About half-past eight, the bar grew quieter again and Mike came back in. Donald gave Mattie a twenty-pound note from the till, ignoring both Mike and Mattie’s protests that this was more than they’d agreed, and his own nagging awareness that he had now set a precedent that could come back to haunt him as the year grew leaner. As he handed over the money, it occurred to him that he had not yet seen his daughter.

He took the steps in a panic, but she was in her room after all, sitting up in bed and writing frantically in the flowered notebook. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. On another evening he might have given in to the impulse to question her, but tonight he thought, Keep your big mouth shut. After all, what have you spent the afternoon doing? and he smiled at her and turned away without speaking.

Chapter Sixteen: Now

The morning after. Donald left sleep behind and came back into his body by degrees, wondering what he’d find as he waded into consciousness. Guilt? He braced himself for it and opened his eyes; but no, guilt was totally absent. Perhaps it would show up later. For now, he’d enjoy the quiet. Regret? He waited warily, but no, not a flicker. Even though he’d created a situation that was stupidly complicated and morally dubious and with a million different ways to end badly, he could feel the great daft grin spreading across his face, unstoppable, unshakeable.

Embarrassment? Yes, a healthy dollop of that. He’d been trying to get rid of the pair of them since they got here. Contentment? Oh yes. Because he’d found something new and wonderful? Or simply because he had – in the words of his long-vanished boss – finally got himself laid? Impossible to say. So, contentment of a sort, certainly. Was there shame? Absolutely not.

He glanced at the clock. Five to nine. He hadn’t slept this late for years. He could still smell Ava on his skin. He should probably take a shower, but he wanted to hold onto the reminder. In the bathroom, he caught himself humming tunelessly through the toothpaste.

Alicia’s toothbrush was still in the mug where he’d put it last night. She always left it on the side of the basin, and he always put it back in the mug, a small quiet ritual of parenthood he’d grown reluctantly fond of. Did she ever stop to wonder how her toothbrush migrated from the basin to the mug each night and morning? When she was little she’d believed her light-switch had an automatic timer because, after she fell asleep, he or Ellen would creep into her room and switch it off.

He glanced into her room as he passed, treading softly. Like him she was usually an early waker, but like him she was sleeping late this morning, sprawled on her front like a skydiver. One pale slender foot stuck out from beneath the duvet. He resisted the urge to kiss it.