Suddenly, Conall realized that he sounded like he was boasting. His brother had never been to Southeast Asia, he never would go there; it was just a faraway foreign part of the world that might sometimes be mentioned on the news. Conall abruptly shut up.

Without speaking, they drank their tea, Conall slurping energetically to demonstrate that he hadn't lost touch with his roots. He considered cracking his knuckles but feared it might be misinterpreted as a hostile gesture.

"Where's my present?" Bronagh's appearance broke the tension.

Conall reached into his pocket and produced the little box.

"Wicked," Bronagh breathed, unknotting ribbons and unpeeling silver paper. "This is a proper present." Reverentially, she removed the lid and gazed at the winking sparkling jewels.

"What the hell?" Joe asked.

"Are they . . . what are they?" Bronagh asked.

"Sapphires."

"Ah, for jayzus-"

Bronagh was wide eyed. "Are they real?"

Conall nodded.

"She's eight, bud." Joe sounded angry. "Her ears aren't even pierced."

"Adopt me, Conall." Bronagh began flinging herself dramatically around the kitchen, holding the sapphires to her earlobes. "Take me into your house as your ward. Rescue me from these smelly peasants."

"Ah, hahahah." Conall flamed with embarrassment. God, he'd messed this right up. Sweating with the need to fix things, he grabbed Bronagh and said, right into her eyes, "My brother is the best da you could have."

"You could be a good da too, if you didn't work so hard," Bronagh said. "But then you mightn't have the money to buy sapphire earrings. Hmmmmm. Tricky choice."

"I'll tell you something, Conall," Joe said hotly. "You might be going to the Philippines and all them places but I never have to leave the house. Having kids, that's the greatest adventure of them all."

"You're right, bud. Bang on. I'm beginning to think that way."

Joe's face softened. Then froze. "-Oh no, Conall, bud. Having kids, it's not like buying a motorbike. You can't give it back when you get bored."

All my ducks are in a row for tomorrow. I think I'm going for Hathaway and Lydia. I know she says she doesn't like kids, but when it's her own baby, it'll be different. And Hathaway, he's ready. Well, he's fast coming round to the idea. By the time I arrive, I'll be welcome. Just in case things go unexpectedly skew-whiff, I've got Katie and Fionn as backup. But as for Matt and Maeve, I'm afraid we'd need a miracle.

Day 1 . . .

"Anyone mind if I shoot off early today?" Matt asked. "Got my packing to do."

Good-natured, office-wide jeering sparked up. "Only ten past five and he's out through the door already! That's International Sales for you."

"Nothing left for me to do in Homeland Sales." The new name that had been given to the department selling systems within Ireland. "No point me hanging around, twiddling my thumbs." He grinned, pale and sweaty. "So, see ya."

"What time?" Salvatore asked.

"Say seven o'clock? At the Aer Lingus check-in?"

Salvatore and Matt were due to fly to Shanghai on Monday morning.

"Good stuff. So see you at the airport!" Salvatore whooped. The start of a new venture, an exciting business.

"Yip," Matt said cheerily. "See you Monday morning at the airport."

Does Maeve know anything about this?

Day 1 . . .

"How are you, Maeve?" Dr. Shrigley asked.

"Okay."

But she was far away, inside her head. She couldn't shake an image of herself being tossed up in the air, light and limp as a rag doll. The pictures were becoming more and more elaborate. She kept seeing it, the moment of impact, as a car hit her bike and she was sent flying, blood gushing from her mouth, her skull shattering like an eggshell as she landed on the road, and the light suddenly vanished from her eyes. The thought of the pain didn't concern her; she was so numb that she couldn't imagine feeling any.

She'd had four panic attacks in the last few weeks and with each one she'd felt the presence of death. She'd been afraid at the time, but she wasn't any longer.

She was looking forward to it all being over.

This was her last visit to Dr. Shrigley. She didn't know how to tell her, so she wouldn't bother. Dr. Shrigley would figure it out when Maeve stopped showing up. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

She cycled home, fast and carelessly. When she got to Star Street she hopped off the bike and wheeled it the last few yards to the front door. It was amazing to her that she was still alive. I mean, what do you have to do to get killed around here?

For once she was glad that Matt wouldn't be home for a few hours. That way he wouldn't know that she hadn't gone to the drinks yoke at work. Although he couldn't have thought there was any real chance she'd go. Poor Matt. He wanted evidence that she was getting better, when everything indicated that she was getting worse.

She flicked a quick look over each shoulder to check that no one was lurking behind her, ready to bum-rush her into the empty flat, then she reached into her satchel for her keys. But she couldn't find them. Her hand clawed and closed, clawed and closed, like those swizzy things at a funfair, but she came up with nothing. Carefully setting her back against the front door, so she could keep an eye on all passers-by, she emptied the bag on to the step. No keys. Definitely, no keys. Her wallet was there. Why would someone take her keys and not her wallet? Creepy. Unless no one took anything and maybe the keys just fell out. But wouldn't she have heard them jingling?

Of all the nights to lose her keys. She fired off a quick text to Matt. He'd have to put his keys in a taxi. But the thought of a big burly taxi driver showing up with access to her flat . . . Quickly, she fired off another text.

Come home.

There was no point calling on any of the neighbors. None of them had a spare key. She didn't trust anyone with her keys.

Four men passing along the street stared at her, sitting on the step, her knees pulled up to her chest. She couldn't stay here, advertising her vulnerability to all and sundry. She should at least get into the communal hallway.

She hesitated about ringing the old woman because Hungry Fionn was living with her. What if he answered? She couldn't chance Katie in the top flat either because she and Fionn were an item. The only option was to ring the flat on the second floor. She was nervous of the Polish guys who lived there, but then she remembered that they were moving out when she was on her way to work this morning.

She pressed the buzzer and someone, probably the impatient taxi-girl, said, "Hathaway?"

"This is Maeve from-"

The door clicked open. "Thanks," Maeve said to dead air, wheeling in her bike and leaning it against her door.

She sat on the bottom stair, gazing at her phone. Why hadn't Matt texted her back? What was keeping him? After a while, she rang him and it went straight to voice mail. He never turned his phone off. Why, today of all days? Sod's law.

A jingling of keys at the front door had her sitting up hopefully, but it was Katie. She tumbled into the hall, followed by Hungry Fionn. They were both in convulsions at something.

"Oh, sorry!" Katie laughed. "Didn't mean to nearly stand on you there. Maeve, isn't it? Are you all right?"

Maeve didn't want to tell, not with Fionn standing there.

"Are you locked out?" Katie asked.

Why else would she be sitting on the fecking stairs?

"Come on up to our place," Fionn invited.

Maeve suppressed a shudder.

"Do," Katie said. "We're going out in about an hour but you can stay as long as you like."

"I'm okay. My husband will be home soon."

"Do you need to ring him?" Already, Katie was reaching in her bag.

"He's on his way." Maeve displayed the little phone in her hand. "Thanks. I'm grand."

Matt still hadn't texted her back. It was weird. It had been ages. She checked the time on her phone-nearly fifteen minutes- A voice spoke behind her. "What's the story?" It was Fionn. "Still sitting here?"

She scrambled to her feet. Her heart was suddenly pounding like the clappers and every instinct was telling her she was in mortal danger. Fionn bounded down the last few steps. He seemed almost amused. She was remembering the way he used to look at her, like he wanted to eat her. Devour her. Kill her.

"Come on up and wait in Katie's," he said.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Blood was roaring in her ears and fear was building, building, building in her chest, filling up the cavity, stopping her from breathing.

"There's nothing to be scared of."

There's nothing to be scared of.

He stepped nearer and reached out. "I'm not going to hurt you." I'm not going to hurt you.

"Come on." He closed his hand around her arm.

She hadn't screamed the last time-that was her biggest mistake and she wouldn't make it again. "Stop! Please!"

Something was happening at the front door. Someone was out there. The buzzer sounded.

"Matt," she shrieked. "Matt!"

But it wasn't Matt, it was that big, dark man. Conall, she thought his name was. Katie's boyfriend. At least he used to be.

"What the hell?" Conall asked, looking from Maeve to Fionn, at Fionn clasping Maeve's arm, at Maeve pulling away, trying to get free.

Conall stepped forward and Maeve's struggling and shrieking intensified. "Don't! Oh please! I'm begging you."

Immediately, Conall stepped back.

Maeve became vaguely aware that other faces had appeared on the stairs, looming over the banisters-Katie, snappish Lydia, some other girl and the old woman.

"Leave her alone," Conall said to Fionn. "You're scaring her."

"Me? I'm helping her."

"She's terrified of you. And me. Right?" he asked Maeve.

Conall and Maeve locked eyes. She nodded.

"She can't breathe," Conall said. "Maeve-is it Maeve?-will you let one of the girls help you?"

No. They might be in on it too. Maeve began to pant with fear. They might all be in on it.

"Someone get her a paper bag." No one moved. Everyone was frozen as if the pause button had been pressed on a big action scene, so without taking his eyes off her, Conall reached into his pocket and produced a big bag of Licorice Allsorts. He tipped them on to the letter table, then handed the empty bag to Maeve. "Breathe into that." He looked up the stairs at Katie. "Does it matter if it's plastic?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Conall asked.

"She's locked out," Katie said. "Her husband isn't here and none of us have spare keys."

"Do you know where he is?" Conall asked Maeve. "Matt? Is that his name?"

"He's on his way home."

"From where?"

"Magnolia."

"Magnolia?" Both Conall and Katie said.

"I thought that closed down," Conall said, looking at Katie for confirmation.

"It did. About a month ago."

"That's what I thought," Maeve whispered.

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

"We could try to pick the lock for you," Conall offered.

"How?" Maeve looked out from dazed eyes.

As if by a powerful force, the collective gaze was drawn to one point: Lydia.

"Why's everyone looking at me?" she asked. ". . . Oh all right."

She ran upstairs and returned with a metal coat hanger, straightened it out and slid it into the keyhole, maneuvering carefully. Suddenly, she froze. She whipped out the wire. She'd gone quite pale. "It's locked from the inside. Key is still in it."

"He's in there?" Sissy mouthed.