‘I can take it.’
‘Stress manifests in different ways.’
‘I don’t have nervous twitches and I sleep like a newborn babe.’
‘Newborn babes tend to cry a lot and wet themselves,’ said Gift, with a smile. ‘So I’m told.’
Shepherd laughed and helped himself to a slice of toast. ‘I know you’re only doing your job,’ he said, ‘but, really, I’m fine.’
‘What happened down the Tube last year. The suicide-bomber. Can we talk about that?’
‘He was going to kill a lot of people. I shot him. End of story.’
‘It’s a big thing, to kill a man,’ said the psychologist, then took a bite of toast.
‘With respect, how the hell would you know?’
‘I could take that as defensive,’ she said.
‘It’s just such a glib thing to say,’ said Shepherd. ‘I know it’s a big deal, but it needed doing. I’m not going to lose any sleep over a dead suicide-bomber. Anyway, he’s up in heaven with his seventy-two virgins so I’m sure he’s not complaining.’
‘You believe in heaven, do you?’
Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. He was silent for several seconds. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t believe in heaven, or hell, or God.’
‘You’ve never been religious?’
‘I was baptised as a kid,’ said Shepherd, ‘but it meant nothing to me.’
‘The Catholic religion is based on guilt, pretty much.’
‘I guess.’
‘And confession, of course. The premise that, by confessing, your sins can be absolved.’
‘Three Hail Marys and Jesus will forgive you. I don’t see what I do as sinning, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘Playing devil’s advocate here. You do break a lot of commandments, don’t you?’
‘I’m one of the good guys, remember?’
‘The end justifies the means?’
‘That’s the way I see it. Yes, I shot him dead, but he was wired up with enough explosives to blow himself to kingdom come. You can’t expect me to feel guilty about that.’
‘Just because what you did was right doesn’t necessarily make it easier to deal with.’
‘I disagree.’
‘There are as many cases of post-traumatic stress disorder among troops on the winning side of a conflict as there are on the losing side. Stress is stress.’
‘I was well trained,’ said Shepherd.
‘The best of the best?’ There was a note of sarcasm in her voice.
‘The selection procedure weeds out the guys who aren’t up to it,’ said Shepherd, ‘and the training teaches you to cope with pretty much anything.’
‘A high percentage of former SAS members end up killing themselves, don’t they?’ she said quietly.
‘That’s not stress,’ said Shepherd. ‘If it was stress, they’d do it while they were in the Regiment, not after they’d left.’
‘So, if it’s not stress, what is it?’
‘They miss the action, I guess. They can’t live without the adrenaline kick.’ Suddenly Shepherd realised where the conversation was going. ‘You always get back to this, don’t you? You make it sound as if I’m addicted to violence.’
‘We were talking about former members of the SAS.’
‘We were talking about me – it’s always about me but you take the long way round sometimes.’
‘Honestly, I wasn’t being that devious. But it’s a fair question, isn’t it? The men who do what you do: do they do it because it’s a job, or because they enjoy it?’
‘You enjoy your job, right?’
‘It’s challenging,’ she said.
‘So what’s wrong with me enjoying my job?’
‘I don’t kill people, Dan,’ said Gift, quietly.
‘The only people who enjoy killing are psychopaths,’ said Shepherd, firmly, ‘and I’m not a psychopath.’
Gift opened her mouth to reply but before she could say anything they heard a key in the front door. Instead she finished her toast.
‘Katra,’ said Shepherd.
Gift nodded. The front door opened and Katra hurried down the hall. ‘It’s me!’ she called, and burst into the kitchen. She frowned when she saw Gift at the kitchen table. ‘Hello?’ she said.
Gift smiled. ‘Hi.’
‘This is a friend of mine, Kathy,’ Shepherd said, by way of introduction. ‘Kathy, this is Katra, who looks after us.’
Katra smiled. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was dressed for warmth in a quilted jacket over a thick pullover with horizontal rainbow stripes, brown cord jeans and Timberland boots. ‘We have the same name, almost,’ she said. ‘Katra means Kathy. It was my grandmother’s name.’
Gift laughed. ‘I was named after a singer my father fancied,’ she said. ‘Where are you from? Your English is excellent.’
‘Slovenia.’