Lissa waited for quite a while, but Anita did not return. Lissa knew she had six sessions of therapy and six only. That was two down already, and they didn’t quite seem to have gotten started yet. And the news that the trial would be soon, when she had assumed it would be months and months away, was very worrying. She checked Google, and sure enough the mayor’s office was trying to clamp down on youth crime in London by fast-tracking everything through the courts.

She sighed. That was very bad news indeed.

BUT LISSA DID that one thing. She muted her Facebook and Instagram accounts—leaving cheery messages to stop anyone from worrying about her—and removed herself from the conversation. She thought she would be lonely and miserable. In fact, instead—and with the occasional WhatsApp check-in from her good friends—she found it oddly freeing.

She didn’t really notice, but she started talking more to the locals, simply because she had no choice. Deirdre in the bakery; Mrs. Murray in the general store. And every day she’d swapped patient notes with Cormac, mostly brisk, but sometimes funny or odd. Irritatingly, he’d normally heard about anything that happened to her, including getting the car stuck up the dyke road, because apparently everybody knew you didn’t drive up the dyke road after a heavy rainstorm, but nobody had thought to mention it to her and it had taken half of Lennox’s lads to pull her out again. He’d also caught her up with how Mrs. Marks had switched to Turkish delight, believing it to be okay.

Seriously? Lissa had written back. Did you confiscate it like I told you?

Yes!

What did you do with it?

Nothing!

And then in the next email:

I am amazed, typed Lissa, that you had to become an NPL instead of a professional artist.

Me too, typed Cormac. An endless and disappointing loss to the art world.

What do people do on the weekend round here? typed Lissa. Have you got anything to do?

In fact, he did. There were people from Kirrinfief in London—not many, and it was his mother’s idea, which rarely boded well, as she didn’t speak to him that much. But on the other hand it was either that or literally nothing at all, sitting in one small room breathing bad air, so he’d said yes.

That’s very unfair, said Lissa. You have a ready-made social life in the greatest city in the world.

So do you. Just go down to the pub.

And make friends with wee Eck?

Well, that sounds like you already have.

Lissa signed off, and Cormac made a mental note that as put off as Jake had been before, it might be worth another shot. Meanwhile, he had the ordeal of a big London night to prepare for. He popped another piece of Turkish delight into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.