Backstage, Neil tried to stay out of everyone’s way. There were a few musicians dotted about, tuning up, a socialist MSP he recognized from the telly. Fifteen years ago, he reflected, this would have been Gogsy Duke in his element, networking and charming, making everyone feel warm and enthused, part of the same project. But the Right Honourable member for Glasgow Possil toed the party line now, would not allow himself to be even tenuously associated with an event created to be critical of his boss. Gogsy had voted to invade Iraq. Neil had overheard one of the subs in the office chuckling about it when they got the list of MP votes through, about how the mighty had fallen, something like that. People always found it funny when principled men betrayed themselves. Neil had got drunk that night, by himself, in the Albannach, avoiding his colleagues’ eyes and not talking. Drinking by himself.

And then, like a ghost, as though the thought of Gogsy had summoned her, there was Clio. A light touch on his arm, a waft of something female and flowery. Of course she was there. It made perfect sense.

‘Long time, stranger.’

She was there, and she was talking like a dame from an old movie. They hugged and she held tightly on to his neck, let him keep his arms on her waist, one, two, three.

‘You doing a wee turn at this, then?’

‘I am. All very last minute. Special guest yet to be announced, that’s me. Play the hit.’

‘I thought you were living in London.’

‘I still am. Sometimes. Been in Europe a bit. Up north some more. I go where it takes me. But today I’m here.’

‘Flying visit?’

‘Megabus back down tomorrow morning. You look well, Neil. It’s good to see you. Listen, I’m going to go and get warmed up now, but how about we get a drink or something later? Have you got any plans?’

He did not. She retreated back into the darkness and the crowd started clapping, a few whistles, the loudest they’d been all day, as the writer took the stage. He was passionate, he was well spoken, he drew laughs and stoked outrage, expertly. He made them feel good about themselves and their involvement in this cause, fed their anger, inspired them to think of doing more, if only in that moment. And Neil could not record a single bit of it, because his tape had run out. He let himself ease closer and closer to the wings, drawing a couple of looks from the organizers, trying at least to memorize some of the lines that got the biggest responses, whispering them over to himself so he missed the next sentence, lost track of what was being said.