I turn up at Declan’s family home without him. He won’t tell me where he’s gone, but judging by the look in his eyes, I think I already know. There are only two things that make his face light up like a string of Christmas lights: the things we do in bed, and … his kid.

After hiding Carla’s existence from me all that time, all he’s done for the last two weeks is talk about her. It’s like all that time, he was dying to tell me, but couldn’t, and everything was building up in that brain of his like a dam’s reservoir at a river’s birthplace.

Still, after raising Luke all those years, the idea of a new kid to look after … it’s bittersweet.

Not because I don’t want a family, because there’s nothing I want more in the world…

I guess it’s just nerves: that I won’t do it right; that Carla won’t like me; or that I’ll mess things up with her dad. Silly things, really; she’s just a kid, after all.

Anyway, I guess that’s where Declan’s gone. After Vince died, CPS took Carla. I don’t know the details, but I guess her mama found Vince’s safe. It was either stuffed with coke and crystal, or it was stuffed with money. Either way, it came to the same end: she was now facing the long arm of the law.

So what was happening with Carla?

Let’s just say that the custody agreement Declan had before – supervised visitation with a woman who was never around to supervise – that wasn’t going to hold.

I rap my knuckles on the front door, and Kieran opens it. My heart skips a beat as – for just a second – I think he’s his brother.

Kieran grins, reading my mind. “I’m much better looking than him,” he says. “How are you?”

“Not bad.”

“You still walking funny?” His expression darkens. “I tell you, I ever see one of Mickey’s boys walking past and I so much as get a sniff that he was involved –”

I blush. I can’t believe that Kieran’s pointed out my limp. It really has nothing to do with the trouble of a couple of weeks ago – with my being kidnapped – and everything to do with a certain sex swing that his brother installed the yesterday afternoon. I’m not sure my hips will ever go back to the way they were before…

“You embarrassed?” Kieran interrupts. “Don’t be; you’re family now. Anyways, Mary said to bring you back when you got here. Come with.”

I follow behind him without a word. Not because I’ve got nothing to say, but because I’m worried that whatever comes out of my mouth, Kieran will read a whole lot more into it than what I intended to say.

Kieran pushes the door to the kitchen open, and before I manage to put more than one foot inside, his mother begins barking orders.

“Casey, girl, I can always use an extra pair of hands. Come chop these onions. ”

“How are you, ma?”

The word slips out of my mouth, and I stop dead in my tracks with embarrassment. It’s just that I’ve heard Declan and the boys say it so much … and it feels really nice.

Mary Byrne doesn’t seem to notice. She keeps right on chatting. “I’d get Kieran to help, but the boy’s got black fingers; everything he touches burns to cinders.”

Kieran looks at me and winks. “Even the ladies…” he whispers, as he begins to make a stage exit. Then just before he disappears, I hear, “Don’t be embarrassed; she likes it.”

“I’m doing fine, girl,” Mary continues happily. “Course, I’m still not used to it. These old bones miss the warmth at night. Still, I have me boys, and now you, of course …”

I shiver. But it’s not a cold, unpleasant feeling, like so many times before. This is different: warm. I feel accepted, and I like it.

I’m just not used to it. The Byrnes’ are a close knit family. I never had that, and getting used to it takes some time.

“Tell me, girl: is my boy treating you right?”

I laugh. I can’t help it; especially when I’m looking at the serious expression on her face. “Sure is… ma.”

I don’t know if I’m just imagining things, but Mary seems to stand up a touch taller when she hears me call her that.

“They need a firm hand, these Byrne boys. Did I ever tell you how my Seamus courted me?”

“No,” I chuckle, picturing an old-timey date. “You never have; was it cute?”

“Ha! You would think so, wouldn’t you? The way he pushed himself about – all Lord of the Manor – so he did. No – the cheek of the lad; he stuck a bun in my belly, and that was that.”

I laugh, pulling the skin off another onion. I can’t help but think it would be nice if, in fifty years’ time, Declan and I still think of each other with that kind of warmth.

“I guess you raised all of your boys the right way.”

Mary looks at me with a beady eye. It seems to cut right through any defense I could have mustered against her Inquisition. It’s no surprise that she survived so long married to one of Boston’s leading mobsters. She is sharp-witted enough by half again.

“If he picked you,” she says, staring directly into my eyes, “I must’ve done something right, and that’s fer sure.”

I blush. “What do you mean?”

“Yer good people, Casey me girl. Puttin’ up with me boy when other women would’ve walked away … then showin’im a firm hand when he needed one –”

I looked at her shocked.

“Oh, I know, girl. There’s not a lot happens in this town I don’t hear about. Where was I?”

I try and speak, but my throat’s too dry.

“Ah, yes; that nastiness with Detective Mackey … What I’m saying, girl, is that you are good people.”

I feel a tear beading at the corner of my eye, and flinch as Mary wipes it away. “It’s the onions…” I lie. She sees right through it, but doesn’t say a word.

“You’ll do fine; but you get my boy to put a ring on that finger before he puts a bun in your oven, you hear me?”

This time I really do blush, but I’m saved by the bell. Declan shoulders his way through the kitchen door, dressed in a purple backpack decorated with flowers and the letter ‘C’. However, I don’t see any of that, not at first. My eyes are drawn immediately to the little girl he’s cradling over his shoulder. She is fast asleep, and her long black hair – streaked with white – is forming a blanket on his arm.

He walks straight for me, a broad smile on his face. I can tell he is damn pleased with himself. He’s has a definite right to be proud of himself. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I’m stuck, frozen. When, finally, I regain use of my voice, its quiet – awed. “Can I –,” I whisper. “Can I hold her?”

Declan hands her over slowly, cautiously – trying valiantly to not wake her. It’s no use.

As I accept her into my arms, Carla stirs and opens a pair of bleary eyes, rubbing them to try clearing her vision: “Mama?”

“No, baby,” I whisper: “not yet.”

But one day. Soon.