‘Ach, the girl will be fine. She is fine. She’s somebody else’s daughter now, don’t you know. The big man made of meat. And she’ll carry on going to her meaty school, and her mother will get her the right kind of job, and then she’ll get herself hitched to another big meaty miner. That’s what’s going to happen to wee Jeanie Johnstone, Donald. And maybe it’s for the best that I’m not around to see it, as I’ve been able to do bugger all to stop it happening so far.’

‘Havers. Cowardice, that’s what that is. You’re cowardly and lazy, Malcolm Campbell, too lazy to make the effort, to be any sort of presence at all in that girl’s life. Too cowardly to be there for her. That’s all you are.’

Malcolm pulled himself up. The other men in the bar were trying not to look at them.

‘I divorced the last person who spoke to me like that. Maybe I should divorce you too, Donald. It seems like it might be time.’

And he got up and walked out.

He did sound like Eileen, Donald realized. Well, maybe Eileen had had the measure of Malcolm all along.

He watched Malcolm leave from the hilltop above the ferry, scooping up his various bags, the only foot passenger that day. And the first thing he thought to do was write to the girl and let her know.

With Malcolm gone, Eileen didn’t reply to his letters as often. Cliodhna’s birthday was coming up and he suggested organizing the usual seaside trip; no response came until six weeks after the date, that she was sorry, it had been a busy one this year. He saw the girl once more, when she was twelve, when Eileen agreed to let him come down – not take her out for a trip, that wouldn’t be right – but just come and hand over a birthday present, sit there awkwardly in the living room till Eileen said gently that they were going over to Alec’s mum’s for their tea and he’d probably need to be getting back on the road, no? Cliodhna had hugged him tight before he left, but they’d both been aware of the absence he brought in with him, and he reckoned she was probably happier once he’d gone.