‘Was I? That sounds about right. My Nessie – Vanessa, my wife, God rest her soul – she used to say to me, One topic at a time, Calum. I feel like I’m talking to six different people when I have a conversation with you!’ He gave a sheepish shrug, then produced a wallet from his pocket as the barmaid dumped their drinks on the bar and muttered a price. So he was a widower, Alison registered, wondering if he had actually talked his wife to death.

‘Allow me. My treat! The first of many!’ Calum cried exuberantly to Alison, fishing in his wallet and paying for the drinks. ‘Now then. Shall we find a pew? Perch our derrières? Throw ourselves into conversational shenanigans?’

He was nervous, too, Alison realized as he blathered on and on, weaving through the pub tables until he found what he declared to be the perfect spot. And, daft as it may sound, recognizing his nerves gave her a boost of confidence in turn. After all, she was a hairdresser – she was an expert at putting people at their ease. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said gently as they sat down and the first silence of the evening threatened to announce itself. ‘Do you work?’

‘Still got the business ticking along, yes indeed,’ he replied. ‘It’s a tweed mill, been in the family for generations. Although I’ve taken a bit of time off recently, handed on some responsibility to my son, after . . .’ He broke off abruptly and licked his lips, a haunted expression flitting across his face. ‘Well, my Nessie died and I’ve . . .’ He swallowed hard.

Oh dear, thought Alison. He wasn’t about to cry, was he? She felt bad now for her rather mean thought moments earlier.

‘I’ve . . .’ He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. His eyes were suspiciously moist. ‘Excuse me. I’m not really . . .’ He was still wearing his wedding ring, she noticed. Was he even ready to start dating again? ‘I’m not really coping very well,’ he admitted eventually.

‘Oh, Calum,’ she said sympathetically, noticing how his jaw had clenched in an effort to control himself. ‘I’m sorry. It’s very hard, isn’t it, when—’

‘She was everything to me,’ he said hoarsely, gripping his handkerchief, eyes bulging as he battled valorously with emotion. ‘Everything, Alice.’

Alison patted his hand, not bothering to correct him again. ‘How long ago did it happen?’ she enquired kindly. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’