But then Tommy said, “Thank you for having us,” in a low, polite voice, for all the world as though he was still eight years old and his life had never gone off track.

“It’s been so good to see you,” Fiona said faintly, and there were general murmurs of agreement. Malcolm said his goodbyes and tried to disentangle himself and Tommy as swiftly as possible, though Ed seemed particularly eager to shake both of their hands at quite some length, as if to say, No hard feelings, and then finally Malcolm and Tommy were outside in the freezing darkness and the door had closed behind them.

Tommy walked without a word round to the passenger side of the car and got in. Malcolm allowed himself a couple of seconds to breathe the night air deeply, to be alone in the safety of the darkness, before he opened the driver’s door.

He took the drive slowly, afraid of his own disorientation, the blackness of the night, the roughness of the track. He was thankful for the darkness as they passed Tommy’s old house—that, at least, was one sight they could do without at this particular moment. He gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead at the small patch of road lit up by his headlights. It was highly unlikely that they’d meet another car, but even once they were on the tarmacked main road there was the danger of going into a ditch, or into the rocks where the road cut through the hills.

Malcolm didn’t feel they could complete the whole drive in silence, but it was difficult to know what to say to Tommy. He wanted to say something—anything—to dispel this terrible feeling that had come over him, that Tommy had brought over everyone in Fiona’s small dining room.

“The food was good,” he said at last.

“Yes.”

“Fiona’s a good cook.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long silence, then Malcolm finally said, “I’m sorry about Ed.”

“I know.”

“He was drunk. And he’s a bit of an idiot even when he’s sober.”

“It’s not just him,” Tommy said. “It’s all of them.”

“They mean well.”

“Most people do,” Tommy said. Then, “Meaning well isn’t enough.”

“It’s not fair to blame them,” Malcolm said, knowing what he really meant was, It’s not fair to blame me. But of course it was.

“Why not?” Tommy said, his voice savage. “They were there, weren’t they? You all were. It didn’t come out of nowhere.”

“Tommy, it wasn’t like that. Nobody could have imagined—”

“Perhaps you’ve convinced yourselves it was none of your business. But it was your business.”

Malcolm had no answer to this.