overcrowded apartment. Grace was using his bed. Sergio was asleep in the fold-out bed on the floor. Boyd was consigned to the couch again. Twisting and turning wasn’t going to bring sleep. At two, he got up. He made a sandwich from the chicken carcass he’d cooked the day before.

He could not believe Lottie’s vehemence earlier. What was stoking her fire? Two murders weren’t helping. He got that. Beneath her anger he sensed insecurity. Fear, maybe. But fear of what? Why wouldn’t she talk it out with him?

‘Talking to yourself is the first sign.’

He twirled round on the high stool to see Grace in the bedroom doorway, a red dressing gown tied tightly at her waist.

‘Jesus, you scared the shite out of me, Grace. What is it?’

‘I want to know what has my brother up at two in the morning. It’s Lottie, isn’t it?’

He wasn’t going there with Grace. ‘It was my first day back at work. A young woman was found murdered this morning. Then we found a man murdered this afternoon. I’m overtired.’

‘Ever think of quitting?’

‘Quitting?’ He was horrified. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your job. Give it up, Mark. It’s not good for you, and definitely not good for Sergio.’

He wanted to verbally lash out, to ask what she would know about having a son, but held his tongue. ‘I just needed something to eat. Go back to bed.’

‘You left that chicken out of the fridge. It’s probably reeking of salmonella by now.’

‘It’s cooked. It’s fine. And there’s nothing left on it now.’

‘Don’t come crying to me if you’re vomiting in the morning.’ She turned on her heel and went back to bed.

He felt like crying all right. Grace had sounded so like his dead mother. He realised how much he missed having that strong west of Ireland matriarch in his life. Then he did cry.

The wind woke Lottie at two in the morning. She shot up in the bed as another smash and crash happened outside.

She noticed she’d forgotten to close the curtains such was her anger with Boyd and his attitude to her family. Had she overreacted? Possibly. She knew what he’d meant, but didn’t want to hear it. Yes, her girls were young adults, but she was their mother and she would care for them as long as they needed her.

Another crash outside.

At the window, she peered into the ebony night. There were no stars or moon now. Wind and rain pelted the glass. Pulling on a hoodie, she made her way down the unlit stairs. In the kitchen, she switched on the outside light and unlocked the back door. She stuck her head outside. A storm was blowing in from the lake, and rain fell in torrents. She peered at the ground, where she found the source of the noise. Broken slates lay on the concrete path. Hearing a creak from above, she ducked back inside just in time as another slate smashed to earth.

Shit.

She locked the door and made her way upstairs and into Katie’s room, where they’d had the leak over Christmas. Sure enough, she heard the drip of water from the ceiling. Katie was sound asleep, so she didn’t put on the light but waited for her vision to accommodate the light from the landing. Then, in the corner, she noticed the ceiling bulging with water.

Leaning against the wall, she hugged her body, shivering. Maybe Boyd was right. It was time to bite the bullet and find a decent home to live in.

She fetched a bucket from the kitchen and brought it back upstairs. Placing it beneath the drip, she went back to bed. There was nothing she could do at this hour; only hope for the best and pray the worst stayed well away from her home and her family.