‘Don’t know what kind of reception you’ll get, that’s all,’ James said, imagining Doris’s face when introducing the city bride she would never see coming.

‘Not important. That, I can handle.’

‘Don’t know if I can.’

‘You’re just a small-town boy, aren’t ya?’ Dylan said, in that mock ocker accent James found annoying whenever his partner kept it up.

‘I’m just tired, really tired. Wouldn’t mind just going to sleep.’

‘And here was me thinking you’d had plenty of time to think about my question, and that you’d have an answer for me by now, and we could have sweet phone sex to celebrate,’ Dylan said. ‘I guess I’ll just pop around to the bar for a sad, solo beer then?’ he added. ‘You ought to watch out. It’s a nice night in the big city. You don’t know who might want to pick up a handsome fella like me.’

James swallowed. ‘Dyl...’ he said.

‘Ye-es,’ Dylan said, cautiously. ‘Have you got bad news for me, boyo? Don’tcha wanna be moi missus?’

‘I’m not saying that,’ James replied, throat sucking at his voice, eyes on the close-ups of people laughing on the screen.

‘There’s hope, that’s something!’

James pictured their favourite bar, a welcoming place just a short walk around the corner where they knew plenty of people. There, in the noisy atmosphere, with hundreds of people walking past and others dancing to loud, funky music, he could talk to Dylan properly. ‘I’ll be home this time tomorrow. Can we discuss it then?’

‘Course we can.’

‘Thanks, Dyl.’

‘No probs, Jimmy,’ Dylan said. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

‘Hope your uncle gets a nice send off.’

‘Cousin.’

‘Oh, I thought you said he was your uncle?’

‘Well, sort of. He was a bit older, but not too much, you know?’

‘Aha, complicated,’ Dylan said, with that tone. ‘Just like this conversation.’

‘Listen, I’m just tired.’

‘I know,’ Dylan said. ‘It’s just that you told me it was your uncle’s funeral, and that it was today.’

‘Did I?’ James said, swallowing. ‘I didn’t mean to. Sorry. I was worried about seeing Dad again.’

Silence. Dylan sniffed. ‘Okay. I’ll pick you up from the airport tomorrow. Evening, mystery man. Nite-nite.’

‘Thanks Dylan. Big hug,’ James said, but the line was already dead.

Grazier’s son leaves future husband hanging.

Not far from the motel, James turned down into the parklands below the bridge, finding his way on foot in the dark by following the pale concrete road.

The toilet block was lit by a single light around which moths were circling. He counted three cars that revealed themselves only by their subtle reflections. On the far side of the dark belt of water and up the scrubby slope, the distant sounds of the Kippen pub carried across to the silent park.