Some of the kids he’d seen from the previous night were gathered under the shelter of the front canopy of the small supermarket. He could hear their raised voices, their laughter, could see the glowing tips of their cigarettes, swirling through the darkness like fireflies in flight.

He wanted it to be over, but it was still dusky, the streets still busy with people heading out for the evening. He went back to the car, avoiding crossing where the kids might see him, and drove out to the promontory where Black Cart and White Cart Waters met as the River Cart.

There he stood, the smell of the mudflats along the banking sharp in the evening air, and considered, just for a moment, what would happened if he walked down into the river, allowing the water to carry him, to weigh down his clothes and bear him away, as Ophelia had done.

His parents would be broken, he knew that. His father would never recover. What of Karen? Would she care? Would she blame herself? A self-centred part of him took some imaginary joy in her suffering. And it would free him from the searing pain boring through him, the guilt of what was to come and the impossible situation he faced.

He drove back towards Paisley, stopping at a phone box below a fish and chip place on Storie Street.

‘Dad?’

‘Hi, son,’ his father sounded groggy, as if he’d been asleep. Tony imagined him drowsing in front of the telly, the house so quiet now there was little to disturb his slumbering. ‘How are you?’

‘Good,’ Tony managed, his voice cracking a little.

‘Do you want your mother?’

It was the normal rhythm of their calls.

‘No. I’m good talking with you. How’s things?’

‘Good, good. I was up at Danny’s grave today, cleaning it up a bit, weeding and that.’

‘Did you say one for me?’ Tony asked.

‘Every day,’ his dad said. ‘You know that. How’s things there? How’s school?’

‘Ok. We’d an Open Day today.’

‘What’s that?’

‘For the kids for next year.’ He felt sick at the comment, the thought of a future. The presumption of it.

‘Very good. How’s you and Karen?’

‘Yeah, OK,’ Tony said, not wanting to have to explain. What could he say? Strangely, he still didn’t want his parents thinking badly of her. ‘Listen, I just wanted to say thanks.’

‘What for?’

‘Sending me away over here. I know why you did it.’

‘Given the choice, I’d rather have you here. You know that.’

‘I do,’ Tony said. ‘And I’d be there, too. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too, son.’ His father hesitated a moment. ‘Is everything OK?’