Page 16 of The Altar Girls

Once the words had flown from her mouth, she regretted them. Damn. There was no point in tearing a person down just because they had hurt you. Hadn’t she been besotted with him? Hadn’t she been complicit in deceiving his wife? It took two, didn’t it? As she turned in the seat, ready to apologise to this cheating tough-nut detective, she noticed tears welling in his eyes.

‘Frigging hell, McKeown, I know I was sharp with you, but not that bloody sharp.’ Now she felt totally uncomfortable in his presence.

‘It’s not you.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose with his jacket cuff. ‘I’m sorry.’

Even with the heat on, it was baltic in the car. Maybe that was why his eyes were streaming. She hoped so. Give her a crackhead with a knife any day over this. She was done with McKeown. She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. Instead, she let the silence take its place between them once again.

‘Melissa kicked me out. The perfect cliché. Bags outside the front door. The embarrassment. Neighbours across the way weren’t even trying to hide their nosiness. Probably thinking I’d got what I deserved.’ He sniffed loudly. ‘Okay, I did deserve it for my previous behaviour, but since I finished with you, I’ve been good as gold.’

Now he sounded like a ten-year-old who didn’t want to be left outside the door when his siblings were opening their Christmas presents. And she had finished with him! The prick.

‘Oh, right!’ She turned her nose up, disgusted. ‘And what about madam from the council? Is that over too? She was next after me, in case you can’t count.’

‘That was just a coffee. But Melissa heard something from someone and…’ He twisted round and grabbed her hand. ‘Jesus, you didn’t, did you?’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘Tell her about that woman from the council? It was coffee, not sex. Fuck.’

‘You’re more worried about yourself than about the people you hurt. Maybe it’s time to take a long hard look in the mirror.’

‘If I had a mirror to look in, I would.’

Ah, she thought. Here it was. The crux of the matter. Sam McKeown was homeless.

‘No way. No way on earth, Sam. You gave up your right to anything of mine months ago. Go home. Apologise. Change your ways.’

‘How can I do that?’

‘Keep your dick in your pants, that’s how.’

‘Just a few nights, Martina. Until I find somewhere else to stay. I need sleep. I need somewhere to put my head down and—’

‘No bloody way.’ She jumped out and slammed the door. ‘Go to hell, Sam, and if you can’t get in there, go home on your hands and knees and beg to be taken back.’

14

Betty Coyne lived in a middle house on John’s Terrace. There were no parking spaces as the road was narrow, lined on either side with double yellows. Despite that, Lottie parked up on the path, hoping no one with a buggy or wheelchair came along. They’d be crazy to be out on a day like this anyhow. Road conditions were treacherous, and it had started to snow again.

As Boyd knocked on the door, she said, ‘You look a hundred times better today.’

‘Thanks, I think. How is your mother this morning?’

‘She’s grand. Didn’t even ask where Chloe was.’

‘Are you comfortable leaving her alone for the day?’

‘I’ve no choice, have I? Anyway, it’s not for the whole day. Katie said she’d call over to her with Louis later.’

The door was opened by a tall, broad-shouldered woman who instantly reminded Lottie of her mother, the difference being Mrs Coyne’s hair was styled in a tight grey perm, while Rose preferred short and sharp.

‘Mrs Coyne?’ Lottie enquired. She introduced herself and Boyd, adding, ‘Can we come in?’

After squinting at their identification badges, Mrs Coyne opened the door wider, indicating for them to enter. The tips of her fingers around her nails were red and blistered. Chilblains. Had she been out in the cold that long yesterday evening?

The sitting room was a compact square of dark-stained wooden floor with floral seating. A display of mismatched ornaments lined the mantel, and a faded sepia print of a cottage with smoke pluming from the chimney hung on one wall. A large tinsel star shimmered in the window above ceramic nativity statues.

When they were seated, Mrs Coyne sat on an armchair expectantly, her hands balled into fists. To keep them warm? Lottie wondered. A chill circulated the room, and she smelled something she couldn’t quite name. It would come to her.