‘For Mental?’
Still sticking to the lie, he thought. One of her sons is dead, and she’s lying through her teeth to the other one.
‘No, Mam, not for Mental. For you.’
There was a detectable pause before she answered. ‘What?’
‘You lied to me, Mam. Why?’
‘What are you going on about?’
‘Barrington told me. Joey was doing business for you.’
‘And you believe that grubby little toe-rag rather than your own mother? What kind of son are you?’
‘The kind who doesn’t like being treated like an idiot.’
‘I haven’t done any such thing. You’ve let that sneaky bastard pull the wool over your eyes. You were too soft with him. I’ve sent a boy to do a man’s job. Bloody hell, I could do better myself. That conniving prick probably killed Joey himself. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘ENOUGH!’ Ronan’s shout echoed up and down the stairwell. ‘Enough, Mam. Stop it. Please. Tell me truth.’
A much longer pause now.
‘I needed the money, lad. I’m skint. Joey was doing me a favour. Helping out his old mum.’
Here we go, Ronan thought. Trying to grab the sympathy vote.
‘What do you mean, skint? Since when? I thought you were loaded.’
A bark of laughter. ‘Loaded? What gave you that idea? Everything I had I spent on you and Joey.’
And now the guilt trip, Ronan thought. Make it my fault.
‘You should have told me, Mam. Should’ve been straight with me.’
‘I . . . I knew you wouldn’t approve.’
She was right: he wouldn’t have approved. Not because he was any better – God knows, he’d done some bad things in his time – but he’d believed that his mother was out of the game, that there was no longer any danger of her going to prison or ending up like Joey.
‘Shit, Mam. What were you thinking? Why didn’t you just come to me for help?’
‘You know me, lad. I stand on my own two feet. Always have and always will.’
So that’s it, he thought. Stubborn pride. A dead son because of her inability to deal with the shame of asking for money.
He knew Joey wouldn’t have had the same qualms. They might have looked alike, but they never thought alike. Joey would always have done precisely what his mother desired, no questions asked. She had banked on that.
‘Come over, Ronan,’ she said. ‘We can’t talk about this on the phone. Come over and we’ll have a proper chat.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, and terminated the call.
He sat there for two full minutes, just thinking. This whole thing had turned to shit, and a big share of the blame rested squarely with his own mother. She was the one who’d sent Joey out to do drug deals. She’d lied from the beginning. Had even tried to continue with the lie over the phone.
It made him wonder how much of her grief was real.
Sure, she had wailed enough. Yelled the house down for hours after the police had delivered the news. The gin bottles were in for a battering after that performance.
But was it genuine?
He’d done most of his own crying in private. Was embarrassed to admit it even now. It was how he’d been brought up. A real man doesn’t cry, and especially not in front of others.
But this was his brother, for Christ’s sake. And not just any brother, but an identical twin. In their younger days they’d done everything together. And although he hadn’t spent as much time with Joey since their dad had died, there had still been a connection there that was stronger than any other he had ever experienced.
And now it was over – all because Joey had been sent on an errand by a mother who didn’t even seem to know where it had taken him.
It was only when Ronan heard noises coming from further down the stairwell that he hauled himself to his feet and started plodding downwards.
Two flights below, he met the source of the noise. A big bastard. Hardly dressed for office work – hardly keeping with any kind of fashion either – and yet carrying a briefcase. What was that all about?
The guy looked up the stairs at Ronan. Did a double-take. Came to a full stop, staring.
Ronan gave him his best What the fuck are you looking at? glare, but the man just stood there open-mouthed.
Freak, thought Ronan.
He continued to descend. The freak remained frozen on the turning.
‘Something to say, lad?’ Ronan asked.
