Fionnlagh cleared the last of the chilli from his plate. “Well, you can do that. I’ve got other things to think about.” He crossed the kitchen to retrieve his anorak and start pulling on boots that shed flakes of drying mud across the tiles.

“Where are you going?” Marsaili’s forehead creased with concern.

“I’m meeting Donna at the Crobost Social.”

“Oh, so her father’s actually letting her out for the night?” Marsaili’s tone was heavily sardonic.

“Don’t start, Mum.”

“If that girl had half an ounce of gumption in her, she’d tell her father where to go. I’ve told you a hundred times you can stay here. You, Donna and the baby.”

“You don’t know what her father’s like.” Fionnlagh almost spat the words at her.

“Oh, I think I do, Fionnlagh. We grew up together, remember?” Marsaili glanced quickly at Fin and then away again.

“Aye, but he didn’t have God in those days, did he? You know what they’re like, Mum, when they get the curam, these born-agains. There’s no reasoning with them. Why would they listen to you or me when God has already spoken to them?”

Fin felt the strangest chill run through him. It was like hearing himself speaking. Since the death of his parents all those years before, his life had been a constant battle between belief and anger. If he believed, then he could only feel anger at the God who had been responsible for the accident. So it was easier not to believe, and he had little patience for those who did.

“It’s time you stood up to him.” There was a weariness in Marsaili’s voice, a lack of conviction that told Fin she didn’t believe that Fionnlagh was ever likely to pit himself against Donald Murray.

Fionnlagh heard it too, and was defensive in return. “And tell him what? What great prospects I have? What a wonderful future I can offer his daughter and his granddaughter?” He turned away towards the door, and his last words were almost lost in the wind. “Gimme a fucking break!” He slammed the door shut behind him.

Marsaili flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s just a boy facing up too early to a responsibility he shouldn’t have had. He needs to finish school and go to university. Then maybe he really could offer them a future.”

Marsaili shook her head. “He won’t do that. He’s frightened he’ll lose them. He wants to quit school at the end of term and get a job. Show Donald Murray that he takes his responsibilities seriously.”

“By throwing away his only chance in life? Surely to God he doesn’t want to end up like Artair.”

The fire of resentment burned briefly in Marsaili’s eyes, but she said nothing.