But Peter Kelly was uneasy. Just scraps of conversation floating around in the air coming back to disturb him: Clio saying that Kit McMahon's parents slept in different rooms, something Martin said one night down in Paddles' place about the old days, some reference to making love as if it were all in the past, something Helen had said when Emmet was a toddler, about there being no younger brothers and sisters for him.
It all made a crazy jigsaw in his head. And he realised that it had to be crazy because just suppose, suppose for the sake of argument, that all these jumbled ideas spelled out the truth.
Who on earth could be the father of Helen McMahon's child if it were not her husband?
Martin heard footsteps on the stairs. He got up and came to the sitting room door.
"Helen?"
"Yes, love."
"I was looking for you. Did you hear about poor Billy Sullivan?
"Yes, Dan told me. I suppose it's a blessing in a way. He was never going to get better."
"Should we go in, do you think?" Martin was always a good neighbour.
"No, Kathleen's not there, only the two lads. I called on my way back."
"You were out late .. "
"I was just walking. It's a lovely night. They say their mother went down to Sister Madeleine. That was a good idea. She always knows what to say."
"Were you in the hotel then?"
Helen looked surprised. "Lord, no. What would I go in there for?"
"You said Dan told you about Billy Sullivan."
"Doesn't Dan stand there at the door telling the dogs in the street bits of information... No, I told you, I was walking. Down by the lake."