“That’s it exactly. You know what the weather was like, yesterday: it was a rotten evening, I was freezing, a tree dumped rain down the back of my collar . . . But I felt like I was in a wonderful story. The smell of turf-smoke, and the rain falling through the light of the street lamps . . .” “See? That’s what I’m talking about: you remember more than you thought. And you were in Stoneybatter for a full hour, right? Half past seven to half past eight. You must’ve seen someone.” And there it is again: the sudden involuntary twist to Rory’s neck, the jab at his glasses. Steve brings up that
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