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“Shh,” he whispered when I opened my mouth to speak. Instead of ushering me inside, Joey stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him. “I need to talk to you.”

“What’s going on, Joe?” I choked out, panicking.

“It’s okay.” Catching ahold of my arm, he gently tugged me into the side garden and out of view of the windows and doors. “But we need to talk.”

“Talk?” I frowned up at him. “About what?” Flustered, I waved a hand toward the cars parked outside the house. “What’s going on? Why are the Gards here, Joe? Why is Patricia’s car here?”

“Come here…” He dragged me through the overgrown grass, and we slipped through the small gap between the garden shed and wall to the old den we had spent many a night hiding out in. It was nothing to look at, just a few feet of trodden-down grass at the back of the shed, secured by the unused oil tank, but the gap to get back here was too narrow for our father to squeeze through. We used to keep blankets, torches, and a small tin of biscuits out here when we were little, but it had been a long time since either of us had come back here. “He handed himself in, Shan.” Joey glanced behind us and blew out a shaky breath. “The Gards have him.”

“Dad?” I squeezed out, though I wasn’t sure if I spoke the word or mouthed it. My heart was racing at a hundred miles an hour, forcing the air from my lungs in a breathy rush. “Are you serious?”

Joey nodded and I felt my body grow weak. Weaker, and weaker, and weaker, until I was moving toward the ground in slow motion.

“I’ve got you.” Joey’s arms came around me. “It’s okay.” Lowering us both onto the wet grass, he crouched down beside me with his hands on my shoulders. “Shh, you’re safe.”

Numb, I leaned against the concrete wall at my back, feeling the damp seep through my school skirt but unable to move a muscle as my brain switched into overdrive.

They had him?

He handed himself in?

My father?

“I’m going to be sick—” The words were barely out of my mouth before I twisted sideways and heaved the contents of my stomach onto the grass.

“Good girl.” Grabbing a fistful of my hair, Joey pulled it back from my face and patted my back. “Get it out. You’ll feel better.”

No, I wouldn’t. I was never going to feel better again because this was allwrong. Stomach heaving, I retched and gagged until I was empty, with nothing left inside of me to give.

“Why?” I croaked out when words finally found me. Chest heaving, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and sagged in defeat. “Handed himself in?” I shook my head, rejecting the notion. No, Joey had to have this all wrong. “He wouldn’t do that, Joe.” Our father wouldnevervoluntarily hand himself in for anything. “This isn’t real.”

“I know,” Joey agreed, speaking in a low, hushed tone. “I don’t believe it, either.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Something’s wrong.”

“What else do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I literally just walked in the door from work before you and found them all in the kitchen.” He gestured to the greasy overalls he was wearing and shrugged helplessly. “The Gards, Patricia, and a couple of other women I have never seen before all in there with Mam and Darren.”

“What are they saying?”

“I don’t know, Shan.” He shook his head and added, “They wouldn’t let me stay. They fucking kicked me out of the kitchen, but I heard one of the Gards say that Dad handed himself in, before they shut the door in my face. Then I heard the car pull up, so I came straight out to give you the heads-up.”

My stomach twisted up in knots. “Well, thanks for the heads-up.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” he said, ignoring my thank-you. “He has to have been to a solicitor or something. Gotten some advice…” He let out an aggravated growl. “It makesnosense for him to just walk into the station and turn himself in.”

“Maybe he felt guilty?” I offered weakly, knowing it was a stupid notion.

“You need to possess a conscience to feel guilt,” Joey shot back. “He lacks one of those.”

Very true.

“It’s bullshit,” a familiar voice said, causing both of us to turn as a shadowy figure approached in the darkness. “They’re in there talking about our lives, making decisions forus, and we’re not allowed to hear it.”

“Tadhg,” I choked out, pressing a hand to my heart when he popped out from the small gap, his face illuminated by the streetlight across the road from our house.

“Where are Ollie and Sean?” was Joey’s only question.

“Bed—they’re both asleep,” Tadhg replied before walking over to where we were crouched and taking a seat on the grass beside us. Resting his back against the wall alongside me, he hooked his arms around his knees and muttered, “But Sean pissed the bed again.”

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