‘No, there’s nobody else at the moment. I’m at a stage in my life where I’m just happy with me.’

‘Fair enough. Fair enough. Your stepmother was like that. Till she met me, of course! Nothing wrong with that for a woman. No need for all that flapping about with babies or whatever when you’ve got a voice like that. It’s your gift to the world, isn’t it?’

Those thin lips.

‘So. What are you planning on doing with yourself, Dad? Now you’re back here.’

She hadn’t noticed the slip, and he didn’t want to spoil things by pointing it out to her, but he felt the blood flow through him a little faster. He busied himself topping up their glasses, trying to hide his smile, feeling the need to celebrate this one. She could ‘Malcolm’ him all she liked, but somewhere in there behind the skinny smile he was still her dad, and he always would be.

‘Oh, you know. I’m going to get myself back out there. Do some gigging again. Actually, while we’re here – there’s a great auld folk pub you might know? The Sandy Bell’s? Your un— Donald says it’s still going strong. Anyway, I thought I’d swing by there this evening; brought the bodhrán down especially, see if there’s a wee jam happening. Fit myself back into the old networks again, get a few things in the pipeline. See if anyone’s needing a session guy. Well, you know how it works. In fact –’ and he was careful to make it look like the idea was just then dawning on him ‘– why don’t we finish this bottle and head there together? I bet you’d go down a storm – they’d all know who you are, and we could do a wee daddy–daughter number! I mean, I bet there’s folk there don’t even know we’re related. “Auld Lang Syne”, it used to be when you were tiny, you and me at the end of a gig. All the tourists in tears. The tips were amazing on those nights.’

Something in her face closed even further down. He wasn’t sure what the hell had happened.

‘I’m not really a folk singer. It’s not my scene so much.’

‘Ach, come on. You know the songs. They’d eat you up out there.’

‘Well, I put my guitar and my bags in a left-luggage locker at the station there. I can only really afford three hours of it.’

‘Bring the guitar! All the better!’

‘Not my bags too, though. And my friends are expecting me.’

‘They could come along. Be nice for them to see, no? You could use it as a wee trailer for tomorrow, for your big Princes Street Gardens gig.’

‘It’s not – no, Malcolm. Not this time. It’s not going to be possible.’

‘Maybe another time then?’

‘Maybe.’