That’s too big a topic to try to pick at right now. “You said you promised.” We’re already turning into the drive of the Manse. He parks in front, only meters from where he found the fox, with the engine still running, then looks at me, waiting for my question. “Why? Why didn’t they want to go to the police?”

“They were scared of getting into trouble with Glen. I mean, really scared. He was pretty tough on them.” He shrugs. “Parenting was different then: nobody was afraid to spank their kids; the school still used the belt—do you remember?” I do remember. I remember our collective fear of it as pupils. I don’t know if I ever actually saw it, but in my head it was a broad thick strip of brown leather. I remember the horror that the thought of it elicited in me—and the burning outrage. “Jamie was a wee shite. He hadn’t learned to play the system like he does, so he was on the receiving end of some harsh discipline. And Fi had her own problems, but none of them had been diagnosed then, so sometimes she just seemed willfully difficult.” He looks forward through the windscreen with a shrug of his shoulders. The wipers are working in a steady continuous sweep, but they can’t quite keep up with the deluge. The raindrops that I can see falling through the silver light of the headlamps are fleetingly sharp then they blur and bleed. “Cause and effect was especially confusing for her back then, before she figured out coping mechanisms. Can you imagine having your arse tanned but not being able to work out why? It must have been terrifying.” He shakes himself and turns back to me. “Anyway. On top of that, I just don’t think they were as scared of the damn thing as I was. Both of their mothers had died; maybe they thought about death differently to most kids. They still do—certainly Fi does.”

There’s nothing I can think of to say to that.

“Anyway,” he says again. “Thanks for at least hearing me out. And I really am sorry.” The hand farthest from me is on the steering wheel, in the twelve o’clock position. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted nothing to do with the lot of us ever again.”

“It’s not . . . That’s not . . . I was never planning to stay anyway. And I’m not going to stay here tonight. When Carrie gets back we’ll be leaving.”

“Does Carrie know that yet?” he asks neutrally.

Instantly I realize he knows about Carrie and Jamie. Has everybody known? Has everybody been talking about it? I ignore his question. “We can stay in the Quaich or a Travelodge or something tonight. Then she can get organized to stay in Edinburgh for the rest of her play.”