Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

"The chant builds and builds, and he's taking the horse around the ring now, and as it hits a big crescendo Hutton touches the peak of his riding hat, and the crowd erupt in cheers.

"Now I'm watching Vincent Tyrrell, who's staring at Hutton, never at the horse, always at Hutton, like he's trying to hex him or something, and Hutton looks across every now and again, and looks away as quickly. And then I get a dig in the ribs and a hand on my collar and I'm pulled out of the crowd by Leo Halligan.

"'What the fuck is going on?' he says, and I look around, and see that Steno is still in there, and I tell Leo Halligan as much as I know of what the fuck is going on. He nods at me, and then he vanishes into the crowd. The next thing, Steno is at my side.

"'We'll go down onto the turf to watch the race,' he says.

"Fair enough. Down we go, through the tunnel beneath the private boxes, and Madigan's bar is heaving with half-dressed young ones, it's like one of those Club 18-30 holidays. Out we come and it's good to feel grass beneath your feet, even if it is sopping wet. The grandstand is behind us, with the Dublin mountains towering above, but we head down past the line of bookies' pitches, and Steno salutes Jack Proby of Proby and Son, who doesn't look very pleased to see Steno.

"It's not the best place to watch a race if you want to get the whole picture, but it's the business if you want the atmosphere, and the atmosphere is only brilliant. Bottle of Red was favorite anyway, and the Hutton thing has added a whole other level, the chant's going around in waves:

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

"Rocking back and forth from the grandstand down to the barrier and back, impossible not to get caught up in the motion of it, absolutely classic.

"There's a field of thirteen, and Hutton keeps the horse back all the way around the first time, buried in a pack. Contrariwise and Vico Fancy lead from the off, and you just know they're not going to have the legs to make it, and when they're on the road side for the second time, they fall away, and Hendre takes up the lead and holds it until they hit the last jump and turn into the final furlong and here comes Bottle of Red, Hutton has to use the elbows a bit, he's boxed himself in, but he breaks out and he breaks clear and now he's coming, past Columbine, past Kelly's Hero, past Dodger, and as they turn he's neck and neck with Hendre, Hendre and Bottle of Red, and then Hutton lets her go and it looks like he was holding her back all along, and Hendre has nothing left and Bottle of Red, Bottle of Red, Bottle of Red by a mile, and the chant would raise the hairs on your neck:

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

Pa-trick HUTTON, back from the DEAD!

"'Beautiful!' Steno yells in my ear, and I'd swear there were tears in the fucker's eyes.

"'Parade Ring, come on,' he says, and we boot up there. Some courses have a separate winners' enclosure; at Leopardstown, the horses go back round to the parade ring they started in.

"There's a huge crowd gathering, and Steno brings me into the parade ring, maybe to keep me close, maybe to use as a shield. Means I get a perfect view of all that happens. There's TV reporters going around with those huge microphones and cameras and everything, and Hutton rides the horse in to great applause, and someone is talking to F.X., asking him about Hutton's return, and Hutton tips the hat to even greater cheers, and F.X. mutters something about there being much rejoicing for the one who was lost, and Hutton dismounts as the groom rushes to hold the horse, and as Hutton approaches F.X. a blond female reporter spots Father Vincent Tyrrell and draws him into the group of three for the camera and asks him about the parable of the prodigal son and Vincent Tyrrell says yes indeed, Luke chapter fifteen, but of course there are all manner of prodigals, why he and his brother, Francis, haven't spoken in ten years, not since the day Patrick Hutton disappeared.

"I can see Steno edging closer because Hutton is freaking out now, looking wildly around him, like a robot malfunctioning, whatever the plan was, this wasn't it, and Vincent Tyrrell is still talking, and someone to one side of the camera is signaling to the reporter to cut the interview dead, but the reporter won't, she seems mesmerized, so does everyone, and no wonder: while Hutton is shaking his head and blinking and F.X. is standing stock-still like he died ten years ago and forgot to tell anyone, Vincent Tyrrell is saying that the prodigal son is of course at root a story about the father, not the son, and he should know: Patrick Hutton is Father Vincent Tyrrell's son.

"Patrick Hutton is shaking his head, and suddenly he has a long knife in his hand, and the crowd in the ring turns to flee, and Hutton steps up to F. X. Tyrrell and the knife flashes in the light, but before he can use it, Vincent Tyrrell is in front of F.X., protecting him, and Hutton steps back and stares at them both for a moment, shaking his head some more, then Hutton brings the blade up and slashes a gulley deep across his own throat. Blood shoots from it, and there are screams everywhere, and Hutton topples to his knees and then to the ground, and Father Vincent Tyrrell goes down to him, and as the cries go out for doctors and ambulances, the priest who was his father whispers a last confession in his son's ear, and above them, like he's been turned to stone, in the parade ring at Leopardstown Racecourse in the shadow of the Dublin mountains on St. Stephen's Day stands Francis Xavier Tyrrell, the trainer of the winning horse."

The screen went black after Vincent Tyrrell's admission on live television that he was the father of the winning jockey of the 1:30 at Leopardstown. In their confusion, which they no doubt shared with the viewing public, RTE replaced the racing altogether with a concert of Christmas music from Vienna.

"Why did Vincent Tyrrell say that? What was he thinking of?" Miranda cried.

"What were you expecting Hutton to do? Kill F. X. Tyrrell live on air?" I said.

No sooner had I formed the words than I realized that yes, that was exactly what had been planned for Tyrrell. Miranda's phone rang, and she took the call out in the hall. When she came back in she was crying, but through her tears her words were hard with rage.

"That was Leo. Patrick is dead," she said. "He wanted to die. He killed himself. But for nothing. F.X. is still alive. Patrick went for F.X. and Vincent saved his life. No one can put an end to the Tyrrells. Oh God, poor Patrick."

She shook her tears away, apparently uncertain what to do next.

"The Guards will be coming, then," I said. "By now, F.X. will have told them Regina and Karen are being held hostage."

"Yes," Miranda said. "They'll be coming for me. There's not a lot of time left."

"You can say you were forced into it by Hutton and Steno," I said. "That's certainly how Vincent Tyrrell must see it. The victim. That's what you were. A tragic set of circumstances, the child of incest, an incestuous marriage, a child of your own who…nobody could have anything but sympathy for your plight, Miranda."

"You know that's not exactly how it happened. Real life kept intruding, getting in the way. I've never looked for anyone's sympathy. I've never been anybody's victim. And I'm not going to play the part now."

Miranda suddenly burrowed in the sports grip she had brought and produced a Stanley knife. With it, she cut the ties binding Regina to her chair and then cut mine. There had been no sound from Karen's room for a while. I assumed Regina would go to the child instantly. Instead, as if set free by the silence, Regina suddenly spoke in a voice that she had kept silent for a long time, a voice that seemed to come from a younger place within her, and what she said carried the intensity of a dream.