“Aye,” Tommy said. “That’d be nice. Thank you.” His accent had thickened slightly, Malcolm thought; he sounded more like a Scotsman now.

While Malcolm heated up the beans, Tommy hung around the kitchen, offering help sporadically, turning the pages of the newspaper that lay on the table without seeming to read any of it, and generally putting Malcolm on edge. Should have picked up beer in the shop, Malcolm thought. Something to offer Tommy, something to ease the atmosphere of awkward formality that seemed to have returned. But when he apologized and suggested getting some beer the next day, Tommy said, “No. Thank you. I don’t drink.”

“Are you sure you’re a Baird man?” Malcolm said, then immediately regretted it. “I don’t drink much myself, truth be told,” he amended.

“I used to,” Tommy said. “Used to drink a lot, actually. I stopped recently. It was . . . getting out of hand.”

Oh Jesus, Malcolm thought. So perhaps that was part of it.

“Wise decision,” he said, keeping his voice neutral.

After Malcolm had served the food, Tommy said, “This is nice,” and then made no further comment for some time.

Eventually, his plate nearly finished, Tommy said, “Do most people . . .” and then stopped, began again. “Do you think everyone round here remembers me?”

Malcolm glanced up at him. “Yes.”

“There was a man on the ferry with me,” Tommy said. “He lives here. Ross something.”

“Ross Johnston, I suppose that’ll be.”

“He talked to me,” Tommy said. “A lot.”

“That’ll be Ross then.”

“He seemed to recognize me. And then when I said my name . . .”

Better get used to that, Malcolm thought. At least they could rely on Ross to spread the news round the whole island within a couple of days, even without any help from Kathy and Fiona, so people could meet Tommy face to face without staring too much. “You don’t remember him from when you were little?” he said.

“Not really.”

“He can certainly talk, that man.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, with feeling.

“We’re all used to it now, I suppose,” Malcolm said. “He used to drive me mad, though. I got in a fight with him once.”

“You didn’t.”

“Is it so hard to believe? We were teenagers. It’s the only fight I’ve ever been in.” He didn’t count his father.

“What was it about?” Tommy said.

“I can’t remember.”

“A girl?”

Malcolm laughed at this. “There were hardly enough girls on the island to have fights over. No, I can’t remember what it was over. Something stupid, I’m certain of that.”

Tommy took a swig of water and said, “I can’t imagine you fighting with anyone.”

“Like I said, it was just the once.”

Tommy looked away, looked out of the window, though there was nothing to see except darkness beyond it. “I used to get in fights, didn’t I? After I came to live with you.”