‘They’re just making up stories, Jamie don’t listen.’ Fiona said, glowering at her father and Mark. ‘Right, enough now. Come on upstairs, Jamie. We’ve got to start that list of what you need for your new school uniform.’ She pulled him to his feet and gave her father a dirty look as she dragged her son out to the hall, slamming the door behind her.

‘But Mum, I don’t want to do shopping lists, I want to stay and hear Pa’s stories.’

‘Tough,’ Fiona said, wincing as she jerked her head to the side. Yes, the headache was still very much there.

* * *

A few hours later, Fiona sat at the kitchen table with a plate of pasta in front of her.

‘Just a small portion for me, Dot, not hungry,’ said Struan. He took out his pipe and laid it beside him.

‘That’s because you’re still drunk. Get it down you, man.’ Dorothy ladled her husband a huge bowl of pasta and thumped it on the table in front of him. ‘And you can put the pipe away,’ she said, pulling some loose hair up into the wooden clasp at the back of her head. She turned to Fiona. ‘Jamie okay, Fi?’

‘Yeah, fine, he’s watching some action DVD at Jack’s.’ She turned back to her father. ‘So, what’re these family stories Mark was telling us about?’

‘He’s not been telling you about all that, has he?’ Dorothy sat down with her bowl and shook her head. ‘That boy does not need to hear anything about your family’s disreputable past.’ She looked at her husband. ‘Remember Struan, you said we would never speak of it, gave me the heebie jeebies. I mean, this house has been in your family for generations, something could have happened right here.’

‘What happened?’

Struan downed the glass of water Dorothy had placed in front of him and looked at his daughter. ‘There was something that happened in the Craig family ages ago, Victorian times. My grandfather used to tell me stories.’

‘What stories? And why’ve you never told me about this?’

‘Mum was convinced the house could be haunted or something. Utter bollocks.’

‘What happened?’ Fiona said, exasperated.

‘There was a death, someone went to prison. I’m not sure of the details.’

Fiona’s phone started to buzz. She scrabbled in her bag and found it. Unknown number. She put it on the table, ignoring it.

‘Feel better after your afternoon nap, Struan?’ asked Dorothy. ‘Mark was always a bad influence on you. You’d think at your age, you’d know better.’

Struan tapped his pipe on the table, fumbled in his pocket and brought out his tobacco.

‘Come on, Dad, you said you’d stop.’

‘Needs must,’ Struan said, getting to his feet with pipe and tobacco.

There was a ping as a text appeared. Fiona got out her glasses and peered.