Rebecca snatched the papers away. ‘My lawyer will be in touch. I’m going to sue, I’m going to put this place out of business. You won’t even stick to an agreement your dad made. That’s how you honour him.’

‘Don’t you dare speak about honour,’ Jenny said.

‘He promised me.’

‘He lied to you,’ Dorothy said, finding her voice. She looked at Jenny, Indy still hovering in the hallway behind. She avoided looking at the Baxter party, the minister’s face. ‘He lied to all of us.’

Rebecca looked from Jenny to Dorothy and back again. She swallowed hard and spoke to Dorothy. ‘Why did you come back round?’

Dorothy frowned. ‘What?’

‘You came to our house yesterday morning, spoke to my daughter then left. Natalie is traumatised by all this, people talking about her dad.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dorothy said. She thought about Natalie’s hair fibres in the police lab. ‘I wanted to explain to you in person, but I lost my nerve.’

Jenny narrowed her eyes at Dorothy.

Rebecca lowered her head. ‘Do you know what it’s like?’ She seemed to be talking to herself. ‘To have someone just disappear? Your husband, gone forever.’

Dorothy didn’t know what to say.

Rebecca’s shoulders slumped, all fight gone.

‘A girl needs a father,’ she said.146

Dorothy shared a look with Jenny, then reached out and touched Rebecca’s elbow. This time she let herself be led away. Dorothy closed her eyes as she passed Jenny and thought about husbands and wives, fathers and daughters.

147

28

JENNY

Sunshine and traffic noise, the chatter of Spanish students at the next table. They were sitting outside a Brazilian restaurant on Lothian Street, green-and-yellow flags everywhere, boards advertising cheap tapas and pints of Brahma from Sunday to Wednesday. Orla Hook had a large glass of Shiraz in front of her as she fiddled with her wedding ring. It was lunchtime and the place was busy. Jenny would always know this place as Negociants, a late-night café in her student days, and an even later club downstairs. It had been one of the few places in town open till 3 a.m. where you didn’t have to pay entry. All the pubs and clubs had changed since she was a teenager, the turnover of styles and décor rolling onward all the time. Across the road was Bristo Square, which had also been transformed and gentrified, surrounded by Edinburgh Uni buildings and full of students soaking up the last sunshine of late summer.

‘Students,’ Orla said, rolling her eyes.

Jenny examined her. Orla was too young to remember the comedy character who used to rage against students. So maybe there was no irony, maybe she just really hated students. Which was interesting, given that she worked in the payroll department of the university on Chambers Street.

‘Don’t you have to work with them all day?’