The Dead Yard by Adrian McKinty

stopped at the fish-and-chip stand and I bought her a cod.
    "Our first meal," she said coyly. She ate and the food perked her up. Now she looked healthy,

happy, pleased to see me.
    "You mentioned that you were looking for me," I said between mouthfuls.
    "I was. You told me you were working up here, you didn’t tell me what you were doing."
    "Would you?"
    "No, I suppose not," she said, looking at my outfit.
    "What are
you
doing up here?" I asked, and she explained to me that her dad and her

stepmum, Sonia, were at the End of the State Bar. She’d come with them, but it was karaoke at the

moment, so she had decided to go for a walk and accidentally caught our act on the beach. Not, of

course, knowing that I was Hector until I took my helmet off.
    Simon asked her about the nuances of our performance. Kit, being polite, told him it was a

terrific show.
    "You know, when Sean got the job of Hector he knew next to nothing about sword fighting;

there’s a technique to the stage fight, choreography, much more difficult than you would think. I

taught him everything he knows," Simon said.
    "It’s true," I admitted.
    "Well, it was very impressive, I liked the javelin bit," she said. "It seemed to get very

close."
    "Oh, that was improvised," Simon said proudly.
    "Yeah, you nearly improvised me into the emergency room," I said and winked at him, nodded at

Kit, and somehow made clear that now was the time for Simon to make himself scarce.
    "Oh yeah, well, Sean, I must be heading along, see ya in the pub," he said and scarpered with

a look of ironic jealousy playing across his face.
    I binned the rest of my dinner and walked with Kit a little farther along the strand. The End

of the State Bar was a good mile up the beach and we had to thread our way through the amusement

arcades, go-cart tracks, taffy stands, fortune-tellers, cotton candy sellers, and a plastic-duck

shooting range. A lot going on but Kit wasn’t talking, there was something on her mind. I tried a

few conversational openings and got monosyllabic answers.
    "Ok, go on, just say what’s cooking in that brain of yours. You’re plotting something," I

finally demanded.
    She stopped, looked at me, and nodded.
    "Sean. I’ve been thinking about you. And, like, this is the deal. I think you should meet

Dad," she said.
    "So I can ask his permission for your hand?"
    "Jesus, Sean, be serious for a minute," Kit demanded, blushing in a way that Winona Ryder

would have killed to be capable of.
    "I am being serious," I said with increasing gravity the more I looked at her. Her blush

deepened and Winona, to extrapolate the analogy, would have been well on her way to the electric

chair.
    "No, I want you to meet my dad. It’s for your own good. But you can’t go like that. You’re

going to have to change into your regular clothes. He and Sonia won’t mind, but Jackie and

Touched are going to be with him and they’d take the piss out of you," Kit said without any

levity at all. I smiled at her. Her lips narrowed.
    "Good news and bad news. The good news is that I’d love to meet your dad. The bad news is

these are my regular clothes. The costume was the gear I had on in Revere. I dress like this all

the—"
    "Sean, stop fucking around, I’m not kidding," she interrupted, starting to get exasperated. I

leaned back on my heels and smirked at her. She was fuming a little and her face had transformed

into a delicious pout.
    "So you’ve been looking for me and thinking about me. Can’t get me out of your head, huh?" I

declared.
    "Don’t get ideas. I wasn’t thinking about you in that way. I just want you to do well in

America. My dad could really help you out. If you want to make a good impression you’re going to

have to change your outfit. Look at the state of you."
    "And now you can’t keep your eyes off me."
    "Stop saying that."
    "I’ll stop saying it but I won’t stop noticing it."
    "Come on, Sean, they’re going to