They bloody love you, don’t they? One look at those big sad eyes and they’re pussy in your hand.’ ‘Putty, you mean.’ ‘I know what I mean. It’s just funny. They don’t know what they want to do with you, do they? Don’t know whether they want you to throw them around like a ragdoll or put them in the bath and wash their hair.’ McAvoy keeps his eyes on the road. He swallows, and is aware of his Adam’s apple rubbing against his shirt collar. ‘Do you do that? Do you wash Roisin’s hair?’ He can feel his boss staring at the side of his face. Senses that she is shaking her head slightly, and smiling with only one half of her mouth. ‘Paint her nails? Read her bedtime stories? Cut her fish fingers up for her …’ McAvoy turns in the driver’s seat and looks into Pharaoh’s blue eyes. She’s gone too far, and she raises her hands, acknowledging it. She does this, sometimes. Teases until she feels bad. He has come to understand her pretty well these past months. He knows all about so-called ‘gallows humour’ – cops cracking off-colour gags so the misery of their jobs has to work harder to reach their souls.
