62

‘Tell me about Gerry Fegan,’ Lennon said.

Marie sat opposite him in the living room while Ellen lay on the floor, drawing. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Why you got mixed up with someone like him.’

‘Someone like him,’ she echoed. ‘I didn’t know what he was when I met him. It was at Uncle Michael’s wake. He looked so lost.’

‘He killed your uncle.’

Lennon watched his daughter as she drew a slender figure, sticks for arms and legs.

‘I know that now,’ Marie said. ‘I’d heard of him. I knew he’d been inside, that he had a reputation. But I’ve known men like that all my life. I didn’t think he was any different. I didn’t know there were so many.’

‘So many what?’

‘Dead.’

Ellen drew dark lines for hair around the figure’s head, then sad eyes and a soft smile.

‘But he was so kind,’ Marie continued. ‘So gentle. And he was ready to give his life for Ellen and me.’

‘He’s a killer,’ Lennon said.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘He’s a monster. He’s insane. And he’d do anything to protect us.’

‘So would I,’ Lennon said.

In the stick-woman’s arm, a baby with a small round head, and tiny hands grasping at its mother’s breast.

‘Jack, you left us,’ Marie said. Her eyes were cold. ‘The time to protect us was when I had Ellen inside me. But you ran away from us when we needed you most.’

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed Ellen.’

Marie gave a laugh like cracked ice. ‘Jesus, don’t go all sentimental on me, Jack. It doesn’t suit you.’

Ellen began another figure beside the stick-woman. Slender again, but taller.

‘It’s true,’ Lennon said. ‘As soon as I left, I regretted it.’

‘Only because she ditched you a week later.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘It’s perfectly fair,’ she said, her face hardening. ‘What’s it called? When you regret a sin only because you’ve been punished. Yes, that’s it. Imperfect contrition.’

‘I was punished, all right. You know, she tried to bring a sexual harassment charge against me. She told them I’d been pestering her, calling her up, following her, said I wanted to marry her. It was bullshit, of course. She just couldn’t stand being in the same building as me, so she tried to get me fired. And she almost succeeded. It was a bad time. The way people looked at me in the corridors, especially the women, like I was filth. They offered me a deal, said if I resigned, they’d settle with her. She’d have got a payout, and I’d have been looking for a new job. The way things were it didn’t seem like that bad a deal. I almost took it.’

‘So why didn’t you?’ Marie asked.

‘I remembered what it had cost me to be a cop in the first place. How much I’d thrown away just by joining up. I’d be damned if I’d let that crazy—’ He swallowed and glanced at Ellen. ‘I wouldn’t let her drive me out of my job just because she couldn’t face up to what she’d done.’

‘Face up to what she’d done? God, that’s rich.’

Lennon ignored the jibe. He hesitated, wondered if he should tell her. ‘I’ve watched you, sometimes. You and Ellen.’

‘You followed us?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Yes. Not followed, exactly. I just wanted to see my daughter. You’ve never allowed me to know her.’

‘You never deserved to know her.’

The new figure beside the stick-woman and her baby was a man. His face was not round like the woman’s, but long and pointed. Ellen’s tongue poked out as she concentrated on the lines that made up his body and legs.

‘She’s my daughter,’ Lennon said.

‘You’ve no—’

‘She’s my daughter,’ Lennon said. ‘I’m her father. I have a right to know her. She has a right to know me.’

‘Rights,’ Marie said. She stood and went to the window overlooking the marina. ‘Don’t talk to me about rights. You left me to raise a child on my own because you didn’t have the guts to be a father. You gave up any right to her six years ago.’

Lennon followed her to the window. Sailing-boat masts swayed below. Seagulls pitched and swooped. ‘You’re using her to punish me. You always have.’

She looked back over her shoulder. Her face showed no emotion. She said, ‘And I always will.’

Lennon couldn’t hold her gaze, so he looked down at Ellen’s picture. The stick-man had a pistol in his hand. He hunkered down beside her and put a finger on the figure.

‘Who’s that, sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘Gerry,’ Ellen said.

He pointed to the other figure. ‘And that?’

‘That’s the secret lady.’

‘What does Gerry have a gun for?’

‘To scare the baddies away.’ She drew stick-Gerry’s mouth as a thin, straight line.

‘What baddies does he need to scare away?’

‘Dunno,’ Ellen said.

‘Isn’t Gerry a baddie?’ Lennon asked.

Ellen put her pencil down and gave him a serious look. ‘No, he’s nice. He’s coming to help us.’

‘No, love,’ Lennon said. ‘He doesn’t know where we are.’

‘Yes, he does,’ Ellen said. She picked up her pencil again. ‘He’ll be here soon.’