“Are you going to tell me what’s happened?” I asked.

Martin ran one hand through his hair. “Can’t I just say I want to forget about my afternoon?” I gave him a look. “Fine. I’ve been at a police station the past two hours.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

Martin took a gulp of cava. “No, Lily. The police were questioning Ridley.”

He looked me in the eye and I felt my heart softening. “What happened? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. It’s a long story but the short version seems to be that Ridley wanted to get even with one of the bullies who’d tormented him at his last school. So he—allegedly—filled a box with wires and delivered it to the punk’s building.”

“A box of wires?” I crossed my legs and leaned forward slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“It looked like a bomb, according to the bully’s mother. You should have seen her, Lily. One of those Botoxed bitches in tight designer jeans. Mutton posing as lamb.” Martin took another drink. “Of course, her husband makes a lot of money, so the police have to investigate the matter. They brought Ridley in and questioned him before I got there. Which is illegal, by the way. But Ridley, being his usual childish self, admits everything when they do. Apparently he can keep these crazy things he does secret for a time, but then he cracks and has to reveal all. They had a signed confession when I got there.” He downed the rest of his drink and gestured for another.

I watched Martin carefully. I knew he wasn’t lying; he was telling me what he believed to be the truth. In his mind, Ridley had been silly and childish, but not malicious. The other boy was a vicious monster, probably devil’s spawn. Ridley had never been cruel to me when Martin and I had been together, and I couldn’t view him as evil, but I knew that there was something wrong with him that his father refused to see. “I’m so sorry.” I touched Martin’s arm and he grabbed my hand and held it. “What’s going to happen to Ridley now?”

“The police can do damn all about it. He’s a minor, and the confession won’t be allowed in court. That’s what they get for listening to that lying little bastard who was bullying him. He’s a year older than Ridley, but he told the police that Ridley was older, and bullying him.” Martin was quiet while the barman poured another round for both of us. I quietly extracted my hand from his grip.

“But didn’t they check his ID?” I asked, before taking a tip from the fresh glass.