“The wedding?”

“Maybe. No, the messing with the drink, I meant. With the no drink, I should say.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it now, but Shea’s a recovering alcoholic.”

“So the likes of me has to pour that stuff in the bowl into me gullet?”

“I don’t know now, James. I rather enjoyed the punch myself.”

“ ‘Punch,’ is it? Fairy piss. Turned me stomach, so it did.”

Minogue looked around the pub. The tables were covered with empty glasses. A girl with yellow and pink hair, a tattoo of a snake on her shoulder and a black tank top was looking at Kilmartin. The man next to her wore a half-dozen ear-rings. His head was shaved bald up to a topknot. Kilmartin returned the woman’s stare for several moments.

“Welcome to civilisation,” he muttered. He waved to the barman and called for drinks. He rubbed his hands and fell to looking at the bottles on the shelves.

“Never been to a dry wedding in me life. Honest to God. Can’t even spell Methodist. As for getting married in a registry office, well… At least Aine gave God a look in.”

Minogue raised an eyebrow.

“I meant the few bits of things she said right after signing the forms,” said Kilmartin. “The ‘God is love’ thing. Of course, she’s deep enough into the religion and all. Missionary, of course. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

He lowered his brow and squinted at Minogue.

“But you and I well know she’ll have her work cut out for her with Hoey-sure he’s a hairy pagan. Your influence, I might add. Oh well, love is blind.”

Minogue eyed the Chief Inspector.

“ ‘God is love,’ ” he said. “Right?”

“Good man,” said Kilmartin. “You’re getting the idea. There’s hope for you yet.”

“And ‘Love is blind.’ Right?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking.”

“Then God is blind. Right?”