the soothing motion of the train beneath her. She glanced at her phone . . . no, no, no. Of course.
She had been so stupid. Well. This was modern life, she supposed. She sank back against the pillows. No way was she going to sleep. She was going to have to lie awake in a frenzy of embarrassment and recrimination all night, then have to get straight back to work the next day, which was the only reason she’d been bought a sleeper ticket in the first place.
She turned her face into the pillows. Well. Tomorrow was another day, she supposed. But somehow—and having her phone off definitely helped—the slightly jolting motion of the train, the fresh white linen, the sheer exhaustion, and, let us be honest, the several gins somehow worked their magic, and within moments, Lissa was utterly and completely asleep.
OUTSIDE IN THE streets of London it was dark, and the corner pubs were starting to take on a more aggressive turn; there was distant shouting and omnipresent sirens and a helicopter somewhere overhead, the faint, tense feeling that there were too many people, hot and drunk and angry, in too small a space. King’s Cross was absolutely heaving, its restaurants and piazzas overspilling with people.
It crossed his mind; it absolutely crossed his mind. That Larissa might still be in her fancy restaurant with her fancy mates. That he could at least sit and lick his wounds surrounded by sympathetic company.
But it was strange. Those girls didn’t appeal to him. Not at all. Not Larissa, not Yazzie. Nobody did. Nobody except the person who thought he’d dropped her. After all, who these days didn’t have their phone? Who would ever believe it? Only a very stupid person, and he knew she wasn’t that.
Cormac turned blindly south again. Retracing the steps he had run with so much hope in his heart was bitter and exhausting. A group of cabaret performers shouted at him as he accidentally trod on the tail of someone’s feather boa, and he recoiled and apologized. A drunk heckled him from the street, and instead of stopping, he passed on by, head down. Stop trying to care for everyone and just care for one person, he thought bitterly. Well, look how brilliantly that had turned out.
It seemed so far now, through endless paved roads, past endless taxis at endless junctions, their yellow lights glinting into the distance. He considered taking one, but there was no benefit to arriving home any earlier, was there? His phone battery was almost dead. By the time it charged she’d be over the border, cursing him forever. And “I was in prison” wasn’t exactly the excuse he’d been hoping to give.
He sighed, passing, finally, the police station for what he hoped would be the last time ever. The lads were still, to his utter amazement, at the pub next door and increasingly merry, and, he was astounded to see, the coppers were now drinking as well. A mass cheer greeted him as he stumbled past.
“Did you find her? The fuckbeast?” shouted Nobbo.
One glance from Cormac convinced him otherwise.
“Aww,” said the group in chorus.
“What’s this?” said the sarcastic copper, and to Cormac’s horrified amazement, they immediately started telling him the entire story, while someone fetched Cormac a pint, which he declined in favor of a very large glass of water. The absolute last thing he needed was to get maudlin.
As the story unrolled the copper screwed up his face. “He’s never even seen her?”
“Naw, mate!”
“That’s nuts!” He pulled out his phone. “What’s her name? She’s got to be on Instagram.”
But he found nothing.
“Look for her on the police database,” said his colleague.
“Do not do that!” said Cormac.
“Well, you tried, you failed,” said Tim. “Might as well just hang out with the rest of us . . .”
“No!” said the sarcastic policeman. “If you want her, go get her! That’s what I had to do with Gus!”
“Where did Gus go?” said his colleague.
“Um . . . West London,” said the policeman, and everyone gave a sharp intake of breath.
“Well, I tried that,” said Cormac. “Didn’t quite work.”
“Hang on!” said Tim, possibly somewhat overrefreshed. “Where is Scotland anyway? If you drove would you get there faster?”
“Where is Scotland?”
“Focus on the question, mate, not your national pride.”
Cormac glanced at his watch. “Well, maybe. But I haven’t got a car at the moment.”
“We’ve got a car!”
The policemen immediately looked up.
“You have?”
“It’s insured!” said Tim instantly. The others nodded.