18Vince slept in the next morning. That’s to say, he got up late. And only then because of Deefer’s insistent scratching at the back door. A ghostly image of the young Joey Hanrahan in front of the brothers’ house at St Bernard’s, with the beaming Father Delaney and a circle of faceless, blacked-robed men standing around them, had haunted him all night long.
He stumbled out of bed, pushed open the back door, squinted in the morning sunshine, and filled up Deefer’s bowl. She cleaned her breakfast up in two minutes of manic swallowing, chased it with a few giant gulps of water, burped, then lapsed into a contented torpor.
‘Gee,’ said Vince, watching from the back step, ‘if only my needs were so easily met.’
After a shower, Vince and Deefer took off to the beach. It was a beautiful morning
