More stuff to pile up in the I'm sorry about this corner, more stuff to feel bad about later and feel nothing about now.

"Because you've got all the sodding subtlety of a ten-ton truck," he murmurs, real exasperation creeping in. He's starting to get the shape of what might be going on here, but he can't quite bring himself to shape the words in his head.

There's the clamour of footsteps on the stairs, a flight or two below. Andrea O'Neill, Marcus judges, from the sound of the footfalls. "Joan," Marcus says, "how are you feeling right now, out of interest?"

"Danny?" Andrea's calling as she comes up the stairs. "Father Marcus? What's going on?"