'Yeah, right.'

'Where were you when it happened?'

'Where do you think I was?'

'I don't know, that's why I'm-'

'I was up the fucking stairs with the Xbox LIVE, earphones on, shootin' zombies, and this smoke starts coming under the door and I tried to get downstairs but the fire was . . .' He trailed off. 'Since it all started, she always slept downstairs, on the couch.'

'To protect you. She was your first line of defence.' He shrugged. 'So you got out, how?'

'Back window, down the back alley.'

'So you didn't see who . . .?'

'Course I did. When I got to the end of the street, I saw them.'

'Clearly?'

'They were just standing there, watching.'

'So you could identify them?'

'To the cops? Yeah, right.'

'They killed your mother, Bobby.'

'She was asking for it. She'd never shut up. I told her a million times but she kept on and on and they killed her.'

I balled the swastikas and threw them. Two out of two. I was definitely in the wrong career.

'Where have you been since it happened?'

'Here and there.'

'You have friends?'

'Course.'

'They can put you up?'

'If they could put me up, would I have had to break into this shitehole?'

'It's my office, show some respect.'

'Sorry, office.'

'I can call social services, they can sort you . . .'

'No.'

'No?'

'Been down that road before, not going.'

'Bobby, I'm sorry you're in this mess, and I've suggested various things and you've rejected every one of them. What exactly do you want me to do?'

'I want you,' he replied, 'to buy me breakfast, because I'm fuckin' starving.'

18.

I bought him breakfast in a cafe down the street and he wolfed it down: two bacon baps and hot chocolate and an apple flapjack. There was barely any chat from him. He sat with his back to the door. Whenever it opened, he didn't look round or show any interest; he knew the police were looking for him, that the Miller boys were after him, and that both sets of hunters had to have feelers out all over the city, but he appeared inured to it. He had been besieged and intimidated, he had lost a leg and now his mother; maybe he thought they'd done their worst. I suspected they hadn't. Every time the door opened, I jumped.

He said, 'What happened to your eye?'

'I got in a fight. It'll heal. What about your leg?'

'What do you mean what about it? It won't heal.'

'I know . . . I mean, you seem quite proficient with it.'

'I had lessons. I'm aimin' for the Paralympics.'

'Really?' He gave me the eye. I blew air out of my cheeks. I fiddled with the remnants of my fry. After a while I said, 'So?'

'So what?'

'What are your plans now?'

'You tell me.'

'What do you mean?'

'You're supposed to look after me.'

'I bought you breakfast, and you found my secret stash of Twix. It's the least I could do, after what happened, but . . .'

'You're right.'

'I'm right. I'm right what?'

'It's the least you could do.'

'I don't follow.'

'My mum said you would look after me.'

'Yes, I appreciate that, but just because she says something, said something, it doesn't mean it's magically going to happen. I met her once, for five minutes, I gave her my card. I'd never even set eyes on you till you broke into my office. I have an Xtra-vision card in my wallet, but I don't expect them to look after me if I fall on hard times.'

'I was listening to youse from the top of the stairs. You said to her, if there's anything else I can do. She took you at your word.'

'I was just being polite.'

'So you were lying to her.'

'No, it's just something you say.'

'If you didn't mean it, then it's a lie.'

'Okay. It was a lie. Happy?'

'What am I supposed to do now?'

'I don't know. It's not my problem.'

'Great. Thanks.'

'What do you want me to say?' I snapped. 'Come back to my place, put your head down till I sort something out? Come under my wing? You can be the son I never had?'

He looked at me for a long time, and there were tears in his eyes and he was straining, bloody straining hard to stop them coming out.

Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.

I am not completely callous. I said he could put his head down in my spare room for one night until I sorted something out for him. In response, I got a shrug. As we drove to St Anne's Square, I spelt out how it was going to work. He wasn't to mess with my stuff. He wasn't to use my phone. He wasn't to go out. No drugs. No drug deals.

He said, 'What do you think I am?'

'I know exactly what you are. The Millers weren't picking on you because you were choirboy of the year.'

'That was then.'

'So you say. I don't have to do this. If it's not good enough for you, I can stop the car now.'

'Yeah, right.'

'I'm serious.'

'Do you have an Xbox?'

'No.'

'PlayStation? Anything like . . .'

'No.'

'PC?'

'Not usually.'

'What does that mean?'

'Yes, I have a computer. Yes, you can use it, if you're careful and don't spill anything over it and don't use it inappropriately.'

'Ina . . .'

'You know what I mean. And if you're on Facebook, don't update your status to your new location, don't tell anyone where you are.'

'I'm not fuckin' stupid. And Facebook? You fuckin' jokin'?'

'Sorry, is Facebook not where it's at these days?'

He just shook his head. We rode in silence for a while.

Then he said, 'They didn't spell paedophile right.'

'I know,' I said.

We got to St Anne's Square and parked. Bobby nodded appreciatively as we crossed the piazza; he nodded some more when we got to the block and took the elevator up, and continued nodding as we entered my apartment. He stood just inside the door and smiled.

'I could get used to this,' he said.

'Well don't. The bathroom's straight ahead. Go take a shower, you smell of smoke and cigarettes and sweat. The spare bedroom is on the left. There may be some food in the fridge, but there's definitely Coke. Not that kind of coke. I have work to do, I have to go out again, so I'm going to leave you to it, okay?'

'Okay.'

'I can trust you?'

'Yes.'

'Though you would say that.' He made eyes. 'Okay. I'm not sure how long I'll be; make yourself at home, keep your head down, I'll sort what I can sort.'

I nodded.

He nodded.

I left. I walked down the hall and pressed the elevator button. It came, and went, but I stayed where I was. I gave it three minutes. When I let myself back into the apartment, Bobby was standing exactly where I'd left him, with his arms folded.

'Do you not fuckin' trust me or somethin'?' he barked.

I said, 'I forgot something. Okay? I can come back into my own fuckin' home if I fuckin' want to.'