‘Remember and get some rest. Just an hour, after the journey. You’ve got time,’ she’d said.

‘I’m thinking I should go with you, Malcolm. I’m still not sure,’ Donald had chimed in.

‘Stop fussing at me, man! I’ll be fine to get a bus. Nice warm things, buses. You just sit down, have a wee sleep for a few hours and you’re there. Ridden a lot of Greyhounds in my day.’

Donald had done enough.

Donald was thinking of it like the old days, the sentimental bastard, when Malcolm had brought him down for visits to Cliodhna in Ayrshire, for a bit of backup. To keep him straight. Well, this was not Uncle Donnie’s time, not now. Malcolm didn’t want him here. Not today.

Would you admit that, Malcolm Campbell? Would you admit that you’re actually jealous of – no. No he would not.

Oh, why was he even bothering. Stupid idea. Stupid.

Eighteen minutes past.

How long did you wait? This must be like going on a date, he supposed. Being stood up. He was feeling fuzzy, could hear the blood rushing around his ears. He finished his water, poured more from the jug.

Twenty-two minutes past and there she was. Red and golden in the afternoon sunlight from the window. She was like him; much more than she had been in the pictures he’d seen. His features, slimmer and womanly, but undoubtedly his. His lashes, the curve of his cheek, nothing at all of her mother there.

He pushed his chair back and stood up, gripped the table to support himself and hide the shake at his knees and wrist. He was embarrassed to realize his eyes were wet.

‘Cliodhna.’

‘Malcolm.’

He went to hug her but had forgotten about the table, knocked his glass of water over.

‘Oh bugger it. Bugger it.’

She moved very quickly while he was still taking it all in, dived for the napkins to mop up the spill. He felt ridiculous, standing there staring at the top of her head, her hand’s swift motion over the table.

‘There we go,’ she said.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘So. Do you – can I give you a hug, then?’

He hardly felt her touch on him before she pulled away and sat herself down, so he followed her, and she looked at him. Steady and sure. He couldn’t read her face.

‘It was a long trip for you, if you’re staying up with Uncle Donald.’

‘It was. Aye. A long trip for you too. London, is it?’

‘For years now. Back and forth all over the place, but London’s home.’

He nodded. He’d never been to London; had nothing to contribute.

‘Busy place, isn’t it?’

‘It is. Not where I live, so much.’