Tony had sat in the back with Karen, in silence, while Barr and Mullan sat up front. The older man had spent most of the time on his phone while his nephew drove. Only one call had held Tony’s interest.

‘Richard’s sent you on the map link,’ he’d said. ‘Duggan’s there… Suicide… He’s not been well, to be honest. Maybe he just couldn’t live with the guilt anymore and went back to find the grave for the family, then took the easy way out… The guy was riddled with cancer. He… he told me himself… he told me himself that he couldn’t face the treatment, the pain… Well, that’s how you frame it… If you want to recover any of the others, you’d best not look too much into it… He brought his flag and gloves… Well, that’s the story you’re getting…That’s not my job… Bye.’

He hung up the phone and glanced in the mirror of the sun visor, catching Tony’s eye a moment, then turning his attention back to the road again.

‘Who is J.B. Books?’ Tony asked.

‘Who?’ Mullan said, looking back at him.

‘J.B. Books?’ Tony repeated. ‘Hugh said his name before he… before we left him.’

He looked at Karen who shook her head. Mullan shrugged, then took up his phone and started typing on it.

‘John Bernard Books,’ he read from the screen. ‘He was played by John Wayne in The Shootist. It was his final film.’

Mullan looked back at Tony again to see if this provided sufficient information, his face a pantomime of confusion.

Tony nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ he said, lapsing once more into silence. Karen sat next to him, took his hand in hers, held it for the rest of their journey together.

They dropped him at the railway station in Ayr.

‘See you,’ Mullan said, offering his hand, as Tony was getting out of the car. He took it and shook once, briefly, because he had no reason not to.

Barr got out of the car with him and, opening the boot, lifted out Tony’s bag and handed it to him. ‘I’ve searched it, so you’re good to go,’ the youth said, and laughed, though Tony could not be sure whether it was a joke or not.

‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said, feeling a little absurd in so doing.

He moved towards the station as the passenger door opened and Karen got out. She moved across to him and they stood, waiting for Barr to get back into the car.

‘It was good to see you, Tony,’ she said, her hand on his arm.

He looked at her, the softness of her face, the clarity of her eyes, their two differing colours still bright, the invitation of her mouth and, in that moment, he loved her as intensely as he ever had.