“Well, that doesn’t sound very nice . . . What, they’re going out together?”

“Well, she hasn’t changed her Facebook status . . . and he doesn’t really use his, so . . .”

“Not even to ‘it’s complicated’?”

“Nope.”

Lissa was annoyed at the fact that she felt slightly relieved. “Maybe it’s just a casual thing.”

She was still disappointed in him. She hadn’t thought of him as a player like that. Mind you, wasn’t that the point about players? They were really sweet and fun—that’s why they reeled you in every time. But she’d definitely thought he was different.

Kim-Ange was still talking. “Yazzie is a filthy mare. Of course, I approve of that.”

“And gorgeous,” said Lissa.

“What do you care?” said Kim-Ange. “Haven’t you got a date?”

Lissa thought of cute Jake. “I do,” she said, smiling wryly.

“Well then.”

“What about you?”

“Yes!” said Kim-Ange. “See, this is a lot of news. I like catching up like this.”

“It’s almost as good as having you here,” said Lissa. “Not quite, though.”

“Well, spray a shitload of Jo Malone perfume around and it will almost be the same.”

“Almost too much.”

“What?”

“Not at all too much! Who is your date with?!”

“Piotr.”

Lissa had to think for a minute. It wasn’t just nurses in the home; it was more a general backup housing facility for anyone who had to work at the hospital and couldn’t quite manage on the wages the hospital paid.

“Piotr the porter? Amazing!”

It was indeed the diminutive porter Kim-Ange had spent the evening dancing with at the ceilidh, who was completely overwhelmed.

“Is he nice?”

“I don’t care,” said Kim-Ange. “There are no men in this town and I haven’t had a proper date in eight months. As long as he doesn’t eat weasels, I’m probably going to let him get to second base.”

“What if he licks weasels?”

“First base.”

Lissa smiled. “I just can’t believe we’ve all got dates!”

“I know,” said Kim-Ange. “Skype me later and I’ll tell you why you’re dressed all wrong.”

CORMAC SENT OVER the last of the week’s notes to Lissa and couldn’t stop himself from adding at the bottom, seemingly innocently, Going to Fordell Fair?

Lissa saw the line and smiled, then frowned. Word got around. She took another bite of her russet apple.

Maybe. What about you? Busy I believe?

Cormac squinted at the message. Oh, obviously she’d heard. Kim-Ange would have been all over it. It felt very odd—were they . . . were they friends now?

Oi! he typed, throwing the core of the russet he was eating into the bin.

There you go, all Eastenders again. Where are you going?

Some hot new restaurant.