I must have put it there out of the way… Was there a CV with it? It was attached to a CV I think. Laura, I’m going to have to order soon, I’m starving.’
Not knowing what to think, I turn my back to Conor and walk to the kitchen presses. Conor is not at all bothered that I found the photo. He didn’t flinch at all. He has a perfectly reasonable explanation as to what it was doing in the book. So why am I doubting him? Pulling open the drawer, I shove Vicky Murphy’s photo inside and take out the menu.
Chapter Fifteen
‘What kind of work was Vicky looking for?’
The grease from the spring roll drips down my chin, so I pull a serviette from the bunch in the bag and wipe it. Conor lifts his head from the plate. He doesn’t normally shovel food in at that rate. He really must have been starving.
‘Journalism,’ he mumbles through his overflowing mouth before lowering his head to the plate again.
‘I didn’t know she was a journalist.’
Hurrying his swallow, he takes a slug of water from the glass by his side then looks at me. ‘Yeah, she was in college up in Dublin.’
‘Really… and did she commute?’
‘No, as far as I know she stayed in Dublin during the week.’ Conor puts his fork down and looks me straight in the eye. ‘Laura, I don’t know much about her, she just gave me that photo in the bar one night and asked if I could put a word in for her with a guy I know from the Herald.’
I get the feeling he doesn’t want to talk about Vicky anymore. I don’t blame him. She asked him to do something, he didn’t do it and now she’s dead. I’d better change the subject.
‘Would you like to sleep in a spare room tonight Conor, so Shay won’t disturb you? I’ll do the feed.’
Conor stretches his back out and yawns.
‘I don’t think he has much chance of disturbing me tonight, not with all that food in me on top of the pints.’
Smiling, I reach over and grab one of his chips. I never order them, just rob his.
‘Hey, I thought you said you weren’t hungry,’ he says.
* * *
I was wrong when I said Conor didn’t snore after a few pints. He’s like a lion choking on the carcass of his prey in the bed beside me. Shay doesn’t seem to mind. There isn’t a murmur from his corner of the room but I’m completely awake, staring at the sky. Twisting and turning, I eventually accept I’m not getting any sleep tonight. The next time Conor drinks too much he can sleep elsewhere.
My toes wriggle into the comfort of the plush white carpet when I get out of the bed. Over at the crib, I check Shay is okay before leaving the room.
On the landing, silence surrounds me. I make my way down the sweeping staircase and walk into the kitchen. There is an extra hum in the air now, buzzing from the fridge, the dishwasher, the bottle cooler. But it’s still eerie and empty.
Sometimes I miss the noise of the city keeping me company at night. Those long nights, sitting by the window, staring out at the world ticking by, wondering would I ever sleep again. There were times when I never went to bed at all. I sat and stared, waiting for the sun to rise. Waiting for the streets to fill with bustling commuters, noise, smells. Life. Here we go again.
A noise from out back disturbs me, sending my nerves into overdrive. Footsteps. I can hear someone walking slowly outside the window. Creeping over, I peep out the window and see the unmistakable shape of Pat shuffling below the moonlight. He disappears into the trees. It’s four fifteen a.m. according to the oven clock. He really is a weirdo. What is he doing out at this hour? Maybe he got a lock-in at Hedigan’s, but that’s unlikely, with Vicky’s funeral tomorrow. I expect they would have closed on time tonight. They’ll be extra busy tomorrow. At first, I wasn’t planning on attending the funeral but when Amanda heard about it, she said I had to go. I had to find out what I could about Vicky and mingle with the rumours. She even offered to come here and sit with Shay for me. I wasn’t buying into it until she mentioned the fact that my absence could be frowned upon by the