‘Your father and I never talk about other farmers’ business.’

‘We lost two contracts before our third shed was even completed, so we’re trying eggs instead of broilers, but I haven’t even told Pete what I know about the level of debt we’re in.’

‘Your father didn’t listen to me when he signed everything over to Tony,’ Doris said. ‘I wanted to keep Deloraine out of it, but he decided your brother was the only one of the boys who would stick around and work the land. I’m sorry that’s left you out of things,’ she added, without any apparent sorrow, and looked at James.

Yvonne looked at him too. The spineless shell wasn’t going to cut it, that was clear.

‘What time is your flight?’ Doris asked.

‘I should get back over to Wishaw by three-thirty, at the very latest,’ he replied.

‘Well, that’s time enough for a drink with your father and uncle,’ Doris said. ‘We’re all dependent on you now.’

James placed his hand flat against the door of the public bar and pushed past the group of tradesmen gathered on the threshold. They were just at the climax of laughing raucously at a joke, but he was determined to keep moving until he’d found his father.

He didn’t have to go far. Dad was right in the centre of things, about to land a tray of drinks in front of Bill and Pete. James was struck by his father’s bulk, built out by the suit into a force capable of muscling his way around criminal activities every bit as effectively as a thirsty pub line. By comparison, Bill disappeared into the woodwork, despite being encased in the same steel-grey tones. Pete was perched on a stool eating sandwiches from a pair of trays someone had brought from the wake.

‘Glad you decided to join us, Jamie,’ his father shouted. ‘Here, have mine,’ he added as he sloshed a glass of beer into his son’s hand.

‘Cheers,’ Bill said, scratching at the side of his neck.

James sipped at the beer, eager to rid himself of the sickly taste of Yvonne’s wine. There was a laugh at the bar as his father got loud forgiveness from office workers and the tradesmen for pushing in and getting another drink.

‘My second boy is here, in the pub, with me!’ Dad shouted. ‘Come and help yourself to sandwiches, fellas, there’s plenty!’ he added, and the men in the line cheered.

James smiled and took a longer draught of his drink as his father moved in far too close. ‘Isn’t this a nice way to end a tough day, fellas? Me and my brother, and my second son, and our son-in-law. Now, to Tony,’ he said, and raised his glass.

They all mimicked him, rocking forward on their feet and gulping at their beers.