After the railway preservation meeting, a few of the committee members went to Cafferty’s pub, and sat at a round table, pints of Guinness in front of them.

‘The station will close down no matter what we do,’ the chairman said. ‘I’ll be out of a job.’

‘We have to fight to the bitter end,’ Cillian O’Donnell said.

‘We need television coverage,’ Bernard Fahy suggested.

‘I’ll see if I can find out anything.’ Cillian sipped his pint. He smoothed down his dark hair as the chairman waved a tired hand and headed for the door.

‘Thanks for that. Goodnight, lads.’

‘Maybe we could have a march on Leinster House,’ Cillian said when it was just the three of them left.

‘Bit cold for marching this time of year. Very few would turn up,’ Bernard said.

‘The weather must be good for your business then.’ Cillian smirked.

‘The graveyard is filling up nicely. Trying to keep the banshees away and all. And the guards.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Cillian sat up straight and stared at him.

‘Oh go on, tell us,’ Finn urged. ‘Nothing like a few witches to take our minds off the railway bastards.’

‘Piss off, the pair of you,’ Bernard snorted. ‘I’m the one who has to walk around there in the dark.’

‘Doing night duty, are you?’ Finn straightened his back and gave a mock salute with his dripping pint. ‘Keeper of the dead.’

‘You’re very funny. Ha ha. But I’m not laughing. There’s queer things goings on there. Wasn’t I trying to get an old woman buried this morning, and this detective was snooping around because of the screams the young traveller one heard—’

‘What are you on about?’ Cillian said. ‘What screams? What happened?’

‘All serious now, aren’t you? A young woman was found dead in the bottom of the grave.’ Bernard put the glass to his lips and drained the black liquid in a single gulp.

‘A dead woman? In a grave?’ Finn said.

‘Jaysus. I’ve heard it all now.’ Cillian sipped his pint.

‘Whole place is cordoned off. I can’t get in. No one can.’ Bernard grabbed his coat. ‘I’m off home. See you next Wednesday? Same time?’

‘Sure,’ the brothers said.

He flattened his cap to his head, pulled on his well-worn black council jacket and headed out into the frost of the night.

‘He’s a real oddball,’ Cillian said. ‘A body in a grave? Now that’s nothing new, is it?’

Finn stared into the frothy head on his pint, dreading the prospect of going home to Sara. The thought of seeing her frosty face was unappealing. If he could stay out until after eleven, then she would definitely be in bed. Clockwork. That was what she was. He was convinced that a horologist lived inside her ribcage, winding up dials linked to her brain. Time for this. Time for that. You’re late for this. You’re late for that. For fuck’s sake!

‘All right there, lads?’ Darren, the barman, asked from behind the counter.

‘I will be. Just as soon as I finish this,’ Finn said.

‘Any luck with the plans to keep the station open?’ Darren asked as he polished a glass with a tea cloth.

‘Ongoing,’ Cillian said.

‘If anyone can get them to change their minds, you can.’ Darren reached up and put the glass on the shelf. ‘Awful news about that young woman found murdered in the graveyard.’

‘Murdered? I didn’t hear that bit.’ Finn pulled on his navy anorak and zipped it up. Time to face the clockwork orange once again. The thought filled his stomach with bile.

‘Where are you off to?’ Cillian said as the brothers left the pub together.

‘Home,’ Finn said.

‘We need to meet with Dad this week.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s Lynn’s tenth anniversary. On Sunday.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ Finn looked up at the night sky. ‘The first one without Mother. Do you think we should do a fresh appeal?’

‘Not going to bring her back, is it?’

‘You never know,’ Finn said.

‘It might send Dad over the edge. According to Keelan, he’s lighting candles. She says he’s in a bad way.’

‘Was he ever any other? The fucking bastard.’

‘Hey, keep it down. No need to tell the world.’

‘You always did like to bury the truth, didn’t you?’ Finn pulled his collar tighter to his throat and walked away from his brother.

‘You know what, Finn, you’re a piece of shit,’ Cillian shouted.

‘And we both came from the same family.’ Finn kept walking, talking over his shoulder. ‘You’re no angel, Cillian O’Donnell. I know you. Don’t ever forget that. I know all about you.’