61
Four weeks went by in a blur of pain, guilt, remorse, confusion. I couldn’t get past the way my mother had died. Alone, abandoned and afraid. I didn’t drink or dope or nicotine. The three lethal addictions preyed constantly, but I don’t know why I didn’t succumb. I once heard if you want to change your life, your attitude, you begin by altering your behaviour. Do the opposite to what you used to do and change will come down the pike. So instead of embracing my usual destruction, I stayed busy. Re-interviewing the students, friends, acquaintances of the dead girls. Even did coffee with Ronan Wall, to see what might shake loose.
Nothing did.
I read Synge, read him twice. The near breakthrough I had before my mother’s death remained elusive, tantalisingly out of reach. Ronan Wall contin
