‘Is it time now?’

‘Aye. Let’s go.’

Once he’d escorted her the ten or so steps to her winking fool of a groom, he turned and sat himself down by Eileen. Protocol seemed to demand it. Her jaw was locked in place, her hands fretting at the hem of her pink jacket.

‘It’s good you came,’ he whispered, corner of his mouth, as the registrar droned through some sort of legal requirement.

‘It’s my daughter’s wedding, Donald Bain. I’d not miss that, thank you very much.’

Cliodhna did not turn her head to them once during the brief ceremony, which he was glad of, as Eileen sat there with an expression that suggested she smelled something terrible. Maybe she did and it was himself. Anytime someone wasn’t speaking, he could hear the plasticky fabric rubbing between her fingers, little wheech wheech noises.

And it was done, and they kissed, and everyone applauded, even Eileen. Clio beckoned him up as they took their seats for the official bit. He wasn’t sure where to stand, and the registrar wasn’t much use, seemed to have tuned out. Eventually he wandered off to the side, turned half away so he couldn’t see Eileen’s black-crayoned scowl, and struck up the tune Clio had asked him for, gentle and soft and slow. ‘The Northern Lass’. It went on a little longer than it took them to sign their names, and he was conscious that they were all sitting there waiting for him to finish, Mansfield smirking a bit at his audience, so he stopped after the second verse.

‘And thank you, Donald,’ the new groom said, his vowels flatter and posher than they had been with the lads on the tour. ‘Now, everyone, my wife and I –’ again, that pause for recognition; one of his sisters let out an obliging whoop! ‘– would like you all to join us in the square outside for the photos. We’ve got a couple of photographers with us – Ernie, who’s doing the shots for us, and a snapper from the Scotsman’s society pages. So, best smiles on and all that!’

Donald marvelled at the man again. Here he was, talking to a small gathering of relatives, and his voice still had that soft greasy tone like he was introducing a singer in a club. The couple set off down the aisle, grinning at each other, and the room emptied quickly. He hung back, seeing Eileen just standing there, let the Mansfield family file out before he went to her.

‘Well then, Eileen. Shall we go downstairs?’

He offered her his arm, for some reason, and she took it, although she barely came up past his elbow herself. Her grip was tight, and they stood very still together for a second until the registrar coughed importantly at their backs.

‘Society pages,’ Eileen said, quietly, as they walked down the stairs.