The Witch’s Tears. Katharine Corr

to walk to in twenty minutes. It was a Saturday afternoon and unsurprisingly the pub was heaving, people spilling out along the pavement in front. Leo went in and stood on tiptoe to scan the bar area, but he couldn’t see Ronan anywhere. He pushed his way through to the back of the pub and the deck that overlooked the river: there was still no sign of him. Leo checked his phone, but there were no messages. Perhaps he had misunderstood the plan? Or … or what if Ronan just wasn’t coming? What if he’d only invited Leo out of pity, and had now found something else to do, or someone better to hang out with?

      Leo took a deep breath. He ordered a drink and found a spot where he could lean against the bar and wait.

      Fifteen minutes later, he was still standing there on his own. His face began to burn: he’d been stood up. He looked around at the other people in the pub, laughing and chatting to each other, and sighed. This used to be one of his favourite hangouts, but he didn’t seem to fit in any more. Not here. Not with his old friends. Not even at home.