‘You said a bad word,’ Sorcha sings. ‘Pay up.’
‘Sorry, Sorch.’ I slide my wallet from my back pocket. ‘I forgot you were around. Sorry for starting that, too.’ With a five-pound note, I point in the direction of the bickering pair.
‘Don’t worry, Flynn,’ she replies in an air of long suffering. ‘They never argue long. Besides,’ she adds, watching the pair with ease. ‘When they’re friends again, they go upstairs to apologise in private, and I get to eat a big bowl of ice cream while watching whatever I want on TV.’
‘Cool.’ My reply sounds sort of strangled, but what the fuck else is there to say?
‘Do you know what they’re doing up there when they become friends again?’
Oh shit. I shake my head quickly because this is a job way above my paygrade. ‘No idea,’ I answer quickly.
‘Hmm,’ she says still studying the pair. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s when they have s-e-x.’
