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‘Your hair’s your best feature, Ams. Honestly, I just don’t think it’d suit you short.’
Since they’d been together she’d always worn it long and curly. Just like the Shadow’s victims.
‘I don’t get it,’ she said now. ‘You looked so good blonde.’
‘Fancied a change, that’s all. What do you think?’
‘Well, it’s certainly different.’
‘You didn’t want people thinking that witness was talking about you, right?’
I was testing him without realising it. The seeds of doubt starting to sprout.
He just shrugged it off, though. Unflustered as always.
‘P’raps I should change my profession too. Bereavement counselling’s going to take a hit, I bet.’ Then, ‘You ladies want to come in, have some tea? I think I’ve got some KitKats stashed away somewhere.’
He was obsessed with KitKats. Something so satisfying about snapping the fingers apart, he used to say.
We followed him through to the living room. He pushed a cupboard door shut with his toe, stuffed something pink in a drawer.
‘What was that?’
‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.’
It wasn’t an answer, but I was quickly distracted by an open sports bag full of tools. Hammers, screwdrivers, so many different types I didn’t know the names of them all.
‘An axe, cool!’
‘Hatchet, actually.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘You need two hands to use an axe.’
‘Put that down, Sophie,’ my mother snapped, voice sharp as the blade. ‘You’ll cut your fingers off.’
Matty laughed.
‘Have you any idea how hard it is to cut through bone?’
She didn’t laugh back, just shot him one of her disapproving looks.
‘What are they all for?’ I asked, pulling out another. ‘Is this a hacksaw?’
‘Sophie, would you please—’
‘My ma’s been complaining about the cabin. Leaks and the like. I said I’d go over and help fix it up.’
My mother’s face fell like a sack of potatoes.
‘You’re going back to Ireland?’
‘Only while the dust settles.’
‘What dust?’ I asked.
He shrugged, one shoulder.
‘Just work stuff. . . Now, how about those KitKats?’
