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with a startled gasp. William turned his head to see Adam standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded across his chest. His face was oddly blank, but it broke into a wide smile when Mary called out in loud irritation.
    “Adam Elliot, what the devil are you doing sneaking around the shadows like that? You put the heart in me crossways, so you did.”
    “I came up the back,” Adam said. “I’m supposed to meet your father this afternoon.”
    “He’s downstairs already. The others will be along directly.”
    Adam glanced at William, then gave Mary a grin. “Right then. Are you going to give me a pint before I go, or shall I tell your da you’ve been drinking Coca-Cola again?”
    Mary scowled. “You’re a conniving devil, that’s what you are, and it’s ashamed I am to be under your blackmail.” She set down her empty bottle as Adam laughed.
    William removed his fingers from her hand and stood. “I’d better get back to work,” he said, and began gathering their empty plates. He felt Adam watching him, and his face flushed with uncomfortable memory. It was likely too much to hope that the boy had been too drunk to remember anything from that particular evening – the expression on his face gave no clue one way or the other. Adam did not budge from the doorway, and William had to pause before squeezing past him into the kitchen.
    “Alright, Glasgow?” Adam said, and the amusement in his eyes was all the answer William needed.
    “Hello Adam,” he muttered, clutching the plates, and pushed his way through. As he entered the kitchen he saw Adam’s grin falter a shade, and the scar on his neck began to itch faintly.
     
     
     
    6.
    5 January, 1922
     
    Dearest Meg,
     
    I do hope you’ve not forgotten this post box, as you know I can’t put my name on the envelope. To think of all my heartfelt correspondence growing dusty, unread and forlorn…and after I laboured for so long on my penmanship, too! But I know you couldn’t forget your dear only brother, try though you might. Still, it’s never easy dropping off these posts with an empty return address. At least the wires go straight to the bank.
    All is well here. Dublin is a fine and beautiful city, full of good honest people. A bit colder than normal for January, I reckon, but then, you always did say I was thin-blooded. The city itself is quite lovely. It’s not all that unlike Glasgow, really, except for the sad excuse they call whisky. I believe if I were to stay here much longer I should turn into a pint of Guinness, for it’s all I can stomach without pining for home. Do have the cabinet stocked upon my return, dear sis, and I’ll be eternally grateful.
    I can’t discuss much else, but it is proving to be a most interesting stay indeed. Nothing at all like I was expecting. The family I am with is wonderful, and the people are far more amiable than I gave them credit for. Fascinating, the lot of them. One bloke in particular is unlike anyone I’ve come across in all my years of this work. I think you would like him, actually, if circumstances were different. I know I would. At any rate, I doubt I shall be here as long as I expected when I first wrote you. A few more weeks ought to be more than sufficient.
    As I write this, I realise I am quite anxious to see how things unfold. I find myself thinking that for once in my life, I would prefer it if I were wrong. Now now, I hear your exclamation of shock! I don’t know, Meg – I would rather this one prove overblown, or at least controllable. Mostly, I just want to take care of it quickly, and come home. I can’t believe how long it’s been.
    I miss you terribly, sis. I find the dog a poor substitute for your company (if significantly more happy to see me at times). I do not know how much longer I shall be engaged here, but I have a feeling about this one that I cannot shake. Things are going to change for me, and soon. I know I have said that before, but this