Only We Know Read Online Free Page B

withfatigue. Reilly’s familiar bulk stands under the halo
     of light cast by the bare bulb above his head.
    ‘Reilly? What is it? What are you
     doing here?’
    ‘I tried calling but your phone is
     switched off.’
    ‘It’s the middle of the night,
     for Chrissakes!’
    ‘It’s eight a.m., Katie,’
     he says, a wrinkle of concern in his voice. ‘Are you okay? I can’t say you
     look it.’
    ‘I’m fine,’ I reply,
     embarrassed now, pulling my robe tight around me.
    ‘You didn’t come back to the
     office yesterday.’
    ‘I was sick.’
    I turn away and let him follow me into the
     flat, hear him closing the door, before he joins me in the kitchen. I flick on the
     coffee machine, then rest my head on the counter, feeling the ache that stretches from
     my temples to the small of my back.
    I can feel him watching me, so I straighten
     and busy myself with making coffee because, even though I like him, it feels strange to
     have Reilly in my kitchen. He’s unlike most of the men who have witnessed me
     making morning coffee in my bathrobe. Thick hair the colour of oatmeal, a reddish tinge
     to his beard, which fails to hide the deep lines on either side of his mouth, or the
     amusement that animates his face. Black leather jacket, grey shirt, faded blue jeans –
     the hack’s uniform: all of it out of place on him, somehow. I like to imagine that
     when Reilly goes home, he dons a smoking jacket and velvet slippers.
    He accepts a mug of coffee, then casts his
     eyes around my apartment. It’s all pitiful enough – two rooms painted in pastel
     shades, a galley kitchen and a bathroom the size of a cupboard, books stacked
     precariously against the walland house-plants
     at different stages of decay. This has been home to me for the past four months, two
     rooms in a three-storey Edwardian red-brick villa, its façade tired and unloved, in the
     heart of Dublin.
    ‘When did you start doing house-calls,
     Reilly?’
    ‘You’re my first
     patient.’
    ‘Lucky me.’
    ‘I was worried, Katie. The way you
     left yesterday –’
    ‘I was sick …’
    He fixes me with a look that reminds me
     suddenly and painfully of my father.
    ‘Listen, Katie,’ he says, his
     voice lowered. ‘What happened yesterday … We were all appalled, repulsed by the
     thought of some sicko trying to squeeze a few quid from us for pictures of a corpse. But
     you … you were white as a sheet. And while the rest of us were discussing it, you bolted
     from the room, hardly stopping to pick up your bag. Eddie at the door said he’d
     never seen anyone take off out of there and across into Mother Kelly’s as
     fast.’ He pauses. ‘But, they were just pictures, Katie. And not the worst
     you’ve seen. You’re a tough cookie. Why did they upset you so
     much?’
    I couldn’t tell him. It would mean
     peeling away all the layers until we got to the one dark place I didn’t ever want
     to shine a light on. ‘Listen, Reilly,’ I say. ‘I appreciate your
     concern, really I do. But I’m fine. Honestly.’
    He looks at me in that considering way of
     his. ‘There’s something else,’ he says. ‘Luke Yates.’
    The way he says it makes the words dry up
     inside me. I see the hesitation on his face and it sends a jolt of alarm right through
     me.
    ‘What?’ I
     ask.
    ‘You haven’t heard.’ A
     statement, not a question.
    ‘Tell me.’ My heart is
     pounding.
    ‘I’m sorry to do this,
     Katie,’ he says softly, ‘but Luke Yates is dead.’

2. Nick
    The cufflinks, slightly tarnished, sit on a
     bed of cushioned black velvet in a matching black box. They’re old, but the box is
     new and this makes me think of Julia. My guess is that it was she who packed them so
     carefully for their journey, even though the gift is supposedly from Luke. Had it been
     up to him, I’m sure my brother would have slipped them into an envelope, sealed
     and addressed it, then hoped for the best. I hold them up to the light, my hand