They pulled up outside the pebbledash terrace Eileen had directed him to, a change of address in the last few months. A quick check that Cliodhna had got all her things – schoolbag, jumper, the wooden xylophone her father had been prompted to buy her during a stop-off in Ayr before they arrived – and there were hugs. A big sweep-up into the air and giggly descent for Uncle Donald, a tight kneeling hold from her father. As Malcolm released her, Donald saw his eyes were wet.

‘Cliodhna, I’d like you to ask your mother to come out here, please.’

‘Come on, Malcolm,’ said Donald. ‘You know the terms. She doesn’t wa—’

‘Your mother, Cliodhna. Now, you sleep well tonight, m’ghaol. And always remember you’ve got a daddy who loves you.’

Cliodhna skipped down the path and let herself into the house. It was beginning to get cold, so they got back into the car to wait for Eileen. Malcolm was silent, fuming, and Donald knew better than to risk him.

After about ten minutes, he reached over Donald and held his fist down on the horn.

‘Malcolm.’

‘I’ll speak to my wife, Donald Bain, and thank you to keep out of it.’

Nothing. He hit the horn again, this time making two, three, four blasts. A couple of lights went on in the nearby houses – it was a small, close street. A man appeared in the doorway Cliodhna had disappeared into. Malcolm was out of the van straight away, Donald following close behind.

‘Might have known. Might. Have. Known.’

‘What do you want?’ He was big, this one, some ten or fifteen years older than Donald and Malcolm, hard from a lifetime of it.

‘And who the hell are you?’

‘I could ask you the same question, sunshine. What you doing making a noise outside my house?’

‘Oh, you know who I am. Your house? Ah, she’s good. Isn’t she good, Donald? Anyway, I’d very much like to speak with my wife, please. Eileen Campbell, as she still is called and always will be.’

‘She’s not interested, pal. She’s not coming out.’

‘I have an important matter that I need to discuss with her relating to the education of my child, Cliodhna Jean Campbell, as it says on her birth certificate. I don’t see what business this is of yours.’

The man bristled like one of those muscly dogs preparing to fight. Donald was not sure they’d make it, even two on one.

‘Let me teach you right now what business it is of mine.’

As he began advancing, though, the door flew open, and Eileen was standing there, thinner still, fully made up as ever.

‘Leave him, Alec. Let me deal with him.’

She wove her tiny body in between them, catching her man by the face, stroking his cheek. He stopped still, breathed out through his nostrils. Then he turned to Donald.