It was the second Thursday in January, and he had written to her two days previously informing her he had some news about Molly but that it was imperative she told no one before she had spoken to him. She watched him now as he swallowed the contents of his cup, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat before saying, his voice very quiet, ‘You didn’t tell no one you were seein’ me?’ ‘No. You asked me not to.’ ‘Aye, aye.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘It’s on account of me mam you see, an’ Connie, of course. I don’t want them gettin’ the wrong idea . . .’ He straightened in his chair, screwing his buttocks into the seat, and in that moment Rosie realized he was highly embarrassed and wishing himself anywhere but where he was. She bent forward, and now her voice was as quiet as his when she said, ‘Robert, whatever you have to tell me will be between you and me if you want it that way, but of course I would like to tell Zachariah too.’ ‘Aye, aye I can understand that, but this can’t be dealt with like a bull in a china shop.’ By that she surmised that Robert - who she had heard through Jessie who had heard through Annie had been more than a little affronted at being left out of the rescue of Molly years before - was referring to Zachariah’s all-guns-blazing approach at Charlie Cullen’s establishment. Robert rubbed his face now as he said, ‘Look, Rosie, I don’t know quite how to put this, lass, I don’t straight, but it’s bin drivin’ me barmy the last few weeks an’ I need to get it off me chest.
