I cuffed Lew on the back of the head, walked down the line, wet, covered in mud, people patting me on back.
Anne Karsh was in jeans, tartan coat, hair wet, beautiful. Wary eyes, not smiling.
I stopped a metre away. ‘Owe you a coffee machine,’ I said.
She shrugged. ‘Been meaning to throw out that machine for years. Makes really bad coffee.’
We looked at each other.
‘Must’ve read your mind. Threw it out for you. You in the country going back?’
‘In the country staying over. Not sure where yet. Leon’s divorcing me. Met a neurosurgeon in Switzerland. I get Harkness Park.’
‘Nice place,’ I said. ‘Got the Bobby Hill memorial tennis court. Want to come back to the pub?’
Anne smiled, nodded, touched my muddy arm.
‘C’mon, Mac,’ Flannery shouted. ‘Got to sing the team song. Got to learn it first.’