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again. ‘I need to go. Where’s the key?’
    Joni didn’t open her eyes, but slid her arms around his neck. ‘Come back to bed,’ she said, groaning the words out.
    Patrick grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. ‘I need the key.’
    She giggled.
    Patrick’s hands tightened on her. His fingers dug in and he shook her more forcefully.
    She opened her eyes and frowned. ‘What the…?’
    ‘Joni. Tell me where the fucking key is or I’ll break your fucking door down.’
    ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ she said looking him up and down. ‘You asshole. You absolute fucking—’
    ‘Look. I’m sorry. But I told you; I need to leave.’
    ‘You know something? You’re damn right you do.’
    It was the point of no return – in more ways than one. The chance to explain his reasons – to release some of the burden of secrecy – had gone.
    Joni quickly found the key, called him some more names – spurning his attempts to apologize – and saw him out.

8
    ‘Did you say “microwaves” ?’ Maggie Dolan said to the man opposite her.
    The man nodded.
    ‘Microwave ovens gave him headaches?’
    ‘Yes.’
    She flicked a finger back to the serving counter and the ovens beyond. ‘I work with microwave ovens every day.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘I don’t get headaches.’
    The man looked all around the empty coffee shop, as if for eavesdroppers, then leaned in and whispered, ‘No. But you’re not Patrick, are you?’
    Maggie took a swallow, then gave him a sideways glance. ‘And… are you?’
    The man’s face seemed to sag a little more at the question. He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Do you want me to continue?’
    ‘Do I have a choice?’
    ‘Of course you do. We all have choices. You can listen and understand…’
    Maggie waited, but the man’s cracked and slightly swollen lips stayed firmly shut.
    ‘Or what?’ she said.
    ‘Or you’ll never know.’
    ‘I was just asking why he got headaches is all.’
    ‘If you listen, that will become clear.’
    ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Pardon me for interrupting you. Please carry on.’
    ‘Thank you,’ the man said. ‘I will.’

9
    Within an hour of leaving Joni’s place Patrick was in his own bed, alone, and fell asleep a few seconds after turning the light out.
    *
    Jimmy Devereux convulsed as he coughed, just like he did these days for most of his hours, whether waking or sleeping ones. His skin whitened around the knuckles as he grasped the arms of the old wooden chair, a chair with more scratch than varnish.
    The painted timberboard walls behind him had long since turned from white to a sickly yellow. His chair faced the front of the house, all the more to see the folks that walked and drove along the hay smattered mud track outside, straight past his shack of a house. Always straight past.
    ‘Did I ever tell you ‘bout my wife?’ Jimmy said, now merely spluttering.
    ‘Yes, but go ahead and tell me again if you want to.’
    ‘Well, she always told me that goddam place was bad for me.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’
    Jimmy strained to reposition himself in his chair. ‘See, she always wanted the best. Can’t blame a woman for that, ‘course. But it had to be paid for, and I was willin’ to pay for it. Travelled from Maine to California, from Florida to Washington, with the refurb’ team, clearin’ out the shit other folks wouldn’t touch. I only did it ’cause I couldn’t get no work in Redridge County – leastways not anythin’ what paid so good. And, ‘course, we had ourselves three little girls by then – as cute as they was sweet.'
    He cast a weary hand up to the solitary photo which hung crookedly on the wall. It was faded but still clearly showed Jimmy in younger days, proudly standing in front of his children.
    ‘You got kids?’ he said.
    ‘No. No, I don’t.’
    ‘Shame. You should. Anyhows, Marlene wanted the best for them – not that I didn’t, see – just that I’d rather have settled for less and seen more of them growin’ up. See, first