The firebox stood open in front of her, papers strewn across the lacquered and stained surface of the table. Behind her, Patrick and Shay talked quietly. Abbie sat watching TV and sniffling. Frustration and helplessness filled her. She’d wanted to go straight to the hospital, but Patrick had refused. He promised to take her in tomorrow, but that was too late. Now was too late, but she wanted to see her mum, even if she wasn’t there anymore. The constant sniffing got on her already frayed nerves and she snapped. “Please don’t sniff. Use a tissue.” “I’ll sniff if I want to,” Abbie muttered. “It’s your fault she’s dead.” Eleanor turned to look at her. “Mine?” “Those men were looking for you. If you’d been at home instead of here…” Patrick rose and crossed the room, sitting beside Abbie. “Speaking of those men, if I showed you some pictures, could you tell me if you’ve seen any of them before?” Abbie nodded. “Ellie suggested I describe them. I’ve got an eye for detail.
