“And you didn’t know that?”

“I know that! Not lazy idiots know that!”

Zlobdan gave the pair a look of withering scorn, and the poor man who’d done the stitching stared at the floor, still blushing.

“I sent him to hospital. After all the screaming.”

Cormac’s lips almost twitched, contemplating how difficult it must be to share a tiny apartment with at least a dozen other men with whom you had nothing in common.

“We pay tax!” said Zlobdan fiercely.

“I know,” said Cormac, holding up his hands. “It’s okay, I’m just here to take the stitches out.”

He opened his box and took out his disinfectant wipes. Everyone was eyeing him up intensely; it was rather disconcerting. He wondered if there wasn’t much to watch on Albanian TV.

He snapped on the rubber gloves, then fingered the wound. It was a shame; it was a great creeping mess that almost certainly wouldn’t have been if they’d cleaned it out properly and got a professional in. He looked at Mergim, who had now gone white.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m just going to take them out.”

“Drugs?” said Zlobdan.

“There’s no need,” said Cormac, slightly sadly. The nerve endings would have been killed in the botched job, unfortunately. It would all be scar tissue from now on in.

Zlobdan said something to Mergim, who looked as if he was starting to cry. A bearlike man stepped forward and drew out a plain bottle filled with what smelled to Cormac like paint thinner. He passed it to Mergim, who took a huge swig, wincing as he swallowed. The bearlike man took the bottle back, had a large swig himself, then put it back down.

“Um,” said Cormac, taking out the scissors. “Honestly, you really don’t have to worry.”

He took out a small pair of forceps and gripped the end of the metal stitch in his right hand and gently started to unlace it.

There was a huge bang. One of the big bearded lads at the back had fainted out cold. There was a lot of conversation about it, and, sighing wearily, the bearlike man took his bottle of spirits and went over to revive him.

“Okay!” said Cormac, after he went over and attended to the other man, including giving him a stitch in the back of his head, which the others had watched him do with interest, debating what he was doing in their own language. The men had nudged the big chap who’d done the original stitching on Mergim, obviously admonishing him to watch and learn.

“Everyone out!” Cormac said as he tried to get back to his first patient. He realized as he ordered everybody out that there was nowhere else to go in the minuscule apartment. The men crammed themselves politely into the hallway and stood tensely, as if they were watching a football match.