They saw sheep, and a small herd of cows that gazed ruminatively at them as they passed. They saw the wind send a flurry of teased-out cirrostratus across the otherwise empty blue sky, moving high over the summit of Turnhouse Hill and on towards Scald Law further to the west. Stuart stood still for a moment, watching the movement of the cloud, and thought of how it looked just like those pictures of clouds streaming past the high ridges of Everest; and thought, too, of how those high things drew people to them, lowly, earth-bound creatures that we were.

‘Would you like to climb up there one day, Bertie?’ he asked, pointing up at the line of hills. ‘It’s not difficult, you know. We could hike up there quite easily and then go all the way on to Nine Mile Burn.’

‘In proper boots?’ asked Bertie.

Stuart smiled. ‘Yes, I could get you some proper boots. They make them in your size, Bertie.’ He realised, though, as he made the promise, that he did not know what size of shoe his son took. Bertie was his son and he did not know that, and he felt a sudden, sharp tug of shame.

‘Thank you, Daddy,’ said Bertie. ‘That would be very nice.’

They walked on in silence. They had reached the point now where the ground rose up to meet the wall of Glencorse Reservoir. Bertie was tiring, Stuart thought, and he offered to give him a ride on his shoulders. But Bertie declined, thanking his father politely. He could walk faster, he explained, and they were almost there, were they not?

‘You’re a sport, Bertie,’ said Stuart.

Bertie savoured the compliment. He was not sure what a sport was. If it was somebody who was good at sport, then it was kind of his father to say it, but he did not think that it was really true. He had not had the chance to play sports – not real sports, like rugby – and he was not sure whether he would be any good. The school, though, had recently broken with its tradition and formed a rugby team. Bertie now told his father about this.

‘We have a Steiner’s rugby team now, Daddy,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said Stuart. ‘That’s interesting, Bertie.’

‘Yes,’ said Bertie. ‘I’m not in it. You have to be twelve. They played Watson’s the other day.’

‘Indeed?’ said Stuart. ‘And who won, Bertie?’

‘Watson’s,’ said Bertie. ‘It was 84–0 at the end. Actually, they stopped it early for some reason.’

Stuart suppressed a smile. ‘Bad luck, Bertie. But I’m sure that they’ll do better next time.’ He paused. ‘What do you think went wrong, Bertie?’

Bertie thought for a moment. ‘I think it’s because our team was told that they should share the ball, Daddy. So they did. They shared.’