I eye him. He’s wearing a pair of battered jeans that cling to his long legs and are worn white in places, teamed with a black jumper which saw better days many years ago. It’s ripped at the neck and has holes on the hem. He’s barefoot, and his hair is a mess, and I inhale the scent of linseed oil and paint.

He clears his throat, and I hastily drag my attention back to his face to find him staring at me.

“How lovely to see you again. Have you come to insult my father for a second time? Maybe you’d like to meet my mother and punch her in the face. I think I might even have a spare aunt for you to maim.”

I groan. “Ack, I’m so sorry. I am here to apologise.” I brandish the bottle I’m holding. “I bring a sorry gift.”

He whistles. “That’s an expensive apology. That whisky is about sixty quid.”

I shrug. “It’s a very big apology.”

He eyes me, and then to my astonishment, he grins, displaying a dimple in his left cheek. “Nah, it’s fine,” he says. “He’s my stepfather, and you weren’t wrong. He’s extremely fond of the sound of his own voice. You should try spending a day with him.”

“No, thank you,” I say quickly, in case he’s thinking of forcing me to do it. I tap my fingers against my leg restlessly. “So, you are Laurie Gentry.”

“You say it as though you’re announcing the queen.”

“Probably because it should have the same effect. Your sister Lennie might have mentioned you to me once or twice.”

He bites his lip. “What a very small world we live in.”

I shake my head. “Did you know who I was this morning?” I gesture towards the corridor.

“Not at first.” He smiles. “I was a teeny bit distracted by the man with the exposed genitals, but then I rallied and realised that you were the Magnus who was at uni with Chris and Lennie, and who I’ve heard so much about.”

“Probably only extremely good things,” I say. “And yes, I was at university with Chris and then later, Lennie, when she came into his life. For my sins,” I add sourly and he starts to laugh. “Ack, I should have guessed when I saw you. You even look like Luke.”

“Now there’s no need to get nasty,” he says happily and swings the door fully open. “Come in.” He takes the bottle from me. “You can help me drink it,” he calls as he turns and walks away.

I follow him, noticing that he walks with a slight limp, which explains the uneven footsteps I’d heard earlier.

He glances back and sees where my gaze is. “Sorry,” I say. “You’re limping.”

“Car accident a few months ago,” he says cheerfully.

“Good grief, are you alright?”