‘Jesus, that was loud,’ Rebus said. They were back on the pavement outside the Playhouse, and the sky, which had still been light when they’d gone in, was now dark.

‘You don’t do this sort of thing often then?’ she asked. Her own ears were ringing. She knew she was talking too loudly, overcompensating.

‘It’s been a while,’ he admitted. The crowd had been a mix of teenagers, old punks, right up to people Rebus’s own age … maybe even a year or two older. Reed had played a lot of new material, stuff Rebus hadn’t recognised, but with a few of the classics stirred into the pot. The Playhouse: last time he’d been there had probably been UB40, around the time of their second album. He didn’t want to think how long ago that was.

‘Shall we get a drink?’ Jean suggested. They’d been drinking on and off all afternoon and evening: wine with lunch, then a quick one at the Ox. A long walk down to Dean Village and along the Water of Leith. All the way down to Leith itself, with breaks on the way to park themselves on a bench and talk. Two more drinks in a pub on The Shore. They’d considered an early supper, but were still full from the Café St Honore. Walked back up Leith Walk to the Playhouse. Still early, so they’d gone into the Conan Doyle for one, then the Playhouse bar itself.

At one point Rebus had found himself saying: ‘I’d have thought you’d steer clear of the drink.’ Regretting the remark immediately. But Jean had just shrugged.

‘You mean because of Bill? That’s not the way it works. I mean, maybe it is with some people, they either become a drunk themselves or they make a pact never to touch another drop. But it’s not the booze that’s to blame, it’s the person using it. All the time Bill had his problem, it didn’t stop me indulging. I never lectured him. And it hasn’t stopped me drinking … because I know it doesn’t mean that much to me.’ She’d paused. ‘What about you?’

‘Me?’ Rebus had offered his own shrug. ‘I just drink to be sociable.’

‘And when does it start working?’

They’d laughed at that, and left the subject alone. Now, just gone eleven on a Saturday night, the street was noisy with alcohol.

‘Where do you suggest?’ Jean asked. Rebus made a show of checking his watch. There were plenty of bars he could think of, but they weren’t places he wanted Jean to see.

‘Could you stand a bit more music?’

She shrugged. ‘What kind?’

‘Acoustic. It’d be standing room only.’

She was thoughtful. ‘Is it between here and your flat?’

He nodded. ‘You know the place is a tip …’

‘I’ve seen it.’ Her eyes found his. ‘So … are you going to ask?’