‘An arms shipment from Libya, intercepted by the French.’

Tony tried to keep focused on the images, which had now shifted to reports from a football match.

‘Bad news for the men at home,’ he said. ‘And here.’

Tony nodded, lifted his glass, and spilled some as he missed a little bringing it to his mouth.

‘Martin’s one of us, too,’ Duggan confided quickly, his breath warm against Tony’s cheek. ‘Martin Kelly.’

‘The guy with the bag?’ Tony slurred.

‘The Man who Walked the Earth, I call him.’

Tony shook his head, one shoulder raised in inquiry.

‘Caine. Kung Fu?’

Another shake of the head.

‘I’m older than you’s the problem,’ Duggan said. ‘You’re just a fucking kid yourself.’

Tony stood, his hand on the bar to steady himself. ‘I need a slash,’ he said.

He made his way to the toilets at the back of the bar. The group of students who’d come in earlier were seated in the booths nearest the back. He kept an eye out for Shauna, but she must have left already, he figured.

The urinal in the men’s toilets had been broken, the ceramic bowl lying in two pieces on the floor. The cubicle had been stuffed with toilet paper holders to the point that it was filled to overflowing with water and piss, on which sailed the remains of a broken cigarette.

Tony decided against adding to the mess, which would only have overflowed onto the tiled floor, and instead went back out and tried the door of the accessible toilet, which was locked.

He stood waiting, leaning against the partition of the nearest booth, his body suddenly heavy, his head dropping a little as the floor seemed to slide beneath him.

The Engaged sign on the door of the toilet flicked to Vacant and the door opened. Martin Kelly walked out, ostentatiously zipping his trousers. Behind him, straightening herself up, was Shauna Laird, one hand on the sink for support, a cellophane-wrapped block of hash in the other, her knees red raw with the imprint of the pattern of the tiled floor.

In his state, swaying where he stood, Tony could not understand what he had witnessed. It was only the following day, as he remembered the expression on her face, the blush rising in her cheeks, that he guessed at what form of transaction Kelly had enacted in the toilet, and how he had wanted the patrons of the bar to witness the young girl’s shame.

Chapter Ten

‘Shame the fucker didn’t show that goodness when he was alive,’ Duggan snapped, pushing the paper away from him.

Karen took it and folded it, neatly, then laid it next to her glass. ‘So, how has everyone been?’ she asked, lifting her drink and sipping from it, as if aware of the absurdity of the question.

‘Just peachy,’ Duggan said. ‘Are we getting something to eat or not? I’m starving.’

Barr straightened a little. ‘I thought we could stop on the way from the boat,’ he said.