‘Aye,’ said Donald. ‘He’s a bit like that, your son-in-law.’

As he watched Mansfield directing the action around the two clearly cheesed-off photographers, insisting that hands be placed just so, that they pose up the steps to the ornate entrance, he picked up on a sort of vibration coming from Eileen. She had that face on her again, and he realized she was probably feeling too many things all at once. She was a lone streak of pink in the stone courtyard, and even a babe in the woods like Donald could tell that her clothes were too bright and tight – Mansfield’s mother and sisters were flitting around in elegant jackets and dresses of beige and light green, the other men all wore grey, and apart from her flash of hair Cliodhna was a pale sickle moon, almost translucent in the sun. Despite being at the centre of every picture, she seemed to be holding herself apart from it all, smiling whenever she was told to, but off in a dream. The two women still hadn’t acknowledged each other.

‘Why don’t we get the bride’s parents up here then?’ One of the photographers was striding towards them, apparently attempting to wrest back some control. ‘Mum and dad! You’re up!’

Donald half-tried to explain, as the little man put a hand on each of their backs and shoved them towards the staircase. Eileen was silent.

‘Right. Ladies in the middle, and how about we have the groom by his new mother-in-law and Daddy by his little girl, eh?’

Eileen and Cliodhna stood side by side, obedient to a higher power.

‘Is that dress a – a nightgown?’ he heard Eileen whisper.

‘Lovely to see you too, Mum.’

‘OK, that’s nice, that’s nice. Now, ladies, can you turn in towards each other?’

A tiny curl had fallen over Cliodhna’s forehead. Eileen put a hand up to it while her daughter looked at the camera, then changed her mind and retreated.

‘Dad, Dad, can you look over here please? Dad?’

Donald suddenly realized this meant him.

‘He’s my uncle, not my dad,’ Cliodhna called out.

‘He’s not your uncle,’ Eileen muttered.

‘OK, OK, have we got enough of that one? Yeah? Great. I think that’s a wrap, eh gents?’ For once Donald was glad of Mansfield’s interference. He pulled Eileen to one side as they all made their way through crowds of tourists to the restaurant just down the hill.

‘Eileen. You’ve not seen the lassie for how long? Ten years? It’s her wedding day, and it means a lot to her that you’re here. I know it must be strange for you, I know you must be feeling – a lot of things. But you’ve not come all the way across the country for the day just to pick a fight, surely?’

‘I’m not picking a fight, Donald Bain. If anyone’s picking a fight—’