“Well, this is probably the best place for him to get back into it again. The reason why I mentioned it is that, eventually, you and I will be away from the factory quite a bit, and he’ll need to have a way of getting to and from work.”

“In that case, we can both take our lives in our hands and let him start this afternoon.”

“Okay. And then maybe in a couple of days when he’s got back into the way of it, you can stop by our house on your way into work and drive me here in the Merc.”

Dan looked uncertain. “Well, let’s just see how Josh gets on, shall we?”

“What’s the matter? Don’t think I can manage it?”

“I’m sure you can, Patrick, but maybe Katie might think differently.”

“Don’t worry. I know my limitations—and that’s all that matters, right?”

The remark was not made as a lighthearted quip, but more as a firm directive. It took Dan by surprise.

“If you say so,” he replied, determined not to show outright acceptance of the idea. He watched as Patrick negotiated the shallow ramp that had been built for him at the door, then turned to find that Josh had two boxes of neatly packed prawns already sitting on the table in front of him. Dan guessed that the expression of delight on his face was not so much due to the successful completion of the task as with the fact that Maria José was standing close to him and bathing him in brown-eyed congratulations.

16

That’s your full fry-up, Ronnie,” said Eck, the proprietor of the Cormorant Café, as he slid a plate brimming with eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, and tomatoes across the table.

Ronnie Macaskill held a hand to the edge of the Formica top to stop the plate from overshooting and ending up in his lap. He rolled his copy of the Daily Record into a tube and placed it at the side of the table next to the battered black notebook and mobile phone. “Thanks, Eck,” he said, glancing up at the man as he sidled back to his place behind the counter, wiping his hands on his stained white apron.

He took a large mouthful of his breakfast just as his mobile rang. He pulled a small paper napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped his hands, and then picked up the phone, checking the source of the call on the screen before hitting the SPEAK button. “Good morning, Betty,” he said, gulping down his food. “How are things with you in Fort William?”

“Oh, it’s a fine day here now, Ronnie,” the office manager at Seascape replied in her euphonious voice. “That wretched cold weather seems to have moved on, so maybe we’ll be getting that Indian summer after all.”