‘Poofter in training, that one,’ Tony said, loud enough for Jamie to hear. He pushed smoke out of his lungs.

‘You reckon?’

‘Yeah,’ Tony said. ‘You can always tell.’

‘Poor fucking Daniel, just what he needs, eh?’ Roger said.

Tony nodded and let the next lot of smoke pour out of his nostrils, thinking what a lucky cow Helen was being married to Roger. He was a handsome bugger and he smelled good every time Tony leaned in close.

‘Ah well, back to the celebration,’ Roger said, reaching out and flicking Tony on the arse as he headed up the ramp. ‘You bloody get in there and enjoy yourself!’

Tony laughed as the excitement of the touch ran right through him, but as he dropped his ciggie and scraped his shoe over it, he checked the doorway of the toilet block. There was no sign of Jamie. His cousin would probably stay slumped over in there until Uncle Daniel took him home.

‘Mission accomplished,’ he whispered.

Daniel noticed Beck look at him properly for the first time while he partnered Louise Beaumont in a waltz, although the poor girl just couldn’t dance to save herself.

The second time his estranged wife looked at him over her shoulder, Daniel smiled at her from across the room, but she looked away. He took a long swig of the piss-poor beer the bride’s parents had laid on, and decided to finish the whole glass.

He reckoned everybody was talking about him, but no one had the guts to ask about Mandy. What did they all expect? With every single bloody relative descending on Kippen, he hadn’t wanted to arrive without a woman on his arm; but as soon as he’d mentioned his nephew’s wedding to the young teacher from Wishaw, Mandy had never called back.

Anyway, that was weeks ago. Months, probably. Whenever the invitations went out. And Beck surely had heaps of boyfriends in the city. He hadn’t been able to get Alan to come clean about any men hanging around, trying to get his wife. His estranged wife.

Daniel sighed. When were the happy couple gonna leave? Leanne seemed to have retreated to the front hall and Tony had just come back in from the dunny looking as guilty as heck. Cousin Roger followed him, brushing down his jacket.

He smelled the cigarette smoke before the other man closed on him.

‘That wife of yours know you’re back on the death sticks, mate?’ Daniel asked.

Roger cranked one side of his mouth up into a grin, rubbed his hands together and touched his nose. Guilt. They’d all had classes in body language last month. Daniel thought it was all bullshit at first, but he had to agree there was more to it than he gave it credit for. That lady trainer from the city had been a looker, too.

‘Yeah, well, you’re no angel mate,’ Roger said.

There it was. The confession.