That would be all right, wouldn’t it? It would be nice. Bit of light dusting. It would be easier than haberdashery, with its wedding rush and bridal lace fretting. Books were hardly a big deal. Plus, young Mr. McCredie, as Sofia had called him, was apparently “nice if a bit quiet.” That didn’t sound too bad. He couldn’t possibly be worse than Mrs. Marsh, that was for sure. Carmen had wanted to ask how old he was exactly but didn’t want Sofia getting that simpering look she got when she became all excited about Carmen’s love life and lied about how much she liked Carmen’s boyfriends when it was obvious that anyone less than Federico, with his immaculate hair and manners and job and tailoring, she considered basic scum. The fact that occasionally Carmen had dated fairly basic scum didn’t help either. Hey, there was a lot of scum about. That was just the law of averages.

She went up to breakfast. The two younger children were sitting at the table, Jack in a pair of little old-fashioned pajamas with buttons and Phoebe in a fussy nightie. Her hair stuck straight out and she wore a menacing expression that in someone slightly older would have inspired Carmen to bring her a coffee.

Carmen asked how to get to work, and Sofia had frowned and said you walked, that’s how you got about the city; the buses only went to weird places and the tram only went to the airport and nowhere else at all.

“Nowhere else?” said Carmen, perturbed.

“Nowhere else at all.”

“Huh. What about a bicycle?”

“How good are you at riding bicycles up steps?” said Sofia.

“Can I borrow your car?” said Carmen, looking out at a bunch of leaves swirling down the street in a high wind.

“A car?” said Sofia. “In central Edinburgh?” She sounded like Carmen had suggested getting to work on a dragon. “They’ll kill you.”

“Who?”

“The . . . traffic wardens.” Sofia looked suddenly anxious, as if even saying their name might summon them. “Don’t risk it. I beg you.”

She turned away and went to the annoyingly spacious and well-laid-out closet under the stairs, where she retrieved for Carmen a massive, engulfing, expensive padded parka.

“Try this.”

Carmen glanced down at her well-worn leather jacket. “I’m okay.”

“I mean it. You’ll freeze.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Carmen, looking at Google Maps.

“Go up the steps here and then along and then down the steps there,” said Sofia. “Or you could go round the castle and up the castle steps.”

“I don’t want to go up any steps,” said Carmen.

Sofia smiled nicely. “Do you want me to make you a packed lunch?”

“No, thank you.”

Carmen would have loved a packed lunch, but she wasn’t going to give her eight-months-pregnant sister even more of a reason to get up and prove herself effortlessly more competent at everything.