Ann-Marie clears her throat in the dingy pickup. ‘I wanted to say … Lauren was asking the other day. About … I thought I should tell you. She seems quite disturbed.’

‘What?’

‘She … she seems troubled. She wanted to know about … her mum.’

The truck drifts out to the middle of the road and Ann-Marie clutches the handle.

‘Y’all right, Niall?’

Niall suppresses a hiccup and mutters, ‘Fine.’

‘I just thought I should tell you. I realized – I realized I don’t really know what happened.’

‘I don’t want to chat about that.’ The memories fade into the black. These Walkers can’t leave him alone. ‘Like mother like daughter,’ he mutters.

‘What was that?’

He doesn’t answer.

‘I’m sorry, it’s hard,’ Ann-Marie replies.

‘I’m not being funny, like, but – I don’t know. Coming into my truck and chatting about that?’ A bitterness overtakes him. ‘You’d better mind I don’t tell your parents about your sneaky wee drink habit.’ The road stretches ahead. ‘Wouldn’t be so perfect to them then, would you? Jeez.’ They drive some way in silence before he starts to talk again. ‘You’re just like – you’re just like your mother. Ask any more of those questions and you can … piss off back to Edinburgh.’ The last phrase comes out as a mumble.

He glances over and sees Ann-Marie looking resolutely out of the window. He starts up again. ‘I’m not talking about that, OK? She’s gone. Gone. Nothing is “conclusive”. It was all fucked up and she’s gone.’

‘OK. I’m sorry,’ Ann-Marie says.

He indicates and the clicking noise soothes the silence. They turn off the main road and drive down the forest track. The uneven stones and potholes make the ride bumpier. The pines are dark and dense. No other cars are about. Niall dips the headlamps to a half-beam that spreads into a yellow pool of light in front of them.

‘You all right, Niall?’ she asks again.

He grunts.

Ann-Marie crosses her legs in the tight space. ‘You sure?’

‘I’m fine!’ He swerves the truck into the road and Ann-Marie jolts to one side, clinging to the door handle. ‘Jeez.’ Niall carries on looking ahead but he can see her out of the corner of his eye.

‘OK. Niall? I’m fine just here. Here.’ When he looks over properly she is pressed against the door.

‘Sorry about that,’ he murmurs. One hand reaches about for a can or a hip flask in the space near her legs but finds nothing.

‘Look,’ she says. ‘Please. This is nearly me home. Just drop me in the passing place. I can walk the rest of the way, no bother.’

‘No, no, I have to get you home.’ The truck bumps against the roadside and drifts closer to the stony verge.

‘Niall, please.’

‘Can’t have you walking.’ He says it almost sarcastically.