‘I want to see a priest,’ he said. ‘Light a candle for Pikey. Make my confession.’
‘You can’t,’ said Rory, his face draining of colour at the thought of it. He was all too aware of Don’s reputation. Rufus had screwed over a man who would never forget, never forgive. He reckoned Don would hunt Rufus until his dying day. He couldn’t tell Rufus that, and he wondered if Rufus knew it. He was acting as if he didn’t. Or as if he didn’t care. But Rory had a pregnant wife, he had Megan. He had to stop this. ‘The neighbours are going berserk with curiosity as it is, wondering who we’ve got in here. You daren’t go out.’
‘Still, I’d like to.’ Rufus felt uneasy at what had happened. He felt responsible for Pikey’s unhappy end, and killing Pardew had been a sin after all. He knew it was stupid, but he’d always been the same. He was Catholic, even if he was a crook. He needed to make his peace with God.
‘We’ll see, OK?’ Rory said quickly. ‘See how you feel in a week or so. Then, if we can, we’ll sort something out.’
Rory went off downstairs, clutching his head as he entered the front room. ‘Shit,’ he said forcefully.
‘What is it?’ Megan glanced up from the sofa.
Rory looked at his wife. She was still pretty, huge with the child though she was. His sweet Megan. He felt a surge of love for her, felt the need to protect her.
‘Rufus wants to go to see a priest,’ he said. ‘Make his confession.’
Megan straightened. ‘He can’t.’
‘I told him. He said even so, he’d like to.’
‘And what did you say to that?’
‘That we’d see in a little while.’
‘No! It can’t be done. Rory, as soon as he’s fit enough to travel, he should be out of here. You’re his friend. If he values you at all, he ought to realize the danger he’s putting you in.’
‘He should, but I don’t think he does.’ Rory sat down beside her, pulled her into his arms. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Don’t you?’ Megan drew away from him, her face hard. ‘Well, I do. He’s going to get us all done for if he carries on at this rate. I want him gone.’ Her face softening slightly, she continued: ‘Rory, you’re a loyal man, a great friend. But there’s a point where loyalty gets stretched beyond breaking. Think of me, your wife. Think – for the love of God – of your child.’
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed.
‘Phone the Garda,’ said Megan.
‘What?’ Rory sprang back from her, leapt to his feet. ‘Are you mad? I can’t do that.’
‘Rory…’
‘No! I won’t hear of it. Call the police on my oldest friend? Don’t ever say that again.’
And he went off out to the kitchen.
Megan sat there, alone. Her eyes drifted to the phone book. She wondered how many D. Callaghans there were in there. Not that many, she imagined.