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‘Why’s it shut?’ he grunted, pointing towards Real-Life Adventures. ‘He won’t make me the money he owes me by not opening.’

‘Shay owes you money?’ Noémi asked, barely wanting to hear the answer. Was that why he was nowhere to be found? She hadn’t had him pegged as that guy. But then they’d not talked much about finances.

‘He barely stays still for long enough for me to collect his rent. Didn’t want to pay by direct debit like most people, as he wouldn’t promise how long he was staying.’ He scowled towards the shop window. ‘But it’s been hard to get any sort of tenant lately, so I couldn’t be choosy.’

‘Right,’ said Noémi through gritted teeth, wondering if she should have been choosier herself.

‘Then he sends me a message a couple of days ago saying he wants to stay for the next six months.’ The surprise in the landlord’s voice was evident. ‘Asked me to meet him here this morning for him to sign and pay.’ He checked his watch. ‘But he’s not bloody here. Time waster. Though maybe you’ve scared him off, with your fires and floods.’ He pointed to her bookshop.

‘We did not have a flood.’ Noémi pursed her lips.

‘I saw your blackboard earlier, and the shop-fire shenanigans were all over social media.’

‘The fire was a minor issue involving flying embers and a rug, and the blackboard was simply someone playing a joke.’

‘Maybe it’s the same eejit who’s playing tricks on me,’ he huffed. ‘Never trust a bloke who dresses like one of Santa’s reindeer and gives his fixed address as a pub carpark.’

Noémi opened her mouth to argue, but what did she know? Perhaps Shay was about to add himself to her list of misjudged men after all. Maybe he was the one who’d made up crappy poems about boats and floats. Well, there was only one way to find out. Noémi marched into the shop, grabbed her coat, and told the others she was off on a walk.

It didn’t take her long to angry march as far as The Tipsy Squirrel, where Shay’s home on wheels was unsurprisingly not parked. She took a deep breath and strode into the pub, where she found Delilah polishing glasses behind the bar.

‘Rounding up takers for your singles night?’ Delilah asked, with a throaty laugh.

‘I heard the bookshop had been flooded?’ one of the regulars piped up.

Noémi sucked up her sigh. ‘No flood,’ she sing-songed, not far from the end of her tether. She was tempted to add that she was in no mood to be hosting any single mingling either, but she held her tongue about that. She needed this event to bring in custom.

‘Any sign of Shay?’ Noémi asked, stepping towards the bar and trying to keep her voice low and not too desperate.

‘Oh, he’s gone for a bit, love,’ Delilah replied, raising her eyebrows at Noémi not knowing. ‘He paid his bill and didn’t mention if or when he’d be back.’

Noémi felt her shoulders slump. ‘Right.’ Well, at least he hadn’t ripped off Delilah. But it would be a brave man who dared to do that.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Delilah asked. ‘You look like you need one.’

Noémi resisted the sudden urge to ask for a bottle of wine with a long straw because a massive headache was not the answer. And she was already brewing a few sour grapes of her own.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Noémi replied, her fake smile probably fooling no one. ‘I’ve got things to get on with. And if anyone mentions a flood or cancelled events at the bookshop, please put them straight. It’s business as usual.’ Even more than usual, she would need to stay busy.

Noémi thanked Delilah and stomped out of the pub, pulling her phone from her pocket. She was done with hiding from this rapidly developing real-life problem. Though when she tried to call Shay, there was no answer. Of course there wasn’t. What had she expected from such a fickle, flighty man? So she bashed out a message.

Noémi:

Where are you? Why have you taken to standing people up and ignoring their messages? And do you know anything about that message on my chalkboard?

Shay:

Aah, I’m so sorry. I did mean to reply to you. It’s all a bit full-on. I’m back in Ireland for a while. Last-minute thing. Haven’t seen your board. Everything OK here, but – you know.

Ireland? When had he decided on that? Well, she guessed that gave him an alibi – if he was to be believed. Though what was she meant to know, because she didn’t get it at all. Why hadn’t he had the damned decency to explain or mention this? Her head was spinning, and her stomach wasn’t far behind. She pulled her coat more tightly around her as she stormed back towards her shop, furiously typing.

Noémi:

How long will you be gone? Are you there for Christmas? Have you left here for good? Shay, what’s going on?

She was acutely aware that firing off so many questions might seem unhinged. But if she had any hinges, they had long since fallen off. And if she wasn’t freezing her knuckles off, she’d have added a string of obscenities.

Shay: