‘Well, no. No. I’ll just – aye, I’ll just have some chips too. Chips and champagne! That’s a song title right there for you!’

‘And a jug of water please. Tap water.’

The waiter drifted off.

‘Look, Malcolm. You don’t need to do that – you don’t need to feel that you have to spend a lot of money or anything. If you’ve not got it.’

He waved her off, embarrassed, wished she’d stop.

‘I’m fine. I’m fine. Got it covered.’ He winked, tried to slap the charm on her. ‘Come on, beautiful. Let’s see those boots on you, eh?’

It came out wrong and they both winced, but she pulled the boots on under the table, stuck a leg through the drapes for him to see.

‘How do they feel?’

‘Roomy, but that’s OK. I’ll wear them with big socks.’

‘You will wear them?’

‘I will.’

‘Because it was quite a travail bringing them over, let me tell you. I’d hate to think they were just going to gather dust.’

‘I’ll wear them. I’ll wear them onstage tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Aye. I’m playing a couple of tunes tomorrow at Princes Street Gardens. The big bandstand.’

‘Really! Oh, I need to see that. Maybe I could get a different bus, stay a bit.’

‘It’s late on in the afternoon. Might be about five. You’d never get all the way back up north after. Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.’

‘Princes Street Gardens, though. That sounds like a big deal to me. I’d like to be there, Cliodhna. As your da— father. I’ve only ever seen you singing on the Internet.’

‘Really. I don’t want to make you hang around here for two extra nights. Not in a hotel. Not for five minutes or whatever. It’s just two songs. No, no.’

‘Well, you could maybe show me around a bit? Didn’t Donald tell me you used to live here?’

‘Briefly. Back when I was married. A long time ago. But I’m staying with friends, Malcolm. I’ve got quite a lot to do before the gig tomorrow – I wouldn’t want you to feel out of place. We’ll just – this is our time, right here.’

Well, he was a man who could see a no. He’d always prided himself on that. Not pushing something like a daft laddie, embarrassing himself. The girl didn’t want him to come and that was clear. No point trying. The champagne arrived, was popped undemonstratively under a tea towel. Malcolm said ‘Wahey!’ anyway, felt immediately foolish for it. The bottle was seated between them, in its own little silver high chair, ice clanking every time one of them moved.

Their glasses filled, he bent his head to his daughter.

‘Well. Slàinte mhath, my dear. Your very good health.’