Tony nodded, his mouth dry, his guts writhing.

As Duggan motioned to open the door he added, ‘Of course, don’t be having any stupid ideas. Your folks have lost one son already; they’ll not want to lose a second.’

Tony looked at him, shocked by the baldness of the threat.

‘You know what happens to people who talk. That’s not a threat; just a reminder.’

‘I won’t talk,’ Tony said, sullenly.

‘I know you won’t. Good man. I thought you were meant to meet your lassie somewhere.’

Tony tried to order his thoughts a little. He looked at his watch and realised he was already over two hours late.

‘I, ah… yeah, I have to meet her.’

‘She doesn’t strike me as the type will take kindly to being stood up. You don’t want to keep that one waiting too long.’

The party was being held in a student house in Thornwood, near the primary school where Tony had subbed for a few weeks when he’d first come across. It was already 11.15pm by the time he arrived, and he wondered whether Karen would indeed have waited for him or not. He’d no intention of staying, but desperately needed to talk to her. He felt sure she would understand how he felt, would agree with him in his suggestion that they call the whole thing off. If both of them pulled out, Duggan would have to respect their wishes, he reasoned. He couldn’t punish them both.

The place was thrumming, alive with music and movement and heat. The living room was filled with sound, people crammed together, moving as one to the beat from the small sound system set up in one corner. He knew instinctively that Karen wouldn’t be there and moved on down the hallway. A smaller room, to the rear of the house, was in semi-darkness, a lava lamp providing the only illumination, the colours on the faces of those assembled in the room, gathered around a small coffee table on which lay a collection of torn-up cigarettes and Rizla papers changing through the haze of hash smoke as the waxy blob in the lamp lazily rose and fell and rose once more. He scanned the faces, though again was fairly sure that Karen wouldn’t be sitting with the druggies.

Finally, he moved through to the kitchen. Someone was playing a guitar on the back step and a handful of older guests had gathered here, where the beer was kept in cooler boxes, resting on a half inch of watery ice. Just as he turned to leave, assuming Karen had done so herself, Martin Kelly wandered into the kitchen, clearly having come from the small rear room.

‘All right?’ he asked, flashing Tony a smile. ‘You made it.’