‘Brodie? What kinda name is that?’ I smiled again, not really knowing how to answer such a question, and waited for a moment when I could ask about Graham Marshall. A shadow of recognition passed across her face before she smiled back at me. I wasn’t prepared for what came next. ‘Brodie!’ she chortled. ‘Oh, aye. I only remember one wee lassie with that name. Wis your mother Mary McLennan from the flats?’

Ina Gibbon had managed to link our worlds after all. Everybody in Leith knew my mum, and the flats where I’d lived. And the fact that my mother had chosen to name me after the tea factory that could be seen from our window had been a source of amusement to everyone as I was growing up. I nodded. ‘A very nice woman, your mother…what brings you down here, Brodie?’ she asked, suspicion still written all over her face. ‘You’re no’ a journalist, are you?’ she asked.

I shook my head; she said nothing, waiting for me to reveal my profession. I remained silent; one thing I was sure of was that being a lawyer wouldn’t go down any better than being a journalist.

The canteen was filling up. I couldn’t see the patrons because the shutters were still down, but I could hear them and, most of all, I imagined I could smell them. Dr Marshall was still nowhere to be seen and I saw no escape. Ina was watching me like a hawk and my lack of an answer hadn’t helped matters. If I wanted anything from her, I’d have to give something back. She’d thought of it before I did.

‘You’re in charge of ladling the soup. Keep it stirred; there’ll be a riot if you give them thin, watery muck. They need the kind of stuff that will stick to their ribs. It’s cold out there at night, very cold. God bless them, we’ve even lost a few of the laddies and lassies recently–poor souls must be freezing to death,’ Ina said as she opened up the hatch.

They came with empty bowls on their trays. I sloshed soup into them and Ina gave them a bread roll. I never thought it would happen, but the line did eventually come to an end. ‘Go out and speak to them, hen,’ the old woman commanded when we’d finished serving. ‘Join them at their tables and make them feel human–that’s even more important than food.’ She shooed me out of the kitchen clutching a bowl of soup. I stood for a second like the new kid in the playground, and then I spotted the pair from the front door and began to move towards them.