He wanted to ask where he could put the bag, but the young man made no effort to open the boot for him, so he set it in the footwell and then sat twisting slightly to one side.

‘Richard Barr,’ the driver offered, his hand held out. As Tony shook it, he noticed a sleeve tattoo of a Celtic design. Looking at Barr now, he saw the edge of a similar design hemming the neckline of his T-shirt and he wondered absently if it extended the whole way from his neck to his wrist.

The half hour drive from Derry to Dungiven passed in platitudes. They trailed behind a learner driver doing 40mph and Barr swerved lightly in and out behind her, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping some unheard beat on his knee before he finally pulled out and sped past her on the chevrons at a right turn junction. Tony instinctively gripped the dashboard in front of him, even as he glanced in the wing mirror, half expecting to see the blue lights of a police car spark into life behind them. It seemed foolhardy, doing anything that might draw attention to them, considering what they were going to do. But then what were they going to do? Visit Scotland? Three old friends and their younger driver.

Barr seemed to note Tony’s discomfort, for he straightened himself a little in his seat, flexing his arm muscles as he gripped the wheel tighter with one hand, tapping out the beat of his own thoughts with renewed vigour.

‘When did you last see Hughie?’ the youth asked.

‘Thirty years ago, too,’ Tony replied. Hughie. He’d never called him Hughie. It was the name a friend would use. And they had never been friends.

For a moment, Tony didn’t recognise Hugh Duggan, despite him being the only person at the bus stop just outside the town. When he stood, the wind caught and twisted his trouser legs, plastering the material against his frame, accentuating his thinness. His neck was narrow and jowly, the skin loose. His hair was shorn tight, little more than grey stubble. His skin was sallow where once it had been florid.

They pulled up alongside him and Barr got out of the car. He moved around the back and opened the boot, then approached Hugh, his hand outstretched. ‘Mr Duggan,’ he said. ‘It’s a real honour.’

Duggan muttered something, his gaze sliding from the youth’s face towards Tony. He raised his chin a little, interrogatively, his expression not softening.

Tony opened the door and got out, using the stop as an opportunity to put his own bag in the boot of the car to afford him more leg room.

‘Hugh,’ he said, nodding. ‘Long time.’

‘Long time,’ Duggan agreed.

‘I’ll get your bag,’ Barr said, lifting Duggan’s bag before the man could protest and taking it around to the boot.

‘Was this your fucking idea?’ Duggan asked, moving closer to Tony, the funk of his breath sharp as it rattled in his throat.