Miles opened the outer door and stepped into the porch, put his ear to the main door and listened. Nothing. He turned the key in the Yale lock, but the door wouldn’t yield. Next he inserted the Chubb key, undid the mortise then tried the Yale again, pushed open the door, closed it quietly and moved through to the living room. He was genuinely surprised by what he saw.
Sinead was asleep on the sofa. Her left leg was encased in Plaster of Paris and propped up on two cushions. Miles tiptoed closer. She was wearing purple jogging bottoms and a faded black sweatshirt. Her hair was lank and greasy. Miles padded around the sofa and perched on the coffee table. Sinead mumbled in her sleep. He observed her a while and listened to the nasal whistling, until her eyelids flickered and she began to wake. Some primitive alert in her brain was telling her she was being watched. She rolled onto her side, facing him.
‘Daddy… Where am I?’ she mumbled.
That was too amusing – Daddy. He suppressed a smile. ‘You’re home, Sinead.’
Her eyes opened. She squinted at him. Disoriented, she lifted her head from the sofa cushion. ‘Hey Elliot… when did you get back?’
‘Just now.’ He leant forward and tapped the plaster cast with his forefinger. ‘So what happened here then?’
‘I got knocked off my bike.’
‘That was clumsy of you.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Sinead smirked wearily. ‘Not my fault. It was a hit and run.’
‘How did you get to hospital?’
‘Ambulance.’
‘I presume they took down your personal details at the hospital. And you gave them this address?’
‘Yeah. I think so. Why?’
A record of her living at this address wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t do much about it. Miles picked up her phial of painkillers and read the label. It was strong stuff; a few too many could knock out an average-sized person for quite some time. ‘How many of these have you taken today?’
Sinead shrugged. ‘Four or five. I don’t remember.’
He placed the bottle down on the table and stood up. ‘You’re lucky. It’s only a broken leg. It could’ve been much worse.’
Sinead brushed hair away from her face. She appeared groggy and her skin was alabaster white. ‘Suppose so. I don’t feel too lucky.’
Miles stood by the window. He parted the curtains and peered out onto the driveway. ‘My German shepherd was knocked down by a speeding post van. Monty had a shattered pelvis, internal bleeding. Evidently, he was in a substantial amount of pain. But I certainly couldn’t afford the vet’s bill.’
‘Poor thing. What happened?’
He paused. Not for dramatic effect exactly (although he acknowledged its effectiveness), but more for the realisation that he was about to reveal something deeply personal; a secret that had remained hidden for thirty years. ‘Uncle Neil was generous enough to lend me his shotgun. The cartridge, however – that cost was deducted from my pocket money.’
‘Pocket money? How old were you?’
‘I was nine.’
‘Nine?! Shit. Elliot…’
‘I botched the job, of course. The barrel was too heavy and the shot only winged him. He yelped and lay there in the road staring up at me. Uncle Neil told me I had to complete the job. A man must always finish what he starts.’ He stared at his hands and realised he was twisting the curtain between them.
Sinead was staring at him, her mouth wide open. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘I buried him in the garden. Early the next morning, I wandered out in my pyjamas and… I found Monty’s carcass strewn across the flower beds. Dug up by foxes. Yes, that was a particularly memorable birthday.’ Elliot drew the curtains together and brushed off some lint that clung to the material. ‘Still, at least it provided Uncle Neil with some entertainment.’ He walked back to the sofa. Sinead looked utterly bewildered.
‘Would you like some lapsang souchong?’ he asked. She was staring off into space. ‘Sinead? I’m making tea.’
‘Sorry… I feel a bit woozy.’
‘You get some more sleep then. Plenty of rest – it’s the best thing for you.’
Sinead reclined and lowered her head onto the armrest. He loomed over her, smiling benignly. Her eyelids grew heavy. Miles waited until they closed before going into the kitchen.
***
He ladled soup into a bowl and then buttered a bread roll. He couldn’t understand why he’d told Sinead about Monty. It had been bothering him all afternoon; how the hell had she made him lower his guard like that? He’d never told anyone that story, not even his wife. He’d kept it locked up, ever since it happened. Well that wasn’t quite accurate; he did refresh Uncle Neil’s memory several years after the incident. He had recounted every last detail of the story whilst holding the old bastard’s head underwater.
Now here he was, spilling his guts out to this girl he barely knew, and she hadn’t even tricked or manipulated him into doing so. He had simply felt comfortable confessing to her. Sinead wasn’t judging him. Perhaps the sharing of secrets indicated something meaningful was developing between them. It didn’t sound that far-fetched. He’d even heard people say such things about their friends: I can tell her anything.
Miles carried the tray into the darkened living room and gently set it down on the coffee table. Sinead was still asleep on the sofa. One of the cushions supporting her leg had been kicked to the floor. The blanket he’d draped over her shoulders was still in place. She appeared to be dreaming; her eyelids were flickering and cheek muscles twitching. He went to turn on the side lamp. The light struck Sinead’s face. Her eyes opened and then immediately shut again.
‘I thought you might like some soup.’
Sinead blinked as Elliot picked up the tray and held it out towards her; the spoon slid down and tinged against the ceramic bowl. She smiled groggily. ‘Smells amazing.’
‘Can you sit up?’
Her hands dug into the base cushion and she pushed herself upwards. She winced as her leg moved, and rubbed the top of her thigh, above the plaster. ‘Pins and needles,’ she said. He waited until she was ready to accept the tray. Then she set it down across her lap. He went and sat in the armchair on the opposite side of the room. Sinead dipped the spoon into the bowl. ‘How long was I out for?’
‘About six hours.’
‘Wow. They are some hardcore painkillers.’ She took a mouthful of soup.
‘I never expected to come home and find you in this condition. You took me by surprise.’
‘Sorry, I probably should’ve texted, given you some warning.’ Sinead bit into the roll. ‘Didn’t want to worry you. How was your trip – how was Bangkok?’
‘Hot and humid.’
Sinead smiled sleepily. Elliot studied her as she ate. She looked quite helpless. She would need extra assistance around the house during the coming weeks. Timing wise it wasn’t too bad; while he was out of work he’d be able to lend a helping hand.
‘I’ll be going to the shops tomorrow. Let me know if there’s anything I can pick up for you.’