It was probably best to say nothing.

"I like you Rachel, you know I've always liked you. That's why we haven't called the cops. Richard wants this taken care of in as low key a way as possible," Tom said.

No, that's not the reason.

You don't know, Tom.

You don't even know!

The pain in her head was almost unbearable now. "But you gotta understand we're going to win. You can't steal a guy's kids. Not a guy like Richard. You've lost the legal battle and you're probably going to go to jail. Why not just do everyone a favour and end this now. For the sake of the girls at least."

"That's why I'm out here, Tom. For them. I don't want them near that psychopath."

"What are you talking about? Richard's a good man. I mean we're all really sorry about that one time; he's changed and he loves the girls. And you know Helena's pregnant, right? All he wants is his family. He doesn't even bear you a grudge. He just wants the girls to be safe."

"Is that what he says?"

"He's serious about this, very serious. He's determined to find you. He's pulling out all the stops."

"I'll bet he is. I'll bet he's keeking his f.u.c.king whips. He doesn't scare me, Tom - I'll go to the papers. I've heard they've been snooping around."

"With what? Honey, you've got nothing and the stuff we have on you under lock and key, believe me you don't want in general circulation. Think of your ma and da in Ballymena. What would they say?"

He shouldn't have mentioned her da.

That's what tore it, she thought later.

Much later.

That and maybe the fact that her mind wasn't exactly balanced.

"I guess you don't know about the laptop," she said.

There was a long period of static before Tom said: "What laptop?"

"I have a feeling you and Richard are about to have a fun conversation," Rachel said and hung up.

She walked back to the Volvo. They'd given her a ticket. Just try and collect that, motherf.u.c.kers, she thought.

She put the key in the ignition and after a worrying couple of stalls the engine finally caught. It was a 1983 240 Turbo she'd bought in Derry, but apart from ten square feet of rust it actually ran pretty well.

She drove along the N56. It wasn't rush hour so it was easy. It was, however, raining hard. Only one wiper worked and it made a draggy, sc.r.a.ping sound as it moved.

She had to slow to twenty-five. Fog had drifted down from Malin Head and the lights on the Volvo gave off a discouraging yellow glow.

She looked at her watch. The girls had been alone for over three hours. That was about as long as she felt she could leave them. Boredom could incite a lot of mischief, and then there was Eric.

Eric came on Big Dave's rep, but Big Dave hadn't seen him for years and you just never knew with people who were seasoned by isolation in the middle of nowhere...

When she reached Gartha the rain and lough spray and fog had commingled to produce a cold, seething blanket of unpleasantness.

She eased along the road until she hit the BP station.

The pumps were closed and although the general store's light was on Kelly was nowhere to be seen. She went inside, lifted a Mars bar and left 5op.

She started the Volvo and again it complained about it.

She switched down to first gear and avoided puddles and potholes as best she could and finally after an even slower than usual drive she parked outside the cabin.

The surf was pounding the beach in huge, close-rolling breakers. The rain was coming in horizontally from the Atlantic.

She walked up the steps and knocked on the cabin door.

"Who is it?" Claire asked.

"It's me," she said.

"What's the pa.s.sword?"

"I don't know, darling."

"You can't come in without the pa.s.sword," Sue chipped in.

"Just unlock the b.l.o.o.d.y door, I'm getting soaked out here."

She heard the bolt unclick. She pushed on the door and went inside. The metal bucket she'd set up under the drip was overflowing.

"You didn't think to empty the bucket?" she scolded Claire.

"Never told me to."

"You know what initiative is?"

"Yeah," Claire said glumly.

"What is it?" Sue piped up.

Rachel grabbed the bucket and carried it to the front door. She threw out the water and put the bucket back under the drip.

"I'm hungry," Sue said.

Her cheeks were red and her eyes blue and faraway. She was pale. Beautiful. She almost looked like a normal kid. In fact she was a normal kid, physically at least. She just had what the social workers called "learning difficulties", and what the day-care people in Belfast had called "challenges".

"Well, sweetie, I got some hot dogs and I thought I'd boil up a coup-"

RAP RAP RAP on the front door.

"f.u.c.k," she muttered under her breath.

"You said the F-word," Sue sang.

"You don't even know what an F is," Claire taunted her.

Rachel put her finger to her lips and got the 9-millimeter from the fridge.

RAP RAP RAP.

"Who is it?" Rachel asked and turning to Claire, she whispered, "Get your sister! Go to the back door, open it."

Claire picked up Sue and ran to the rear of the cabin.

She took the semi-automatic out of the plastic bag.

The rain had come on harder and once Claire had opened the door she could feel the breeze blow through.

RAP RAP RAP.

She held the Heckler and Koch two-handed and pointed it dead ahead.

"Who is it?" she asked again.

RAP RAP RAP.

"Who is it?" Rachel demanded in a louder voice.

"What?"

"Who is it?"

"It's Eric."

"Oh...Eric. Hold on. I'm coming!" she said. She went to the back door and brought in Claire and Sue. Sue had stuck her face out into the rain and her hair was already soaked. Rachel put the gun back in the freezer bag and closed the fridge.

She slid back the bolt on the front door.

Eric was standing there in a sou'wester and tarpaulin hat.

"Come in, come in," Rachel said, faking concern as best she could. Eric was forty-five, with a thick beard, a barrel chest, salt and pepper hair. He drank. He'd inherited the main house and the "guest house" - as he called it - when his father died. He didn't appear to do anything; apart from the rent he got on the cabin and the campsite in summer he didn't have an income.

Rachel didn't like him. She got a vibe. It was true that she got a vibe from most people, but he creeped her out big time. Dave had known him when they were both in the navy. Dave had been a twenty-year man, but Eric had called it a day after five.

"You got a letter," Eric said, holding up a sodden envelope.

Rachel took it. There was a Ballymena postmark.

"Thanks," she said.

"Who do you know in Ballymena?" Eric asked.

"Mummy, can we play Snakes and Ladders?" Claire asked.

"Yes, play with your sister, I'm talking to Mr Brantley," Rachel said and gave Eric a smile.

The lightbulb flickered and a few moments later thunder crashed in the distance. "Well," Eric said, rubbing his grey stubble with the back of his hand. "Don't let me keep you from what you're at."

"I'd ask you to dinner, but I just got back from Derry...we just got back from Derry."

Never let him ever know that you leave the girls here alone, she thought.

"Dinner would be nice," Eric said, looking at the girls over Rachel's shoulder. She turned round. Sue had taken off her wet clothes. She was standing there naked.

"Claire! Get your sister dressed this instant!"

"She's all wet," Eric observed.

"Put a blanket around her, she'll catch her death," Rachel told Claire.

"You do it," Claire said.

"I'm talking to Mr Brantley. Do it this instant, young lady!" Rachel barked. Groaning, Claire got up, went to the bedroom and came back with a blanket which she draped over her sister's back.

The fixed smile returned to Rachel's face.

"Must be a handful," Eric said in a kind of drawl, like he was Cornish or something, except that she knew he was from Ulster - it was an affectation he'd picked up in the navy and now was stuck with.

"Oh, no, they're pretty easy," she replied quickly.

"You were talking about a wee bite of dinner," Eric said.

"Yes, yes, how about Friday? How would you like to come over on Friday?" she asked.

"What's Friday?"

"It's nothing special, but if you give me a couple of days I can really prepare something. I can make a Chicken Kiev. Do you like chicken?"

"Ach, I'm not choosy. Why not right now? Whatever you're having would be fine by me," he said and swayed a little toward her.

His breath smelled of whisky. He was gazing right through her and when she turned again she saw that the blanket had again fallen off Sue's back.

"No, no, no," she laughed nervously. "I'll give you something to look forward to. A real treat. Chicken, potatoes, a real home-cooked meal and an apple tart; when was the last time you had a home-cooked apple tart, Mr Brantley?"

"It's been a wee while," he admitted.

"Shall we say Friday at seven?"

"What's today?"

"Today's Tuesday, Mr Brantley."