The old man coughs thickly. ‘Well, that’ll soon change! But aye, I remember. It’s terrible, all that carry-on. If you’re the last one to be picked, it’s terrible. I used to stretch out my sleeve for girls to hold, instead of my hand.’ He laughs with Sandy. Another man, the one in the Rob Roy shirt, comes up to the stage carrying pints from the bar. Niall takes one. A hip flask of whisky is in his back pocket, for later.

‘Yeah,’ Niall says, ‘they take the mick about who is dancing with who and that. She gets hung up on it.’ If only that was all of it.

‘Well,’ Sandy says, ‘look at this lot. We’ve been up and down Caithness and across Sutherland and had a smashing time. Some of the stories I could tell you. After this night, we’re taking a wee break. But surely she’ll be glad of knowing the dances some day, eh?’

The old man interrupts as he turns to Niall: ‘That reminds me. I met’ – Niall can tell he is stopping himself from saying Christine’s mum – ‘Lillith, a few times she was over, way back. I was sorry to hear when she, you know. Last year. I was sorry. I hope you’re keeping well.’

Niall shrugs. The funeral had reminded him what an old bitch she had been. ‘Aye. I’m no bad. Thank you.’ He picks up his guitar as the band begins to reassemble and guests drift back to the dance floor. One man passes close to the stage with a toothbrush in his sock instead of the traditional sgian-dubh, a hunting knife, looking for a good time. The crowd are in high spirits, especially for the most well-known dances.

He catches a glimpse of someone, a woman sitting at the back of the hall, with the same hair colour as Christine. He can’t quite see her face. When he is drunk, thoughts have a habit of intruding like this. As he plays, he pictures Christine, the first time she arrived in town from Edinburgh. He saw her buying a box of oats at the local grocer’s with a west coast accent. The summer was cool and bright, and she was hardy enough to wear a green spaghetti-strap vest. His attention was caught by a Celtic band tattooed at the top of her pale arm. He was freshly tattooed himself: an intricate cross on his left shoulder blade. Her dark-blonde hair was dyed with henna and in a complicated braid. Later, she liked to wear it in two plaits. He used to call her Minnie the Minx because it annoyed her.