Stuart smiled. ‘Come now, Bertie. Girls just like to have fun, same as boys.’

‘Are you sure, Daddy?’ said Bertie, thinking of Olive and Pansy. ‘I think there are some girls who want to stop boys having fun.’

Stuart swallowed; he could name one, and fairly close to home, too. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Bertie. Maybe you’ll look at things differently when you’re a bit older.’

‘When I’m seven?’ asked Bertie.

‘Well, possibly.’

Bertie tried to imagine what the world would look like when he was seven, but his mind wandered. They were now going past the Braid Hills Hotel and the Pentlands were beginning to rise up on the horizon. He saw the ski slope at Hillend and the brooding summit behind it; he saw the line of green hills marching off to the west. In a few minutes they would be out of the city and in a hinterland of small glens and hidden lochs; in a few minutes, although he could hardly believe it, they would be catching fish.

They stopped, as Stuart had promised, at the petrol station at Hillend. While Stuart filled the tank, Bertie was allowed to wander about the shop, looking at the chocolates, sweets, and racks of potato crisps that tempted the visitor. He chose two packets – one ready salted and one flavoured with tomato sauce. ‘A good choice, Bertie,’ said Stuart, as he came in to pay for the petrol. ‘And how about some chocolate?’

Nobody had ever said that to Bertie before. How about some chocolate? It was not a complex phrase, but its power, its sheer, overwhelming sense of gift and possibility filled Bertie with awe. Well might more of us say these words to others, and more frequently – how healing would that prove to be. ‘Look, we’ve had our differences, but how about some chocolate?’ Or: ‘I’m so sorry: how about some chocolate?’ Or simply: ‘Great to see you! How about some chocolate?’

‘Chocolate?’ said Bertie. ‘Chocolate, as well as crisps?’

Stuart smiled. ‘Why not?’

Bertie looked at the trays of chocolate bars laid out so temptingly; thus might the siren voices tempt the sailor; thus might Faust falter and conclude the bargain. He hesitated, and then made his choice – a bar of gold-wrapped Crunchie with peppermint-flavoured air holes.

‘And?’ said Stuart, looking down at his son’s choice, reading the label of the tempting confection. ‘Peppermint-flavoured air holes? An interesting concept.’

Bertie looked up at his father. ‘And what, Daddy?’

‘You can’t just buy one,’ said Stuart. ‘Pick another two, Bertie. We’ve got a long day’s fishing ahead of us.’

Bertie stared at the array of chocolate bars. Some of them he had heard of – discussed by the children at school. Olive, in particular, was an authority on the subject. ‘I’ve tasted them all,’ she announced, with an air that implicitly challenged anybody who might doubt her. ‘It’s a pity you’ve never tried them, Bertie.’