The Hunter

She feels Trey’s whole body stiffen, rejecting that. “And now that you hate my guts,” she says, “I’ve something I need from you. You need to go into town, to this Nealon fella, and tell him you never saw anyone on the mountain last Sunday night.”

Trey stops moving, balked like a mule. “Not doing it,” she says flatly.

“I said you wouldn’t like it. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to.”

“Don’t give a shite. You can’t make me.”

“Just listen to me for a minute, is all. Nealon has this townland like a hornet’s nest; people are going mental. If you stick to that story—”

“I’m sticking to it. Serve them all right if they’re—”

“Here’s you saying you thought this through, and I’m telling you now, you haven’t. Nowhere near enough. You think people are just going to sit on their arses and let you work away?”

“That’s my business. Not yours.”

“That’s children’s talk. ‘You can’t make me, you can’t stop me, mind your own beeswax—’ ”

Trey says, straight into Lena’s face, “I’m not a fuckin’ child.”

“Then don’t be talking like one.”

They’re squared off across the path; Trey is set like she’s seconds from a fistfight. “You don’t tell me what to do. Tell me who done that on Brendan, and then leave me the fuck alone.”

Lena finds herself, suddenly and for the first time in a long time, losing her temper. Out of all the possibilities in the world, the last way she would have chosen to spend her summer was getting herself tangled neck-deep in a snarl of Ardnakelty drama, with Dymphna Duggan picking through her secret places and Mart Lavin calling round to discuss her relationship. She wouldn’t have done it for anyone in the world but Trey and possibly Cal, and now the contrary little fucker is giving her shite for it. “I’d only love to leave you alone. I’ve no wish to have anything to do with this bloody—”

“Then do it. Go home. Fuck off, if you’re not gonna help me.”

“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m trying

to help you, even if you’re too—”

“I don’t want that kinda help. Fuck off to Cal’s, and the pair of ye can help each other. I don’t want you.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen. If you keep on at what you’re doing, this townland will tell Nealon it was Cal that kilt Rushborough.” Lena’s voice is rising. She doesn’t give a damn if everyone on the mountainside hears her. It’ll do this place good to hear things said out loud for once.

“They can all go and shite,” Trey snaps back at her, just as loud. “And Cal as well. Same as you, treating me like a kid, telling me fuckin’ nothing—”

“He was trying to look out for you, is all. If he—”

“I never asked him to look out for me! I never asked for anything off either one of ye, only—”

“The hell are you on about? What difference does that make?”

“The only thing I asked you for was who kilt Brendan, and you told me to get fucked. I owe you nothing.”

Lena is on the edge of shaking her till some sense comes out. “So you’re grand with Cal going to jail, is it?”

“He won’t go to fuckin’ jail. Nealon can’t do anything on him with no—”

“He can, yeah. If Cal confesses, he can.”

Trey opens her mouth. Lena doesn’t give her a chance to get anything out of it. “If Nealon’s got no evidence against Cal or anyone, he’ll go looking at the one person that was out on the mountain when Rushborough got kilt. This place’ll be well on board with that. Everyone knows you’re the one dropping them in the shite; they’ve the knives out for you already. They’ll give Nealon a motive for you and all, tell him Rushborough was abusing you or the little ones—”

“I’m not fuckin’ scared of them. They can say whatever they—”

“Shut up and listen to me for one fucking second. If Nealon starts going after you, what d’you reckon Cal will do?”

Trey shuts up.

Lena leaves her plenty of time before she says, “He’ll say it was him that done it.”

Trey punches straight for her face. Lena half-knew it was coming, but all the same she’s barely in time to block the punch away. They stare at each other, breathing hard and balanced like fighters, ready.

“Kid stuff,” Lena says. “Try it again if you want. It’ll change nothing.”

Trey wheels and starts walking fast up the path, with her head jammed down. Lena keeps pace with her.

“You can throw all the tantrums you like, but that’s what he’ll do. Are you going to let him?”

Trey speeds up, but Lena’s legs are longer. She’s done talking, but she’s not going to let Trey walk away.

They’re high on the mountainside, out of the spruce groves and into the wide expanses of heathered bog. Whatever about earlier, no one is watching them now. A small, hot wind strays down from the mountaintop, pulling at the heather with a child’s absentminded destructiveness; the sky off to the west has a dingy haze.

Trey says, down to the path, “Are you and Cal getting married?”

Lena wasn’t expecting that, although she feels like she should have been. “We are not,” she says. “I thought you’d more sense than that. I already told you I’m done with marriage.”