Ronan glanced at the kettle and saw a white stain running all the way down its side. He decided not to bother with tea.
‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s got you dragging me out here so early on a Sunday?’
‘It’s not that early. Besides, I shouldn’t have to drag you. If you came here more often . . .’
Here we go, Ronan thought.
‘. . . instead of spending all your time with that tart of yours—’
‘I’ve told you, Mam. Don’t call her a tart.’
‘I’ll call her what I bloody well like. Anyway . . . what was the question?’
‘I was asking about the fire.’
‘What fire?’
‘Exactly. What’s the big emergency?’
She went silent for a few seconds while her brain caught up. ‘I had a call this morning.’
‘Oh yeah? Was the vicar missing you at Sunday service?’
‘Don’t get funny with me, lad. You’re never too old for a smack. For your information, the call was from Mental Micky.’
Ronan’s face dropped. A call from Mental himself, rather than one of his subordinates, was never something to gladden the heart.
‘What did he want?’
‘Ah, now that’s wiped the smile off your face, hasn’t it?’
‘Mam, what did he want?’
‘He wants your brother. Says that Joey didn’t turn up for an important meeting last night, and that he’s got some things that don’t belong to him. Things that Mental wants back.’
Ronan could guess the nature of those things. What he couldn’t guess at was why on earth Joey would do anything that might upset Mental.
‘Well, have you tried phoning Joey?’
Myra slammed down her tumbler, slopping some of her precious gin over the sides. ‘Do I look like I’m bloody thick? Of course I’ve tried phoning him. I’ve called him a dozen times today. He’s not answering.’
‘Do you think something’s happened to him?’
‘Something will happen to him when I get hold of him, I can tell you that much. I’m not having him put me in Mental’s bad books. I’ve got enough on my plate without that bloody lunatic giving me grief.’
Ronan took out his own phone and speed-dialled his brother. It went straight to voicemail.
‘His phone must be off.’
‘Joey’s phone is never off. He always answers my calls.’
This was true. Life wouldn’t be living for Ronan or Joey if either of them avoided their mother for too long. Besides, there was the little matter of their inheritance.
‘All right, Mam. What do you want me to do about it?’
‘Find him.’
‘How am I supposed to—’
‘I don’t care! Go to his flat. Ask around. If he’s left the country with Mental’s property, it’ll be your hide that gets tanned.’
‘What do you mean, my hide? What’s it got to do with me?’
‘Tweedledum or Tweedledee. Makes no difference to Mental.’
Ronan recoiled at the insult. There was no need for that comparison.
Even though he and Joey were identical twins.
10
Scott was awakened by a knock on the bedroom door. He glanced at the alarm clock, saw that it had gone ten o’clock.
Shit.
‘Come in,’ he called. Next to him, Gemma grunted and her eyes flickered open.
Daniel came into the room. He seemed uncertain, as if expecting something to jump out of the wardrobe.
