Esme puts her hand down to indicate a child only up to her waist. She holds out a teddy for a little girl that he can’t see.

– Why is Love-a-Lot not at the tea party, Esme?

The little girl pouts and frowns. She glances towards the living room next door.

– Because not everybody Loves-a-Lot, do they?

– You are very wise now that you’re eight.

She nods gravely. Goes over to her ghetto blaster and fiddles with a tape cassette.

– Why has Mummy never loved anybody?

– Like who?

– Like my dad. The other kids at school have dads.

– Not all of them and between you and me, Esme, and don’t repeat this, I ken a fair few of their da’s and they are useless wankers.

– They dinnae have a mummy who’s been asleep since they were born though.

Ivor wants to scoop her up in his arms. She won’t take hugs easy though, unless she’s tired. It’s a thing in his family. They learn things by memory super-easy, can recite facts and figures and maths and obscure facts. They are aw a wee bit too clever, but when it comes to simple things – like hugs, just, you know, loving someone, being understood in a conversation or knowing even remotely what other people need – it’s not something they do well.

– Why urr ye no at home any mair, Uncle Ivor?

– Well, I’m just not.

– Did someone hit you?

– What?

– Jessie saw you get undressed in the bathroom and she says you have bruises aw over yer back and arms.

– Ghosts should not watch people undress!

A big smile.

Curly hair and lots of it, wide eyes – like in a cartoon.

The tap, tap, tap of the deathwatch beetles is fading.

Sun drawing close.

– It’s time to go back to sleep, Esme, and stop making up stories. They are why you are having nightmares!

Esme makes a face to the invisible guests.

He’d like to say he does not hear the faintest peal of laughter – female, high, more than one.

He looks to the bunk where she says Jessie is sitting.

This must be how a phengophobic finally loses his mind entirely.

– Scat!

Goes to lift her onto the bunk. She shakes her head. Pushes his hand away. Climbs up the wee ladder in a huff. Stares at him with her Goonies poster behind her. He’ll no be a burglar, no end up in Saughton like her da. He’ll forget the pit. Stack shelves in Tesco. Work in bars. Whatever it is, he’ll do it.

Esme peeps at him.

– Sleep tight, Esme, dinnae let the bedbugs bite.

– Nobody will bite me, Uncle Ivor, don’t be daft. Ma best friend’s mum is the devil’s daughter – she’s got horns so long they could stake a burglar through a letter box.

She stretches out her hands to emphasise – with envious glee.

– Sleep!