“Exactly. It doesn’t matter what color they are, does it? They’re mothers going through hell, like any mother here would whose child goes missing, and children suffering. I know it sounds like a cliché, but we’re all just people. Good ’uns, bad ’uns and in-between ’uns, most of us.”

“‘If you prick me, do I not bleed?’”

“You’ve got it.”

“But why is this race business all so complicated?” Annie went on, waving her glass at him. “It drives me round the bend. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think or say. Is grooming girls for underage sex supposed to be OK in their culture, like female genital mutilation or honor killing? Are we supposed to respect it all, no matter what, just because it’s their culture, like the Scots with their bagpipes and haggis? I mean, I don’t even like bagpipes and haggis. It’s not my bloody culture, I can tell you that. So does that make me a racist? And who do we blame? Society or the kids? Whatever happened to morality? Good and evil? Right and wrong?”

“Outdated concepts, I’m afraid,” said Banks. “But I think you’re getting way too many things mixed up here. What’s acceptable to one group isn’t necessarily acceptable to another. And there’s a big difference between haggis and bagpipes and female genital mutilation.”

Annie tipped her glass at a dangerous angle and narrowed her eyes. “I know that. I know that. I’m just trying to make a point, that’s all. Am I supposed to think all these things are OK because they’re sacred to some culture or ethnic group or medieval religion? Am I supposed to be inclusive? Is it all part and parcel of our diversity? Would I be divisive if I disagreed?”

“Probably,” said Banks. “But calm down. You’re letting this get to you way too much.”

Annie sniffed. “I think anyone who performs female genital mutilation should be hung, drawn and quartered, bagpipes should be exiled to one of the inner circles of hell, and as for haggis, well, the jury’s still out on that one.”

Banks laughed. “That’s because you’re a vegetarian.”

“They have vegetarian haggis, you know. Boil in a bag.”

“What’s it made of?”

“I don’t know. The inner organs of turnips and cabbages or something. But am I wrong about all this?”

“We both know,” said Banks,” that for every Asian who does something like this, you could find thousands who are decent, hardworking, law-abiding members of the community.”

“But it’s not those people we’re dealing with, is it? It never is. We deal with the worst, like whoever raped Mimosa. The dregs. We take the decency of the majority for granted.”