– I ken exactly what you mean, it’s so posh it makes me itch, he agrees.

– The thing about Baśka Murmańska – is she was a testament not to war, but to love. What the soldiers couldn’t give in the war to those they loved, they could give freely – to this wild creature. Baśka Murmańska saved each and every one of them. Straight up. She did it for love.

– It’s a dangerous business, he says.

– War?

– Love.

– Aye, it is that.

– Unsurvivable at times, he watches Flora carefully.

– I’d rather my mind was gone, she whispers.

Round tear-filled eyes glitter in the mirror behind him. The barman has dimples and a quiet, assured manner. If only she could love a man like him, one that was actually decent.

She has to do this.

Just walk a few doors along.

Go down into Luckenbooth Close, then go up to 2F2. Don’t climb up the drainpipe. Those days are over. Take the stairs. Go to his landing. Knock lightly. Wait until he opens the door. Appear to be a reasonable human being. That’s the tricky bit. He sees her reasonable human being and raises her a lunatic.

– Why is it a certain kind of love brings out our worst selves? Flora asks.

– That’s the real one does that.

– Why?

– Dunno. It’s like a poultice. Draws it out.

– The madness?

– Aye! If love can heal us then first it has to pull all our demons right up to the surface, no? How can we slay what we can’t first see?

– I think you’re right, she says.

Flora’s eyes glow with her own brightness.

– You know what happened to Robert the Bruce’s heart? the barman asks.

He pushes olives in a fancy glass jar over to her and she ignores them as they lean closer together.

– No? What happened to Robert the Bruce’s heart in the end?

– They cut it out, cast it in iron and gave it to Sir James Douglas to wear in a metal urn around his neck day and night.

– Why?

– To take it on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Robert insisted.

– The dead ay! So fucking demanding. Why the Holy Land? Was it the only place able to purify his murderous heart?

The barman nods.

His eyes have flecks of gold in them.

He lights another cigarette for her.

A double flame in his eyes.

He taps the packet and lights his own, touches her hand as he drops the flame.

– I know someone with a heart like that, Flora says.

They are still too close together. She holds her cigarette in long thin fingers. They can both stay warm in this glow for a wee while more. Ignore the lawyers behind them, filing out the front door.

– Did he make it to Jerusalem?

– No, he didn’t, the barman shakes his head.

– Of course not.