I get to the back door only moments after he has rapped on it, but it takes a good ten seconds of fumbling with the still stiff new dead bolt before I get the door open. “Hello.” I’m cautious with children, as they’re not my natural milieu. I’m never entirely sure how to pitch my approach, but smiling seems a good start. He’s a stocky little mite, this one; thoroughly robust looking, with ruddy cheeks on his otherwise pale skin, and inquisitive dark eyes to match the dark hair.

“I’m awfy sorry but my ball accidentally landed in your back garden,” he says. Very much a local boy. Awfy, not awfully. Ball pronounced like baw.

“Accidentally, of course.” My lips are twitching. “Could happen to anyone, I suppose.” He looks at me warily but relaxes when he sees my smile. I stick my hand out. “I’m Ailsa.”

He shakes it solemnly. “I’m Callum. I stay across the field.” He waves nonspecifically behind him. The phrases of my early childhood are coming back to me. Not Where do you live? but Where do you stay?

“We’re neighbors then. I would love to invite you in, but I don’t think your parents would like you to enter a stranger’s house all on your own.” I pause. “Are you meant to be out alone?”

“I have Toast,” he says defensively.

I look at him blankly. “Toast?”

“My dog.” He steps back, looking around for the Labrador and frowning. It’s fascinating to watch him, every thought and emotion writ clear on his little face. “Oh, I forgot, she willnae come in here.” Before I can ask what he means, he rushes on. “And anyway, Mum’s friend is looking after me. He’ll be along in a minute. He wants to see you anyway.”

Right on cue I hear a deep voice calling exasperatedly, “Callum! Callum! What did I tell you—” I’m fairly certain I know who owns that voice.

“It’s all right,” Callum calls back. “She’s here.”

I lean out of the doorway, holding on to the frame with one hand, and am confronted by the sight of Ben placing one hand on the wall then athletically vaulting over the entire thing. “Hi, Ben,” I call, with a wry smile.

He’s smiling back at me ruefully. “Hey there. I did tell Callum that it would be much more polite for me to call ahead and see if you were amenable to visitors, but apparently he couldn’t wait—”

Callum is shaking his head in vociferous denial. “I could wait, but my ball landed in the garden—see?” He points over at the football.

“I do see. I see that you’re shamelessly beyond redemption.” His words are stern but he reaches out a hand to tousle Callum’s hair, and the boy’s face splits into a grin.