‘And you think they’ll come after me?’
‘Maybe,’ Lennon said. He thought about it for a second. ‘Probably.’
‘Christ,’ Marie said. She looked tired. ‘I thought it was all over with.’
‘You should have called me,’ Lennon said. ‘When Fegan was hanging around. I could’ve done something.’
‘I never wanted your help,’ she said.
Ellen laughed out loud. Lennon looked up at the rear-view mirror. Ellen turned to the empty seat beside her, brought her finger to her lips, shush.
‘My daughter was in danger,’ Lennon said.
‘She’s never been a daughter to you.’
‘Because you never allowed her to be.’
Marie went to reply, but stopped herself. She covered her eyes and sighed. ‘There’s no point in arguing about that now,’ she said. ‘Are you taking me to your station? I want to see my father first.’
‘I’m not taking you to the station,’ Lennon said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t trust my colleagues.’
‘Why not?’ Marie asked.
‘My bosses know what’s going on as well as I do,’ Lennon said. ‘But they’re ignoring it, trying to sweep it away. I don’t know who the orders are coming from, but I’m pretty certain you’ll be safer away from them.’
‘Then where do we go?’ Marie asked.
‘You can stay at my place till I figure this out,’ Lennon said. ‘There’s room.’
‘No,’ Marie said. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’
‘Look, this isn’t the time for holding grudges. Ellen’s safety is more important than anything that happened between you and me.’
He looked up at the mirror again. Ellen leaned to her side, cupped her hand around her mouth, and whispered.
‘Who’s she talking to?’ Lennon asked.
‘She has imaginary friends. People only she can see. She’s been like that since . . .’
When Marie couldn’t finish the sentence, Lennon said, ‘What did she see?’
Marie didn’t answer the question. Instead, she said, ‘We went to a psychologist when we were in Birmingham, the NIO paid for it. Didn’t do her any good. She has nightmares. They’ve been getting worse.’
Lennon watched her in the mirror. The thought of the child in fear made his stomach turn watery under the weight of his heart. ‘What does she dream about?’
‘Fire,’ Marie said. Her voice shook. Her eyes fluttered and brimmed again. ‘She dreams she’s burning in a fire. The way she screams, it kills me. I can’t sleep for fear of her screaming waking me. I thought maybe if I brought her home, to the places she knows, maybe it would help. And now this.’
She leaned forward, her face buried in her hands, and wept in silence while Lennon watched, unable to do anything to soothe her.
When the sobbing ebbed away, Marie straightened and sniffed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I haven’t had anyone to talk to for months. It’s been hard.’
‘I know,’ Lennon said. ‘Listen, I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make you safe. You and Ellen both.’
‘I don’t know if you can,’ Marie said. ‘But maybe …’
Lennon waited. ‘Maybe what?’
She shook her head, as if chasing an idea away. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Take us to the Royal first, then I’ll find somewhere to stay.’
‘Come to my place. Please.’
‘No, I don’t want to. Besides, if someone’s looking for me, they’ll know to go there, won’t they?’
He had to concede. ‘Possibly.’
‘Take me to the Royal to see my father. Then we’ll go to a hotel.’ She allowed him a smile, but with no kindness or warmth behind it. ‘You can stand guard at the door if you want.’
He thought about it for a few seconds and realised she was right. ‘No,’ he said, ‘no hotel. I know a place in Carrickfergus. It belongs to a friend of mine. It’ll be safer than any hotel.’
He fired the ignition and set off for the Royal Victoria Hospital, fifteen minutes away if the traffic was kind.
43
Fegan knew it was useless, but he tried again anyway. The phone refused to come to life no matter how hard or how many times he pressed the button. The screen was cracked and the casing loose.
He brought it to his ear and shook it. Something heavy rattled inside. He could hear its movement above the rumble of traffic from the New Jersey Turnpike.
The Doyles had bundled Pyè into the back of the car and sped off from the diner, leaving their driver lying on the sidewalk. Fegan was confident they would leave him alone for the time being. Packie and Frankie had both looked terrified. But they wouldn’t stay scared for long. Fegan needed to move.
He placed the phone on the motel-room dressing table. The dreams had been bad during the night, fire and screaming. He had woken soaked with sweat, his heart racing, his lungs burning for oxygen. Even now, hours later, he saw the flames every time he closed his eyes.
A jet roared overhead as it approached Newark Airport. Fegan took two items from his bag and laid them next to the broken phone: a roll of hundred-dollar bills, totalling just less than three thousand, and an Irish passport in the name of Patrick Feeney. From his window he could see the lights of an airplane as it took off.
‘I’m going home soon,’ Fegan said, his voice hollow in the miserable room.
He started packing.
44
The place felt more like an airport than a hospital, all glass and open spaces. Even a sculpture of a snake clinging to a pillar outside the entrance, for Christ’s sake. The Traveller moved among the halt and the lame, avoiding their glances. Women in dressing gowns wandered aimlessly, coffee in hand, some clutching cigarette packets and lighters. Doctors who looked like children walked in pairs and threes.
No matter how clean it was, no matter how new, the smell of sickness still underlay everything. The Traveller hated hospitals almost as much as he hated the medical profession. Hospitals were churches of the dead and dying, and doctors were the thieves who robbed the corpses, even those corpses that still breathed.
One of the thieves approached.
‘Are you looking for A&E?’ she asked, a bright young girl with a white overcoat and pens in her pocket.
‘No,’ the Traveller said, turning a circle as he scanned the reception area.
‘Oh.’ She stepped away. ‘Sorry. It’s just your eye looks—’
‘My eye’s fine. Where do you keep the stroke victims?’
‘Depends,’ she said. ‘When was the patient admitted?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘I mean, they could be in ICU, or in Admissions, or on a ward, or—’
‘I’ll find him myself,’ the Traveller said.
As he walked away, he heard, ‘Well, fuck you, then.’
He turned back to the girl, but she was already striding away, her head down, her arms churning.
‘Cunt,’ he said to her back.
45
Lennon recognised Bernie McKenna, Marie’s aunt, hovering over the bed, fussing about the motionless form, adjusting pillows and straightening sheets. Bernie stiffened as Marie approached, but did not look up. Ellen clung to her mother’s fingers, her doll dangling from the other hand.
‘So you’re back, then,’ Bernie said, her stare fixed on the bed.
Marie faced her across the bed. ‘How is he?’
‘How does he look?’ Bernie smoothed the sheets and spared Marie a glance. ‘Poor cratur doesn’t know where he is. You’d have been better going to see your mother. It’d do her more good than him.’
Bernie looked up from the grey sliver of a man once more and saw Lennon. Her eyes narrowed as she searched her memory for his face; her jaw hardened when she found it.
‘Jesus, you brought him here?’