‘Actually, I’m in the West End now.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Kelly says. ‘I was hoping to move back to Kelvinbridge in the next couple of months. Now I’m going to have to rethink the whole thing.’

‘It’s good to see you, Kelly.’ He laughs, moving closer to pull her into a hug. ‘You look fantastic.’

Kelly valiantly tries to maintain her cool, although when he lets go her cheeks have gone a very obvious pink. She clears her throat. ‘You coming back for the gathering as well?’

‘Jimmy and Jaz have offered to help Mum.’ He nods to where Isla – in muddy dungarees and the largest, floppiest sun hat I’ve ever seen – is sitting with perhaps half a dozen other women around a long oval table. ‘But yeah.’ David gives her his wide-dimpled smile. ‘I’ll be back.’

‘You’re just full of bad news today,’ Kelly says. She glances towards Charlie and Miko coming back from the bar. ‘And I’m not particularly looking forward to another day of being bossed around by Antonius Proximo here either.’

‘What are you gibbering about, girl?’ Charlie says as he hands over our wines with a frown.

‘Gladiator, Charlie.’ Kelly rolls her eyes, making me laugh. ‘Even an old dinosaur like you has to have seen Gladiator.’

*

As the evening wears on into night, a buffet of hot rolls is laid out in the lounge. Even though it’s nine p.m., the sun streams through the pub’s windows, making it feel like late afternoon. A few hours of solid drinking have given most people a second wind, and there’s plenty of enthusiasm when Donnie and the rest of the ceilidh band set up in the corner of the bar.

I, however, am exhausted – a pleasant bone-weariness that makes me long for bed. As people start getting up to dance, I look towards the bar, where Charlie is hunched over on a stool.

‘I’m just going to go see how Charlie’s doing,’ I say to Will, before gladly turning away from the dance floor.

Jimmy is leaning across the bar, an empty whisky glass in his hand. He straightens when he sees me, nods at Charlie.

‘Maybe you can cheer this morose old bastard up,’ he says. Which seems vastly hypocritical, but I’m still grateful for his rescue from Hollow Beach and that he’s never once rubbed my nose in needing it. Besides, he might have a point. Charlie’s shoulders are hunched and low, as if he has the weight of the world on them. And while my cheeks ache with hours of smiling, his mouth is flat, fixed into a mean, tight-lipped scowl.

‘It’s Maggie!’ he says, with more of a grimace than a smile. He grabs hold of my hands in his cold calloused fingers, and I realise that he’s drunk – very drunk. His eyes are red-rimmed and unfocussed. ‘Did I say thank you for the cutting today? Because Moira says I don’t say thank you.’ He shakes his head. ‘And I’m … I’m—’