There was a pause when nobody spoke, before Brigit added in a much calmer voice. “I’m very sorry for hitting you. I’m not normally a violent person.”
“You did rugby tackle a man through a plate glass door earlier,” added Paul.
“Today is not a normal day.”
“You’ve also hit me quite a few times.” Brigit glared at Paul, who sensed that now was a good time to stop talking.
“So where is Bandon?” He could feel Brigit rummaging around in his hair, still unhappy with what she was seeing. He felt a little bit like a monkey being groomed.
“It’s a town outside Cork, isn’t it? Although, are you sure he said Bandon?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had got a knock on the head. Maybe he said Brendan?”
“Brendan? Who the hell is Brendan?”
“Well, exactly. Or maybe he said Brandon?”
“What’d that be?”
“It could be Fiachra Fallon’s new name in America. It’s a very Yank name.”
“Or maybe he said Branston,” said Paul. “Y’know, because we’re in a pickle?”