500 Miles from You (Scottish Bookshop #3)(87)

Chapter 73


“I have been ghosted,” said Kim-Ange dramatically—she had quickly put on a large black head scarf to chime with the somber feel of the occasion—“twenty-seven times. It has been terrible every single one of those times.”

“Perhaps he’s dead,” said Lissa hopefully.

Kim-Ange had bought four massive balloon glasses full of a gin concoction, to save time, and she was drinking it, Lissa realized, rather like she’d drink beer, just because the glasses were so big. This was unwise. On the other hand, screw absolutely everything.

“To death,” said Kim-Ange, and they chinked glasses.

Lissa sighed. “Was he really tiny, though? Did he look like a mole? Did his nose come straight out of his neck?”

Kim-Ange sighed in turn. Shook her head. “I had no idea you liked him so much.”

“Neither did I!” burst out Lissa. “Until I literally found myself right here, saying this. I think I just . . . I needed a little crush.”

“Are you sure it isn’t his house you like?”

“I do like his house,” said Lissa, thinking of the cozy fire and the little wooden staircase.

“That’s what you’ve done,” said Kim-Ange comfortingly. “Projected the idea of home ownership onto some bloke. It’s the idea of owning your own house you are in love with.”

“Maybe,” said Lissa a little dreamily. “So, he’s a loser, then?”

“He has,” said Kim-Ange, crossing her fingers to try to save her friend from more pain, “seven toes on each foot and ears bigger than his head. He comes up to my waist and sheds hair like a pony. And oh my God, the smell.”

“Really?” said Lissa, approaching the bottom of the vat glass. The house didn’t smell at all. Nice, if anything—that little scent of almond shampoo, the same type she’d started using.

“Yup,” said Kim-Ange. “Lucky escape if you ask me. Another?”





Chapter 74


“Kim-Ange?!”

But nobody was answering the door. Cormac slumped in the doorframe, sweating. He had run all the way there, and even though it was later, the heat was still dense and humid, unpleasant, as if all the buildings were holding it in, storing it all day like a battery, then giving it back into the evening. Cars had honked and people had yelled as he tore past, his lungs ragged with what felt absurdly like freedom. She had to be at the nurses’ home, she had to be. Where else would she go but to see her best friend?

There were a million places she could go, of course, but he couldn’t think of that right now, only that she’d be there; he had charged through Borough Market, but the stalls were closed and the bars full of couples and groups, and as if—as if—she’d have waited all day! It wasn’t even possibly or remotely likely. Nobody noticed him as he ran past, tension on his face, except for one waiter, clocking on to his second shift, who looked at him and wondered . . . just wondered. And hoped it would be okay for the sweet girl with the sad face.

AND HERE HE was. Stav the doorman had smiled happily at him—it had taken a quarter of the year, but Cormac had worn him down eventually with a very expensive pain au raisin habit—as he’d hopped up, sweaty and disheveled, and banged on Kim-Ange’s door, even thinking he really ought to take a shower but unable to wait, completely unable to wait even one second more to see her.

Yazzie walked past.

“Hey!” said Cormac.

She sniffed loudly at him, which he found slightly puzzling, as he had absolutely no idea she was annoyed with him.

“Have you seen Kim-Ange?”

“She’s got a boyfriend,” said Yazzie pointedly.

Cormac blinked. “Aye, I know that . . . I just wondered if you’d seen her.”

“You look filthy and awful,” pointed out Yazzie.

“Thanks,” said Cormac.

“Just call her,” said Yazzie.

“Could you? I’m almost out of charge,” said Cormac. “Please? Please! Tell her if she’s with Lissa I can explain . . . please? Tell her I’ll call.”

“Sure,” said Yazzie, walking off and pretending to put her phone to her ear.

He glanced at his watch. Shit! It was after eight o’clock already. Lissa’s train left at nine. Euston station was half an hour away.





Chapter 75


“Did you call your mum?” said Kim-Ange, pouring Lissa into a taxi. “Don’t call her now, I mean. Just . . . call her.”

“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming today,” said Lissa. “Because I didn’t know if I could manage it . . . and because I wanted . . . I wanted to spend it with . . .”

Lissa’s lip was wobbling. Kim-Ange leaned into the cab and gave her a big full-body hug.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You did the right thing. Go back to Scotland, pack up, and I’ll see you back here in a couple of weeks. Don’t worry about that loser. I will make his life absolute hell also.”

“Don’t put prawns in the curtains, because when I come back they will still be my curtains,” said Lissa.

“Okay.”

Lissa checked her phone again.

“Put your phone down! You know you will hear from him. Tomorrow, with some bullshit excuse,” said Kim-Ange fussily. “Then it’ll all pick up again, the flirting and the little jokes and everything, until it comes time to meet again and then the same thing will happen. Trust me. I know men.”