“Fine,” Fiona said angrily, unable to explain why she was angry. “He seemed fine. We had quite a long chat.”

“That’s nice.”

It isn’t nice, Fiona thought. It isn’t nice.

“I’m pleased for Malcolm, having Tommy back,” Gavin said.

“Malcolm doesn’t know him. None of us do.”

“Don’t be silly,” Gavin said, returning to his paper. “He grew up here. He’s one of us.”

“Don’t you remember what he was like?” Fiona said. “He was out of control. He was frightening, by the end.”

“No he wasn’t.”

“He attacked me,” Fiona said.

“Oh hen, no he didn’t.”

“He threw that thing at me—that ornament. Don’t you remember? It could have killed me.”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

She was quiet, furious.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gavin said, “and it isn’t fair.”

“What am I thinking then?” she said.

“You’re thinking that he’s like his father.”

“Well, perhaps he is.”

“No, Fi.”

There was a silence. Fiona thought Gavin wasn’t going to say anything else, but then he let the newspaper rest in his lap and said, “I saw them too, actually. This morning. Down by the harbour.”

This was so like him, to bring it up as an afterthought.

“Really?” Fiona said. “Did you speak to them?”

“Aye,” Gavin said. “I invited them round to eat with us. I meant to say.”

Fiona had been going to pick up her book again, but now she froze. “You did what?”

“Invited them round.”

“Without asking me first! Why would you do that?”

Gavin shrugged. “It seemed unfriendly not to. And it’s only a meal, after all.”

“I don’t want him here,” Fiona said.

Gavin looked at her searchingly for a moment. “Fi,” he said at last. “You have to let it go—this . . . thing about Tommy. It wasn’t his fault.”

“I don’t have a ‘thing’ about Tommy,” Fiona said coldly. “But I’d have liked to have been consulted first, about the meal I’ll be cooking, in my own home, for someone we barely know, after all.”

“I’m consulting you,” Gavin said with exaggerated patience, “now. You can name the day. I said we’d ring up to arrange it.”

Fiona was silent.

“What do you think will happen, hen?” Gavin said, his infuriating good humour returning. “Do you think he might murder us all when he comes round?”

“It’s not funny,” Fiona said, her voice rising. “That’s a terrible thing to say. I don’t understand how you can joke about it.”

Gavin was unmoved. “It happened more than twenty years ago,” he said. “It was a horrible thing, but there it is. Life goes on.”