‘Aye?’ Dougie muttered, eyes on the box.

The man sitting opposite Clio had a particularly irritating smug chuckle. It farted out of his mouth whenever Clio spoke, announcing that an interjection was coming. ‘Jesus,’ Adele found herself hissing. ‘Just let the lassie get a sentence out.’

Dougie had begun to chuckle right along with the man. ‘Aye, he’s right enough there. Tell you something, your school pal’s talking a fair bit of pish.’

The man on the telly swept a palm through thick silvery hair, spread his arms and legs wide in his chair, leaned forward to the camera and began a monologue. He reminded Adele of that consultant prick she’d had to argue with last month, the way he’d dismissed her with a pat on the shoulder.

‘Who is he, that guy?’ she asked Dougie.

‘Godsake, Adele, you just never know any of the politicians, do you? That’s Gordon Duke. An MP. He was the housing minister or something. Naw – he was health! You ought to know that! Pals with Brown and Blair, that lot. He’s always on the telly.’

Cliodhna was trying to talk, turn it back into conversation, but the man allowed her no space, using practised tricks to keep ploughing on. As the camera cut back to her face she got more and more agitated, and Adele could understand why. The moderator sitting in between them seemed to have no interest in letting her speak either. Suddenly she jumped up, wheeled round at the man, pointed a beautifully painted green fingernail at him. The cameras followed her quickly.

‘What an utter Judas you are, Gordon Duke. You used to actually stand up for the people. You used to actually stand for something. What are you now? An empty suit? Talking over a woman with your practised lines because your friends in Parliament have taught you that you can? Whose interests are you representing here today, Gordon? The people in your constituency? Or your posh pals down in Westminster?’

She was tall and angry and commanding, that girl on the stage at school assemblies again. The man stayed seated. The smirk spread.

‘Now now, let’s not lose our tempers, Clio.’ He was talking to her like she was a child, Adele thought, found her own face getting hot. Dougie wriggled his bum into the sofa cushions in pleasure.

A week or so later, in the break room, Ash had sidled up to Adele holding her phone.

‘I was wondering – don’t take this the wrong way or anything, and tell me to piss off if you want – but where are you on the whole Scottish independence thing?’

‘Eh. I haven’t really given it much thought, to be honest. It’s more Dougie’s thing, politics.’