“I’d say . . . nae bad.” The officer stood up. “Right. Off you go. Stay out of trouble.”

Cormac ventured to say his piece. “They’re just lads, you know. And they’ve been through a lot.”

“They have,” said the woman. “So have a lot of people who don’t start punch-ups in public places.”

“They started . . .”

Cormac realized quickly he was going to get himself into trouble again as a frown crossed the other officer’s face. He stood up fast.

“Thank you so much.”

THE SARCASTIC POLICE officer looked practically disappointed to see Cormac ready to walk out. “Leaving so soon?” he said.

“Aye,” said Cormac. He was handed back an envelope containing his wallet, watch, and phone. The battery was completely drained. Shit. He winced when he saw it. Then he realized he didn’t have a lot of time to lose. The other lads had already been released; he was the last one.

“Good luck with the fuckbeast!” shouted Nobbo as he ran out of the police station at top speed. They had found a pub next door to the police station, which seemed to Cormac unwise, to say the very least, but he didn’t have time to do much but wave quickly.

Chapter 73

“I have been ghosted,” said Kim-Ange dramatically—she had quickly put on a large black head scarf to chime with the somber feel of the occasion—“twenty-seven times. It has been terrible every single one of those times.”

“Perhaps he’s dead,” said Lissa hopefully.

Kim-Ange had bought four massive balloon glasses full of a gin concoction, to save time, and she was drinking it, Lissa realized, rather like she’d drink beer, just because the glasses were so big. This was unwise. On the other hand, screw absolutely everything.

“To death,” said Kim-Ange, and they chinked glasses.

Lissa sighed. “Was he really tiny, though? Did he look like a mole? Did his nose come straight out of his neck?”

Kim-Ange sighed in turn. Shook her head. “I had no idea you liked him so much.”

“Neither did I!” burst out Lissa. “Until I literally found myself right here, saying this. I think I just . . . I needed a little crush.”

“Are you sure it isn’t his house you like?”

“I do like his house,” said Lissa, thinking of the cozy fire and the little wooden staircase.

“That’s what you’ve done,” said Kim-Ange comfortingly. “Projected the idea of home ownership onto some bloke. It’s the idea of owning your own house you are in love with.”

“Maybe,” said Lissa a little dreamily. “So, he’s a loser, then?”

“He has,” said Kim-Ange, crossing her fingers to try to save her friend from more pain, “seven toes on each foot and ears bigger than his head. He comes up to my waist and sheds hair like a pony. And oh my God, the smell.”