‘I should try that with Mum. She always witters on about how she hates the smell of jasmine, associates it with those big white lilies at funerals. God knows why.’ She leant in towards Martha and inhaled. ‘That’s lovely, give me a skoosh, please?’ Martha reached down to her bag, lifted out her perfume and sprayed it onto Fiona’s wrist.

She breathed in deep and rubbed her wrists together. ‘I’m still keen to find out now about Dad’s family, whether there was anything in the papers in the early 1880s. Is the archives room open over the weekend?’

‘Yeah, all Saturday.’

‘Thanks. Though not sure that’s Jamie’s idea of a fun day out. Mum and Dad are still away in the Hebrides.’

‘Well, why don’t we take him to the football? You know how Allie likes any excuse to see Dundee United play.’

‘That’d be great, he’d love that. Pete kept promising he’d take him to Tannadice Park.’

‘Okay, it’s a plan.’

‘Great. He’s having tea at his friend Josh’s tonight and then we’re making his pumpkin lantern for the Halloween madness tomorrow night.’

‘Is he going out guising?’

‘Yeah, going with his pal Jack next door. They won’t go far.’

‘Remember that year you and I were guising and got lost and had to ask some big scary man the way home. So your mum opened the door to see two little witches with hats and broomsticks and a random giant of a man wearing all black.’

‘Yeah, she wasn’t too pleased. We were meant to stay with Penny Farquhar’s big brother, weren’t we, but we decided to do our own thing.’ Fiona turned a page in her book. ‘Did you realise Sir Thomas Bouch died in October 1880, only months after the disaster? Probably just as well, given the feeling of the locals.’

‘Possibly the most unpopular man in Dundee’s recent history.’

Fiona sat back in her chair. ‘Yeah, the entire city must have been in mourning.’

‘Terrible, I mean, everyone must’ve been affected.’

‘What was the population?’

Martha flicked through a couple of pages in the book. ‘It was only 45,000 in 1841 but the jute industry meant a huge increase. By the 1881 census it was 140,000.’

‘Wow.’ Fiona scribbled on her notebook. ‘When was the last body discovered?’

‘Most bodies came ashore during January 1880. But even four months later, one was washed up somewhere in Caithness. Many were never found, obviously washed out to sea.’

‘Imagine waiting for months and months to find out what had happened to your loved one. Or never finding out at all.’ Fiona sighed. ‘Oh, remember that McGonagall poem from before the disaster? Well, look at the last verse of this one written after the disaster. Like everyone in Dundee, he blamed Thomas Bouch and his faulty bridge design.’

‘It must have been an awful sight,

To witness in the dusky moonlight,