I’d watched the pulpy ribwort drain away down the bathroom sink. Spit, his spit, and chewed-up plant. Witch doctor stuff. My palm still looked beefy, the hand of a strapping 1940s land girl, though the swelling had gone down a bit. Whether that was the gob-magic, or the medicine, or the chips, I wasn’t sure.

The weather forecaster was a cheerful bastard for someone who brought endless news of rain. He’d worn that cheap suit the last three nights running.

I hadn’t heard from Stef in forever. I messaged him. How was ur party ting? X PS Did we kill someone? Do you not feel the tiniest bit guilty? Have you forgotten all about it?

Hare-blood on my skirt was definitely a first, too. I’d scrubbed at the denim under the piping hot tap until it looked like a mud stain.

Haylo sweetness! Was EPIC. Snookerboyz r CUTE x

Stef had put on his second night in a snooker club, populated by proper grungy locals. Budget Polish lager and the smell of sweat and having to hover above the seat in the men’s rancid loos.

Well jelz xx PS Cuter than Spanish boys? Are you off them now?

The forecaster looked extremely excited about the one hour of light cloud that we’d get tomorrow.

Awww … how is ur lil kiltman? X

SHIT

The same for the day after and the day after that. Some rain, some cloud, about two minutes of sunshine if you smiled really nicely.

Nooo for true?

YUP ☹

Windchill. Coastal breezes. I imagined kicking the forecaster’s gleaming teeth in.

Awww sorry luv. Need to get urself another 1 double quick

Did you? If he’d stayed, I would have stayed. I should have stayed.

There was a carved king and queen sitting on the coffee table. The king had blank eyes and a crude oblong of nose. I picked him up and immediately dropped him on my toe. Fuck.

I balanced the frozen chips on my foot.

Theres an older dude. With a beard. He’s a LUMBERJACK & he’s ok. I deleted it. I knew what Stef would say. Something like U have official permission to get him prepped 4 me, fluffergirl. And I’d say in ur dreams, boyeee and wait for his next response, which would never come.

There’d been the tiniest light in Jim’s eye when I’d got out of the jeep.

Bear maybe. Wolf maybe. Not a squirrel.

I was halfway down the road into the white-hot centre of the village for fags and Diet Coke with Tyger on my tail when a car passed us, braking. Fraser’s. I stopped, too, a few metres back. It rolled back down the road towards me.

The window came down. ‘Hiya.’ He was probably on his way to do a shift at the bar. And a spot of under-the-counter trading to pre-pubescents. No wonder he’d seemed so bloody popular.

‘Hi.’

Tyger put his paws up on the front wheel.

‘All right, mate,’ Fraser said to him, before looking back up at me. ‘Haven’t seen you in a bit.’