‘Something’s not right with the O’Sheas,’ Lottie said.

‘What makes you say that?’ Boyd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

‘Cian was acting a bit… off. He was always funny, but this was different.’

‘Funny ha ha?’

‘More like creepy. Are you going to start the car or start up a band?’

‘I’m thinking about it,’ Boyd said.

‘Why would he want the door left open?’

‘Who?’

‘Annabelle’s husband.’

‘What door?’

‘We were talking in the kitchen,’ Lottie explained. ‘Annabelle closed the door when I asked her about Tom Rickard. Then Cian comes charging down the stairs giving out about the door being shut.’

‘Maybe he likes listening to his wife chattering nonsense with her friends?’

‘Whatever it is, I think something isn’t right in that house.’

‘You’ve enough to be concerned about without getting involved in other people’s business.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Oh, you’re not even listening to me.’

‘Come on, Lottie. You and I both know Annabelle O’Shea. No one tells her what to do. Not even her husband. Drop it.’

But Lottie couldn’t get the look on Annabelle’s face out of her mind. ‘She was scared. Why did she blame me for closing the door? Outright lie. Why do that?’

‘Why didn’t you ask her?’

‘I didn’t get a chance. She rushed me out of that house like it was on fire.’

‘If it’s bothering you that much, ring her or call into her surgery.’

‘I think I will.’

She caught Boyd’s look – his eyes wide with warning.

‘On second thoughts,’ he said, ‘don’t get involved.’

‘I said I’ll think about it. Let’s go.’

‘Can we go get—’

‘Food? No. I have to get home.’

Before she could even put her seat belt on, he was out on the main road, whizzing back towards town.

---

The smell of burning toast hit her as she walked through her front door. At least the smoke alarm wasn’t blaring.

‘What’s going on in here?’ she asked, dropping her bag and unplugging the toaster. She flapped a tea towel around to clear the air. Maybe the alarm needed a new battery. She’d have to check that later.

The kitchen was full of bodies. Chloe was sitting at the table on her phone. Katie was rocking baby Louis in his Moses basket. He wasn’t crying, for a change. Lottie gave him a kiss and began clearing the mess of bread, knives, butter and bottles from the counter.

‘Katie, you have to clean up after you make the bottles. And who was this for?’ She held up the blackened piece of bread. No answer. The stench of dirty nappies rose from the bin. ‘I told you to use the bin outside for nappies.’ Still no answer.

The steriliser needed to be cleaned. The carton of baby formula was almost empty. ‘Did you go shopping?’

‘Mam! How could I? I’ve been busy with Louis all day. Please keep your voice down. I’ve only just got him to sleep.’

‘You could’ve put him in his buggy and walked to the shops.’

‘Did you see the rain?’

Stepping on a pile of swept-up dirt by the door to the utility room, Lottie went to get the brush and dustpan. The washing basket was overflowing with baby clothes and towels. She loaded the machine and switched it on.

‘Where’s Sean?’

‘Over at Niall’s,’ Katie said.

Lottie was pleased that her fourteen-year-old son was once again out mixing with friends. He’d been through so much, but the counselling sessions seemed to be helping. She glanced over at Chloe. She still wasn’t sure if her daughter was on the road to recovery. Her self-harming had reached a critical point in May, before Lottie had realised what was going on. Chloe had assured her she was better, but even so, every now and then Lottie tried to catch a glimpse of the girl’s arms. There didn’t appear to be any new cuts, but there were plenty of places she couldn’t see. She just had to take Chloe’s word for it while being vigilant for the signs.

She sighed, knowing she needed to give a lecture. They would have to assume roles in the household; she couldn’t be expected to do everything while working long shifts. Just as she was about to open her mouth to begin her speech, the baby screamed.

‘Now look what you’ve done.’ Katie jumped up and grabbed a bottle.

‘What?’ Lottie stood in the middle of the floor, hands raised to the ceiling.

---

Baby Louis spewed milk on his clothes, his blanket, on Katie and the floor.

‘Here, give him to me.’ Lottie took the crying child. She undressed him, changed his nappy and dressed him in clean clothes. She cuddled and soothed him, and when he was calm, Katie took him back.

‘It’s quiet in the sitting room, feed him in there,’ Lottie suggested. It felt like ten people had left the room when Katie took Louis out.

As she swept the floor, Lottie turned her attention to Chloe smiling at her phone, and it struck her how long it had been since she’d seen Annabelle’s twins. One time, maybe not so long ago, now that she thought about it, the two families had been close, brought together by the kids’ activities – hurling, drama, ballet and art. Memories of Adam surfaced. The pride he had taken in their children’s achievements.

‘What’s so interesting on your phone?’ she asked.

‘Just checking stuff for my history project,’ Chloe said.

Lottie couldn’t see any sign of school books.

‘What’s the project about?’

‘History.’

‘Get much done?’

‘Loads,’ Chloe said, pocketing her phone.

‘What am I going to cook for dinner?’ Lottie asked.

‘Something quick,’ Chloe suggested. ‘I’m starving.’

---

The stir-fry concoction Lottie threw together was barely edible. Sean arrived home with his friend Niall and they disappeared into his bedroom. Katie took Louis to hers and Chloe claimed homework as an excuse to escape up the stairs. It was 8.30 by the time Lottie had the kitchen half tidy and to herself. She sat in the kitchen armchair and listened to the silence.

The doorbell rang, a key turned and the door opened.

Her mother. Rose Fitzpatrick. At seventy-five, she was usually sprightly and energetic. Tonight she just looked drowned.

‘Hello, Mother,’ Lottie said. ‘How are things?’

‘Things are fine.’ Rose placed her umbrella in the sink and took off her dripping mac. ‘I didn’t get to stay long today. I had my knitting class.’

‘That’s good.’ Lottie didn’t want to talk. She needed five minutes to herself. Five minutes’ peace.

‘One of the women in the group said Tessa Ball was murdered last night.’

‘That’s right.’

‘In her own home?’

‘No, in her daughter’s house. Marian Russell.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Please don’t let her want tea, Lottie thought.

‘I’ll make tea.’ Rose filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘I thought she was killed at home. She lived alone. I was worried it might be someone targeting older people.’

‘Did you know her well?’

‘The state of this kitchen.’ Rose started rinsing mugs under the running tap. ‘Do those girls do nothing at all? I’ll come over in the morning for a couple of hours. And I noticed the washing machine is off, but it looks full.’

Lottie jumped up. ‘I forgot. I put Louis’ clothes in.’

In the utility room, she heaved a deep sigh. Why did her mother make her feel so inadequate? Barely two minutes into a conversation and she’d already started. She emptied the clothes into a basket and slowly hung them on the airing rack.

Back in the kitchen, Rose was sitting down, two mugs of tea and a milk carton on the table.

‘So did you know Tessa well?’ Lottie asked again.

Rose sipped her tea. Eventually she said, ‘No. Not at all. Just through the knitting club. She was involved in a lot of religious societies. Eucharistic minister, she was. Bit two-faced, if you ask me.’

‘Why?’

‘I shouldn’t have said that.’ Rose fidgeted with the handle of the mug.

‘Mother?’

‘Well, she was contrary.’

Lottie kept her mouth firmly shut. She could use that same word to describe her mother.

‘Was she violent?’

‘Violent? No,’ Rose said. ‘I mean, I don’t know much about her…’

‘Any idea if she had a job at any time?’

Rose looked around the kitchen before letting her eyes drop back to her mug of tea. ‘I think she might have been a solicitor, back in the day.’

Lottie raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Problem with you, Lottie, is you think us older folk were always old and never had jobs.’

‘I don’t think that. You were an excellent midwife,’ Lottie said, ‘back in the day.’

‘How’s the investigation going?’

‘It might be a domestic. Her daughter, Marian Russell, was missing.’

‘Was? Did she turn up?’

Lottie wondered how much she could say, and decided the less her mother knew, the better.

‘Eventually.’

Rose stared vacantly at her tea. ‘Maybe something from Tessa’s past returned to haunt her.’

‘What…’ Lottie stopped and thought for a moment about what her mother had just said. Could it be that? No. Arthur Russell was her number one suspect, with his wife barely alive in hospital. This was a domestic situation that had spiralled out of control. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘No? You don’t think, do you? You need to slow down and look after those children of yours and your little grandson. You have responsibilities.’

Lottie cringed. She wasn’t letting Rose get away with that.

‘I have a job to do. I’m the only breadwinner in this family. You should understand that. After all, you had to work after Dad died to put food on the table for me and Eddie.’

Rose got up, washed her mug and dried it. She put it in the cupboard and without turning round said, ‘I know how things can end up, Lottie. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘End up? What do you mean? That one of my kids will go off the rails like Eddie did? I don’t think so.’

‘I see the signs. Look what happened to Katie. Look what happened to Chloe. To Sean. Need I say more? Think about your family and start putting them first.’ Rose folded the tea towel over and over until she had one neat square. She placed it on the counter.

Gazing up at her strong, rigid mother, for a second Lottie could see an image of herself standing there in thirty years’ time. She looked away, staring down at her hands, noticing she had been digging her nails so hard into her palms they had left indented crescents. She wouldn’t let her mother bully her. No. She was tougher than that.

‘Mother,’ she began, but when she looked up, Rose had gone.

Lottie went to the counter, picked up the tea towel and unfolded it. Scrunching it into a ball, she flung it across the kitchen, then sank to her knees. Deep breaths. One, two, three. She needed to regain control. She needed space and time. She needed a drink.

‘What are you doing, Mum? Praying?’ Chloe said as she came into the kitchen. ‘I’m hungry. Is there anything else to eat?’

---

He walked to his car at the end of Windmill Road, phone to his ear.

‘She’s at home. The mother just left.’

He listened, taking further instructions.

‘Right so. I’ll follow the old woman to make sure she goes to her own house. And will I continue surveillance back here then?’

He waited for the reply, then said, ‘Sure, that’s no problem.’

Snapping shut the cover on his pre-paid phone, he slipped it into his pocket and took out his car keys. Climbing behind the wheel, he folded up the fast-food wrappers, then shifted the car into gear and headed after Rose Fitzpatrick.