Page 31 of Hard
‘But I left Sorcha last night,’ I say, voicing my guilt. ‘And all last week while I worked!’
‘And she didn’t miss you an ounce.’ Agnes confirms something my head already knows. My heart? It doesn’t like to admit it. ‘That wee girl just delights in giving you a hard time some days.’
‘Can we keep Juno at this age?’ Mac says, turning to Ella. ‘Skip all the painful parts.’
‘Painful?’ Agnes scoffs. ‘Just wait until the teenage years. Boys or girls, they all give you grey hairs.’
‘I’d best start saving for hair dye now,’ Ella says, chuckling.
‘It’s to be hoped wee Juno is nothing like you.’ I hold my hands up as Agnes points a finger in my direction. She obviously hasn’t picked up on how territorial Mac can be. ‘The scrapes this one used to get in to.’
‘All right, I’m going,’ I say, taking the hint. ‘But I’m not going for a pint after. I’ll come straight home.’
‘Bullshit,’ Mac grumbles, then, ‘Ah, sorry there, Agnes.’
A terse, ‘Hmph,’ is Agnes’s only response. ‘Forgiven. But only if you can get him to give the lassie from last night a call. Maybe he can take her out for coffee or something.’
‘You met someone!’ Ella almost squeals, before repeating her exclamation in a more even tone. A hopeful tone. ‘You met someone. A nice someone?’
‘Nice enough to keep him out until the wee hours.’Jesus, Agnes! Hang me out to dry, why don’t you?
‘Oh... ’
‘Stop smiling at me like that,’ I say, pointing a finger at Ella.
‘Come on,’ Mac says, his hand on the door handle. ‘Before they squeeze all your secrets out of you.’
‘I haven’t got any secrets,’ I protest. ‘I went to a wedding, not an orgy! Am I not allowed any privacy?’
It’s a rhetorical question. We all know the answer isnot if they can help it.
Chapter 11
KEIR
‘You played shite today.’ Taking a deep gulp of his pint, Will places it back on the surface of the sticky bar. ‘You weren’t your usual killer self.’
‘Cheers, fucker.’ I raise my own glass. ‘There’s nothin’ like kicking a pal when he’s had a tough week.’
‘Killer week,’ Mac adds, hiding the smile behind his own pint.
‘What am I missing?’ Will asks, his narrowed gaze flicking back and forth between us. ‘You’ve had sex,’ he asserts immediately.
‘Fuck off.’ I take another sip of my drink, my expression unchanged.
‘You have—you’ve had your balls out of the cellophane!’
‘Wanna yellbawsa bit louder?’ Mac grates out. ‘I’m sure there’s a fucker in the toilets who didn’t hear. Jesus wept.’ He looks about to lean his folded arms on the bar but then thinks better of it at the last minute, taking in the sticky surface. The pub we’re in? Hardly salubrious but it has been our regular hangout for years. ‘Why does the conversation always turn to bollix when you’re around?’
‘It’s a talent,’ Will replies.
‘Must be something to do wi’ your blue blood, eh?’
‘We’re all a bunch of raving knackers,’ he agrees.
‘So we’ve had balls, baws, bollix, and knackers. Any other euphemisms for testicles you want to bandy around?’ asks an unhappy Mac.
‘Just Keir,’ Will responds immediately. ‘Come on, who’s the unlucky girl?’
