‘Dad,’ she said, her voice hesitant and gentle. ‘Dad? Is that you?’

The words pierced Porter’s skin more painfully than any of the blows that had rained down on him in the alleyway earlier that day. Her voice settled in his ears and, for a moment, he wanted to run to her, and take her in his arms. Then he paused. It’s not me, is it? I’m not her dad. I abandoned that job eleven years ago. I couldn’t hack it, and her mum couldn’t put up with my drinking any more, and I can’t say I blame her. I can’t change that now. There’s no point in even trying.

‘I’m nobody,’ he growled.

‘It’s me, Dad,’ she said. ‘Sandy …’

He could hear the determination in her voice, and it reminded him of her mother. She was always the strong one: I might have been the soldier, but she was the one who knew how to fight.

‘Piss off,’ shouted Porter. ‘I never heard of a girl called Sandy.’

He turned round and started walking along the river. It wasn’t true of course. There wasn’t a day that had passed in the last eleven years when he hadn’t thought about her. Probably not even so much as an hour. But he couldn’t look at her now. Not like this. Nobody wants a dad who lives out on the streets, who doesn’t have a house to live in or a car to drive, who smells likes a sewer. What’s the point of a parent like that? Better just to keep on moving. She’ll get by without me. She has done so far, and it’ll only get easier as the years go by.

Suddenly he heard footsteps running down the pathway. The wind was blowing up stronger now, and the clouds briefly cleared, sending bright shafts of moonlight flooding out across the river. Porter felt a hand on his shoulders. He spun round. Matt was standing right next to him, his face sweaty. ‘For fuck’s sake, you old bugger,’ he snapped. ‘It’s your daughter.’

Porter paused. He could see Sandy standing twenty yards away, not moving.

‘She came to the hostel tonight looking for you,’ pressed Matt, fighting to recover his breath. ‘She’s been looking for you for weeks. She contacted SAFA, tried everything, and eventually she found someone who knew you kipped down with us sometimes. I guessed you’d be down by the river.’ He looked straight into Porter’s eyes, his expression piercing and harsh: there was a world of judgement in those eyes, and none of it was in Porter’s favour. ‘She wants to meet you. Just do that for her. It’s bugger all to ask …’

Porter nodded. It was a simple movement of the head, but it was harder than throwing the strongest punch. Glancing up at Sandy, he attempted a rough smile. ‘C’mon then, love,’ he said. ‘We’ll hit the bloody town.’

She smiled back and walked towards him. Porter felt embarrassed about the way he looked. Usually he didn’t care: when you lived out on the streets it made no difference to the people around you. Now he wished he’d found somewhere to wash, maybe even had a change of clothes. It would have been good to scrape some of the blood off his face. She probably wasn’t expecting much when she came looking for me, but this … Christ, nobody could be prepared for this.