the rubble. “You think she can take it?”
“I haven’t a clue. Not our problem, as long as she has the nervous breakdown on her own time. Now come on.”
I headed across the road without looking back to see if he was coming. After a moment I heard his shoes crunching on dirt and gravel, hurrying up behind me.
Fiona was a little more together: the occasional shudder still slammed through her, but her hands had stopped shaking and she had wiped the mascara off her face, even if it was with her shirt front. I moved her into one of the half-built houses, out of the stiff wind and out of view of whatever Larry and his buddies did next, found her a nice pile of breeze blocks to sit on and gave her another cigarette—I don’t smoke, never have, but I keep a pack in my briefcase: smokers are like any other addicts, the best way to get them on side is with their own currency. I sat next to her on the breeze blocks; Richie found himself a windowsill at my shoulder, where he could watch and learn and take notes without making a big deal of it. It wasn’t the ideal interview situation, but I’ve worked in worse.
“Now,” I said, when I’d lit her cigarette. “Is there anything else we can get you? An extra jumper? A drink of water?”
Fiona was staring at the cigarette, jiggling it between her fingers and dragging it down in fast little gasps. Every muscle in her body was clenched; by the end of the day she was going to feel like she’d run a marathon. “I’m fine. Could we just get this over with? Please?”
“No problem, Ms. Rafferty. We understand. Why don’t you start by telling me about Jennifer?”
“Jenny. She doesn’t like Jennifer—she says it’s prissy or something . . . It’s always been Jenny. Since we were little.”
“Who’s older?”
“Her. I’m twenty-seven, she’s twenty-nine.”
I had figured Fiona for younger than that. Partly it was physical—she was on the short side, slight, with a pointed face and small irregular features under all the mess—but partly it was the gear, all that student-type scruffiness. Back when I was young, girls used to dress that way even after college, but nowadays they mostly put on a better show. Going by the house, I was willing to bet that Jenny had made more of an effort. I said, “What does she do?”
“She’s in PR. I mean, she was, up until Jack was born. Since then she stays home with the kids.”
“Fair play to her. She doesn’t miss working?”
Something that could have been a head-shake, except Fiona was so rigid it looked more like a spasm. “I don’t think so. She liked her job, but she’s not super-ambitious, or anything. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back if they had another baby—two sets of child care, she’d have been working for, like, twenty euros a week—but they still went for Jack.”
“Any problems at work? Anyone she didn’t get on with?”
“No. The other girls in the company sounded like total bitches to me—all these snide comments if one of them didn’t top up her fake tan for a few days, and when Jenny was pregnant they were calling her
Titanic
and telling her she should be on a
diet
, for God’s sake—but Jenny didn’t think it was a big deal. She . . . Jenny doesn’t like putting her foot down, you know? She’d rather go with the flow. She always figures . . .” A hiss of breath between her teeth, like physical pain had hit her. “She always figures things work out OK in the end.”
“What about Patrick? How does he get on with people?” Keep them moving, keep them jumping from topic to topic, don’t give them time to look down. If they fall, you might not be able to get them on their feet again.
Her face jerked towards me, swollen gray-blue eyes wide. “Pat’s—Jesus, you don’t think he
did
this! Pat would never, he would
never
—”
“I know. Tell me—”
“
How
do you know?”
“Ms. Rafferty,” I said, putting some stern into my voice. “Do you want to
“I haven’t a clue. Not our problem, as long as she has the nervous breakdown on her own time. Now come on.”
I headed across the road without looking back to see if he was coming. After a moment I heard his shoes crunching on dirt and gravel, hurrying up behind me.
Fiona was a little more together: the occasional shudder still slammed through her, but her hands had stopped shaking and she had wiped the mascara off her face, even if it was with her shirt front. I moved her into one of the half-built houses, out of the stiff wind and out of view of whatever Larry and his buddies did next, found her a nice pile of breeze blocks to sit on and gave her another cigarette—I don’t smoke, never have, but I keep a pack in my briefcase: smokers are like any other addicts, the best way to get them on side is with their own currency. I sat next to her on the breeze blocks; Richie found himself a windowsill at my shoulder, where he could watch and learn and take notes without making a big deal of it. It wasn’t the ideal interview situation, but I’ve worked in worse.
“Now,” I said, when I’d lit her cigarette. “Is there anything else we can get you? An extra jumper? A drink of water?”
Fiona was staring at the cigarette, jiggling it between her fingers and dragging it down in fast little gasps. Every muscle in her body was clenched; by the end of the day she was going to feel like she’d run a marathon. “I’m fine. Could we just get this over with? Please?”
“No problem, Ms. Rafferty. We understand. Why don’t you start by telling me about Jennifer?”
“Jenny. She doesn’t like Jennifer—she says it’s prissy or something . . . It’s always been Jenny. Since we were little.”
“Who’s older?”
“Her. I’m twenty-seven, she’s twenty-nine.”
I had figured Fiona for younger than that. Partly it was physical—she was on the short side, slight, with a pointed face and small irregular features under all the mess—but partly it was the gear, all that student-type scruffiness. Back when I was young, girls used to dress that way even after college, but nowadays they mostly put on a better show. Going by the house, I was willing to bet that Jenny had made more of an effort. I said, “What does she do?”
“She’s in PR. I mean, she was, up until Jack was born. Since then she stays home with the kids.”
“Fair play to her. She doesn’t miss working?”
Something that could have been a head-shake, except Fiona was so rigid it looked more like a spasm. “I don’t think so. She liked her job, but she’s not super-ambitious, or anything. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back if they had another baby—two sets of child care, she’d have been working for, like, twenty euros a week—but they still went for Jack.”
“Any problems at work? Anyone she didn’t get on with?”
“No. The other girls in the company sounded like total bitches to me—all these snide comments if one of them didn’t top up her fake tan for a few days, and when Jenny was pregnant they were calling her
Titanic
and telling her she should be on a
diet
, for God’s sake—but Jenny didn’t think it was a big deal. She . . . Jenny doesn’t like putting her foot down, you know? She’d rather go with the flow. She always figures . . .” A hiss of breath between her teeth, like physical pain had hit her. “She always figures things work out OK in the end.”
“What about Patrick? How does he get on with people?” Keep them moving, keep them jumping from topic to topic, don’t give them time to look down. If they fall, you might not be able to get them on their feet again.
Her face jerked towards me, swollen gray-blue eyes wide. “Pat’s—Jesus, you don’t think he
did
this! Pat would never, he would
never
—”
“I know. Tell me—”
“
How
do you know?”
“Ms. Rafferty,” I said, putting some stern into my voice. “Do you want to
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