‘And yours,’ she said, then looked down. She knows, he thought, suddenly. She’s only here because she knows. And she’ll only know because Donald will have told her. A guilt trip, maybe, go and see your old dad before he pops it. Donald. Her ‘Uncle’ Donald. As interfering as a bloody woman. Always there where he wasn’t wanted.

He pulled himself up tall, took a big sip. Perfumed vinegar. Wersh. Those stupid bubbles. He’d never really liked champagne, or any sort of wine, but he wasn’t going to show that now, in this fancy place, with this fancy woman already half-pitying him.

‘Aaah. That’s the stuff. And good stuff, too. So, this gig. Tomorrow. Why is it only two songs you’re doing?’

‘Well, it’s a rally. After a march. There’s going to be a big demonstration tomorrow, against the war. Then they get loads of speakers and musicians on after.’

‘The war?’

‘In Iraq. George Bush is visiting London, so.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s important. Making a big public stand. I saw they were doing it while I was up visiting you anyway; I know the organizers from a while back – we used to march against the poll tax together, back when I lived up here.’

‘Aye. Donald did mention you did a bit of that, but I’d thought you’d maybe grown out of it.’

‘Grown out of what?’

‘All this – marching. Marching. Stupid business. That’s your mother you’ve got that from, so it is. I mean, what’s it going to do? It’s not like your whatsisname Tony Blair or whatever is actually going to be there, is he? He’s not in Edinburgh. You can’t stop these bastards from doing what they want to do and hang the ordinary people. It never changes, lass, believe your old father here. You know that. You’re hardly a wee girl now, are you? All the likes of you and me can hope to do is cheer them up with a couple of tunes. That’s why we were put on this earth. That’s our purpose, you and me. You’ve got a God-given gift in that throat of yours, lass – you use that rather than your feet. Sing a song for people and at least you give them some hope.’

She took a drink, a big greedy drink. Attagirl, he thought.

‘Is that not worse, though? Giving them hope? If in your opinion nothing is going to change?’

He laughed.

‘We’re all going to die, my lovely. I don’t know about you but I’d rather skip off to the gallows with a smile on my face than spend the walk worrying about rope burn.’