you. That’s very decent of you.’
‘Just till my dad rolls up. How did you get in, by the way?’
Cat tapped a finger to her nose. ‘Not telling. I can get into most places, if I want to. Did you never read the Just So Stories?’
‘No. What are they?’
‘They’re meant for little children, but they’ve become cult classics. My mother used to read them to me. The one about the cat was the one I loved most. Once a cat decides she wants to come into your house, you can’t keep her out, you know.’
‘I’d noticed.’ He smiled, then turned and went out into the hall.
Cat narrowed her eyes at his retreating back. He had a great smile, she decided, once he let his guard down. She remembered the night at the wrap party, and the kiss they’d shared. How many girls had he kissed since then? Plenty, probably. Plenty of lovely LA girls with lissom golden limbs and luscious golden hair, and pearly American teeth. She must be a complete culture shock after what he was used to. Like something out of Wallander, he’d said. Hell – at least she’d washed today. Her biodegradable travel soap may not have had the sweetest scent in the world, but she guessed that was compensated for by the wild-rose-smelling house.
Back Finn came, lugging another box. He dumped it on the counter, and together they pulled out more provender. Coco Pops, chocolate HobNobs, apples. A bumper pack of popcorn, a six-pack of beer, a copy of Empire magazine, an iPod with a docking station.
‘Oh, look – you have music!’ she said, biting into her bread and cheese and taking a swig from her wineglass. ‘Put something on, and let me show you around.’
‘Any requests?’
‘Surprise me.’ Sliding down from her high stool, Cat helped herself to an apple. Her sleeping bag was starting to come adrift from around her shoulders, so she looped it over her forearms and let the ends trail behind her as she moved towards the door. ‘Will you bring a candle?’
‘I have a torch in here somewhere. You should be careful – you’re a walking fire hazard in that sleeping bag.’
Cat froze, and the sleeping bag slid to the floor as the first strains of Springsteen’s Born to Run oozed through the speakers.
‘What’s up?’ asked Finn.
‘Just what you said. About being a . . . a fire hazard. It gave me the shivers. That’s why I had to leave the houseboat, you see. It was . . . someone tried to burn it down.’ She gave a shaky laugh, retrieved the sleeping bag and reinstated it around her shoulders. ‘Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Imagine trying to set fire to a house built on water. Anyway, I shouldn’t worry about this sleeping bag. It’s Millets’ finest fireproof stock.’
‘Shit.’ Even by the light of the candles, Cat could make out the concerned furrow between Finn’s brows. ‘You mean, someone tried to burn you out?’
She nodded.
‘What did the Guards have to say?’
‘They said,’ she told him, ‘that I should have been more security conscious.’
‘Did they find out who did it?’
‘No. But I know who did it.’
‘Who?’
‘A bloke who thought I was up for it, and who got cross when he realised I wasn’t.’
‘Did you report him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘He was a Guard.’
‘Bastard! It must have been terrifying.’
‘Yes, it was. I don’t scare easily, but that fire was no foolin’ around. I was out of there like a cat out of hell.’
‘Did you lose a lot of stuff?’
‘I don’t really do “stuff”. I grabbed my backpack in time, and my paintbox. I’d have been fit to be tied if my paintbox had gone up in smoke. It’d cost a fortune to replace.’
‘I saw paintings, hanging on the wall in the sitting room. Are they yours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mind if I take a look?’
‘Sure.’
Finn had fished a torch from the box. ‘Didn’t it freak you out, having to light candles here?’
‘I didn’t have any choice. Candles was all they had in the local store.’
‘I’ll get the electricity reconnected tomorrow. And we’ll take a drive into Galway – stock up on essentials. How do you manage for transport?’
‘I had a bicycle, when I was living on the houseboat. But it’s handy enough to walk into Lissamore from here.’
‘Was the bicycle banjaxed in the fire?’
‘No. Some gobshite threw it in the canal. Probably the same dickhead who was responsible for burning me out.’
‘I guess you can claim everything back on insurance.’
‘Nothing belonging to me was insured. The people who owned the houseboat will put in a hefty claim, but I won’t get anything. I think they’re kind of relieved that the place is gone, if truth were told. Too much responsibility.’
‘It wasn’t yours?’
‘No. I was houseboat-sitting.’
‘Of course. I forgot you held Marxist beliefs about property ownership.’ Finn aimed the beam of his torch at the kitchen door. ‘After you,’ he said.
In the sitting room, dustsheets still shrouded most of the furniture, giving the place a funereal appearance. ‘What’s underneath all that?’ Finn asked.
‘Furniture. Very Terence Conran. Not my style at all.’
‘What is your style?’
‘I’m not sure I have one.’ Cat bit into her apple. ‘I’ve never cared enough about keeping up appearances to develop a sense of style. My stepmother deplored my lack of interest in fashion.’
‘You have a stepmother?’
‘Yes. A wicked one. She’s tried to poison my father’s mind against me.’
‘Has she really?’
‘Well, it was already pretty poisoned with hooch.’
‘You mean he’s an alcoholic?’
‘Yep. That’s why I ran away from home. I could write a misery memoir, except I can’t truthfully say I’ve ever been that miserable.’
‘How
