Malcolm nodded. Carefully, he refitted the bracket into the frame. “What’s your plan?”

“I think I’ll try Glasgow,” Tom said. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find a job there. I’m not fussy.”

“Aye. O.K. But like I said, there’s no rush, is there? Mull it over for a couple of days.”

“Yeah.” But he knew he had to go. He said, “Shall we have pasta tonight? I could do the mushroom thing again.”

“Good idea.” Malcolm picked up the shelf. “Could you get the other end now?”

Tom came forward and together they lifted the shelf up to lay it back across the restored brackets.

“Tommy, you’re holding your end up too high,” Malcolm said after a minute of ineffective manoeuvring. “It won’t go on like that.”

“You’re holding your end too low,” Tom said, eliciting a huff of amusement from his uncle.

“Bring it down a bit, will you?” Malcolm said. “No, not that much.” Then, finally, with mild exasperation: “Just stand back and let me do it. You’re more of a hindrance than a help.”

Tom obediently let go and stepped back, and, a moment later, Malcolm had fitted the shelf in place.

Returning at this point, Kathy inspected the shelf and beamed at them. “Good as new. You men have your uses after all. Thanks so much, both of you.”

“Aye,” Malcolm said dryly. “Tommy was a great help.”

As Malcolm chatted to Kathy and began to fill a basket with shopping, Tom glanced out of the window and saw a car pulling up by the post office. Watching Fiona McKenzie climb out, he hesitated, then said to Malcolm, “Just nipping outside for a moment. Back soon.”

He caught up with Fiona at the bottom of the post office steps.

“Fiona,” he said, raising his voice to catch her attention, and inadvertently making her jump. “Sorry. I just . . . wanted to say hi.”

“Hello,” Fiona said, somewhat coldly, meeting his eye briefly then glancing back to the post office door.

Seeing she was about to walk on, Tom said quickly, “Look, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about the other night. Sorry I was so rude. It was uncalled for.”

He thought Fiona wasn’t going to reply, but after a moment she nodded and said, “We all have off days.”

Tom tried to smile at her. “I seem to have a lot of them.”

Fiona faltered. She half turned back to the steps, but then stopped and looked at him again. “You must understand that it’s nothing personal,” she said.

“No.”

“It’s just difficult for people to see you back here.”

Tom controlled himself, managed to nod and say in a measured voice, “It can’t be easy having it all stirred up again. What my father did—I know it affected everyone.”