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“Aye. You too. Briony mentioned a brother yesterday. You the one who’s into MMA?”

He grins. “That’s me. You the one who threw a party above my sister’s flat on a weeknight? She had a lot to say about that.”

Briony’s head snaps towards him. “Innes!”

“What? You did.” To me, he says, “Did she really crash the party in her pyjamas?”

“Oh, aye,” I say. “Wi’ this wee one tucked under her arm.” I give Penny another pat.

“Why don’t you two talk about MMA?” Briony suggests. “Unless embarrassing me is more fun.”

“Oh, it’s definitely more fun,” Innes says. “No offence,” he adds to me.

“None taken. She’s pretty easy to wind up, eh?”

“So easy. Always has been.”

“Well,” Briony says. “We won’t keep you⁠—”

“Hang on,” Innes says. “We’ve only just bumped into him. He’s the Axe King! I’ve got questions, and he’s got to answer them because, you know, I’m in a wheelchair.”

“Er…” I’ve got no idea what to say to that. “Right.”

Innes laughs. “Your face! You’re easy to wind up too. Nah, don’t worry, I’m not going to hound you. Just one question. If I wanted to get into MMA, what would your advice be?”

“Ah. Good question.” I scratch my jaw. “I mean, I know there are adaptive combat sports, but⁠—”

“Mate, I’m pulling your leg. I don’t want to get into MMA. I literally can’t move anything below my shoulders. I did actually used to do jiu-jitsu, though. Before the accident, obviously.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah. I still love it. I love all sports, really. Mostly watching these days, of course. I’m studying multimedia journalism at Caley. I want to get into sports journalism when I graduate.”

I like this lad’s manner. He’s direct. He’s got a goal and no embarrassment about saying it.

“You should come to my fight in July,” I say. “I’ll see if I can get you tickets.”

“No need. Dad and I bought ours yesterday.”

Briony gives him a startled look. “You and Dad are going?”

“Yes, Briony.” His tone is bone-dry. “I’m going to an event. Alert the authorities.”

“That’s not what I meant, it’s just⁠—”

“She means well,” Innes says to me, speaking over her, “but she mollycoddles me. My mum too. My dad’s not so bad.”

“She does seem the worrying type,” I say, glancing at Briony. She huffs and folds her arms.

“I’ll look out for you at the fight,” I add to Innes.

“Yeah? I’ll be the guy in the wheelchair in the accessible section. Shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

He’s got a dry sense of humour, this one.

“Anyway,” Briony says, “we won’t keep you. You’ve probably got stuff to be getting on with.”

Sunlight filters through the leaves overhead, picking out the freckles on her shoulders and the wee straps of her dress. She really does look fucking good in it.