Rose-Ann and Duncan drew back a little, watching and waiting, uncomfortable spectators at a disastrous feast.

‘Katelin.’

‘Go. I’m sick of not trusting you anyway.’

‘I have to do this, and I don’t know where it’s leading, but first I want to try and explain why.’

‘I don’t care why, just go, fuck off, go on, go.’

Tears streamed down her face, this woman he’d loved, this woman who’d loved him, and he wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t change anything, that she was marvellous and magnificent and he was privileged to have shared his life with her, but that still, he had to go. He had to, had to, as if he’d been chipped and programmed, back there in Sheffield in 1979, to be with Alison Connor at any cost, if their paths crossed again, if he found her. It wasn’t fate or destiny, it was animal instinct, a primal imperative, as powerful and mysterious as the certainty that gives a swallow the strength for all those weeks on the wing, and leads it home. He didn’t speak, though. He hung his head for a moment, collecting himself, and then he picked up his jacket, his keys, his wallet, and he left the house. He was already on the street when he heard Duncan’s voice, calling him to hang on, so he waited, and his friend appeared with McCulloch on a lead.

‘She says you’re to take the dog,’ Duncan said.

‘Christ Almighty, Dunc, I’m not fit to be in charge of him.’

‘Still, though. She says you’re to take the dog. “Tell him to take the fucking dog, I’m not keeping it,” is what she said, actually. So.’ He held out the lead, and Dan took it.

‘Right,’ he said. McCulloch sniffed the afternoon air and waited for instructions.

‘You OK, pal?’ Duncan asked.

‘Not even slightly.’

‘Ring me, y’know, whenever.’

‘Thanks, mate. And keep an eye on Katelin, won’t you?’

‘You bet.’

‘Thanks, Duncan. I mean, really, thank you.’

‘No worries. Oh.’ He plunged a hand into his pocket. ‘I brought you these too. They were on the hall table.’

Earphones, oh God, he’d almost left without his earphones.

‘You’re a lifesaver, buddy, seriously,’ Dan said. ‘Look, I really should …’ He indicated the vague direction of Waverley Station with his free hand. He needed to get cracking, and he also needed a cab if he was going to make the three twenty to King’s Cross.

‘Go, yeah, course, go,’ Duncan said, but he still hung about, reluctant to go back into the house, knowing that at best he’d be a spare part in there, and at worst a hapless scapegoat for Katelin’s wrath.