‘How do you mean?’ Niall swings his guitar on his back.

‘Lauren deserves something nice—’

‘She’s only ten.’

‘Aye, sure. I took my niece to Waltzing Waters the other month. She loved it.’

‘Oh right. Waltzing Waters. Uh-huh. I have bills to pay for her, you know.’

‘Just a thought, pal. Do whatever you want.’ He looks at the hip flask sticking out of Niall’s shirt pocket.

Niall puts his hand on Sandy’s shoulder and looks unblinkingly into his grey eyes. ‘No, you’re right. I’m no the best father.’

Sandy grins up to the ceiling. ‘I wasn’t saying that, Niall.’

Niall turns, shaking him off. A woman winds out of his way. Too late, he realizes it was Catriona. ‘Well. I’m not. Don’t—’

Sandy pulls him back, yanking his arm hard, to speak in his ear. ‘Dinna gie us that. I know you’ve bills, Niall.’

The sound of his own name is irritating. ‘Get aff me, man.’ He is relieved that Catriona and any other young women in the room have disappeared.

Sandy’s voice is heavy with self-importance. ‘Thanks for doing me a favour. Now, you going to be OK getting back? I’m putting you in the car with Malcolm Walker.’

In the nursery, Lauren hears a low sound that crawls into her sleep: heavy tyres on gravel. Then there’s Angela’s soft voice downstairs and her father, louder and less controlled. Malcolm’s voice rises in a question. Her father answers against the groan of the stairs. The nursery door opens and he lifts her in his arms. ‘Stay sleeping,’ he says, his voice heavy with alcohol. ‘Stay sleeping.’ He carries her downstairs on unsteady feet, through the back door, the air changing from old furniture to the burnt wood, to night air. He whispers to another person, ‘Don’t worry about it. No, no.’ But they get into a car that smells of carpet cleaner. It moves smoothly. She half opens her eyes and sees lights. The car stops and they are outside again, with a thud of the door. Her father whispers something harshly. Angela’s voice is too low to make out. Lauren feels Niall’s waterproof coat as he carries her into the house and up the stairs. The smell of her old blankets. A sense of disappointment. She hears her father slam the door to go back outside. The air is faintly fetid. She goes to the window to open it and sees him sitting on the low wall in the bitter cold, a bright ember from his cigarette falling into ash.