Ben gave her a knowing look. ‘Oh yeah? Tall and dark, is he?’
‘Yup.’
‘Bravery and strength of a dozen men?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Younger than me?’
‘Early twenties.’
‘I hate him already. What’s the deal with this white knight? Think carefully before you answer.’
‘For one thing, he didn’t really see anything. For another, he’s got learning difficulties.’
Ben blinked. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. He took me up to his flat and looked after me until his parents got home. Heart of gold, but not so talented in the intellect department. I really don’t want to bother him any further with this. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘I don’t think it’s fair that your attacker gets away with it either, but if that’s the way you want to play it . . .’
‘It is.’
It occurred to her to tell Ben about the reason why she hadn’t heard her assailant sneaking up on her. About seeing Tilly again, so close and so . . . so alive. But then she remembered how he’d reacted last time.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I had a bag of crisps from the hospital vending machine.’
‘And that’s it? Christ, are you determined to end up on a slab? Right, give me ten minutes.’
She thanked him as he dashed off to the kitchen. Sometimes she wondered if he minded doing all the cooking and housework, although he never complained about it.
She picked up the remote control from the coffee table and switched on the television. She flicked through the channels, but could find nothing of interest.
Ben brought in a cup of tea. ‘Drink that while you’re waiting. Leftover curry and rice okay?’
‘Wonderful.’
When he disappeared again, she sipped her tea, but was unable to relax. She put down her cup and stood up.
‘Just going to get changed,’ she called, then went upstairs.
She stood in front of her bedroom door, but didn’t open it.
She moved along the landing. Opened the next door instead. The door to Tilly’s room.
When she entered and put the light on, it was as if all the sights and smells rushed into her, overwhelming her senses. A shudder passed through her body, and she had to bring her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. For some reason, the effect on her seemed more potent now than it had ever been.
They had left the room undisturbed since Tilly’s death. The bed was made, the cuddly toys lined up on it, awaiting her return. Her hairbrush was on the dressing table, still clinging desperately to her strands. A colouring book was on the windowsill, a green crayon resting on the section she needed to fill in next.
The room was ready for her to come back, and would remain so until Hannah and Ben told it to abandon its vigil.
Hannah went to the large wicker hamper by the window and opened it. She reached in and pulled out an Adam-9 action figure. Beneath that was a stack of Adam-9 comics they had brought back from a trip to Japan. The text was in Japanese, but it hadn’t mattered to Tilly, because these stories weren’t available in western countries.
She thought back to her vision of Tilly in the lift, then meeting Daniel, and it seemed to her almost as if the latter was simply a continuation of the former: that her little girl had merely changed her outward appearance. Inside that large hulking frame of a man was an eight-year-old. Still simple and pure and kind.
It was probably a ridiculous notion.
But she clutched it to her aching heart nonetheless.
22
When Ronan Cobb turned up at his mother’s house on Tuesday afternoon, it was with a sense of satisfaction. By now, word had got around that Joey slept with the fishes, or at least with the rotting bones of fishes and other garbage, and that put people in Joey’s line of work on edge. It suggested that reprisals might be coming, that they might be next in the firing line. Experience told them that it was wise to clam up.
But what had begun as a tedious chore for Ronan had been turned by the death of his brother into a calling, and so he’d put the work in. He’d posed a lot of questions, called in a slew of favours, issued a number of threats. And now Ronan, ace private detective that he was (even though this was more an instance of sheer luck rather than investigative prowess), felt he was finally on to something. His mother would be proud.
Myra Cobb looked at him like he was a piece of shit.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded.
No ‘Hello, how are you?’ No ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ No hug or kiss.
Not that he wanted to go anywhere near his mother at the moment. She looked worse than ever. Drunker, and dirtier. Her hair was lank and shiny with grease, the ends coated in chunks of what looked like vomit. She was still wearing the black armband; it had slipped down to her forearm and was stained with glistening wet trails. Ronan guessed she had been wiping her nose on it.
‘Where do you think?’ he answered. ‘Been trying to find out what happened to Joey, haven’t I?’
She appeared suddenly and melodramatically mournful. ‘Joey. My beautiful son. They murdered him.’
