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face.’
    ‘Funnily enough, you look familiar to me too.’
    That was one of the things I missed about Glasgow and particularly the West End: the ability to see people on the street on a regular basis without them having to know all your business. Byres Road had the feel of a village but the anonymity of the city.
    Tony stared hard at me and then suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed.
    ‘Double vodka and diet coke, no ice. Right?’
    ‘Absolutely spot on. How did you know that?’
    ‘I used to work in Tennent’s, years ago. I can’t remember customers’ names but I never forget an order.’
    ‘Double vodka diet coke no ice’, that had been my tipple of choice back in the good old days. In the good old days, I used to drop by Tennent’s for a sly drink after a hard day’s medical repping. From this distance they still seemed like the good old days. How I longed for a double vodka now.
    ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he said, smiling.
    ‘Not specifically, but you look familiar.’
    Tony shrugged. He was a good-looking guy but he was only about twenty-five, a bit young for me. Put that tiddler back in the water, I thought, probably wouldn’t see much of him anyway. He’d probably be working round the clock in one of the hotel bars. There was plenty of money to be made now that the film company were coming to town. Americans were famously good tippers.
    ‘Have you come up because of the filming?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘You’ll be working your arse off, the whole town will. Probably not see much of you then.’
    ‘Probably not, but it’s got to be done.’
    ‘Oh, I’ve got something for you.’ I fumbled in the kitchen drawer for the keys Polly had left with me. ‘There you go.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Tony, surprised, shoving them deep into his pocket, ‘cheers. Wouldn’t want the paps getting their hands on these.’
    ‘Yeah,’ I said. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I smiled and passed him his tea.

Chapter 8
    Shockaroonie on the front page of
The Inverfaughie Chanter
. Malcolm Robertson M.S.P. for Inverfaughie and district had keeled over and died. Heart Attack, no warning; sitting eating
Chicken Tonight
and boom. I phoned Jenny but she seemed disinclined to gossip and could only manage funereal platitudes.
    ‘A sad loss to this community,’ she mumbled through her hanky.
    ‘How’s Walter feeling?’ I asked.
    ‘He’s sad, Trixie,’ she said, somewhat coldly. ‘Obvs.’
    Even I was a little sad, Malcolm had seemed a nice man, a bit boring but still; if he hadn’t prematurely gone with the angels he might, in the fullness of time, have become my friend. He was an M.S.P. after all; he probably got invited to loads of parties. It wasn’t as if I had pals to spare. But, as sometimes happens, one friendship portal closes and another opens up. That very day I met someone new.
    In the grassland that ran down to the beach, the place the locals always referred to as the machair, Bouncer spotted something and bounded away from me. Usually the machair was heaving with sheep and cows roaming freely, making it out of bounds to dogs, but that day there were none so I’d thought it was safe enough to let Bouncer off the lead.
    Hah.
    I eventually caught up with him down near the water’s edge sniffing at another wee dog. More than sniffing, actually. He had wrapped his back legs around the wee dog’s head and was thrusting back and forth in a familiar rhythmic motion.
    ‘Bouncer, stop that right now!’ I shouted.
    ‘She might be more receptive at the other end, old chap,’ said a calm voice.
    A woman lay sprawled in the long grass, her face tilted to the sun, blowing cigarette smoke in an upward stream like a steam engine. I was thinking how strong her lungs must be when she suddenly exploded into a strenuous coughing fit. With the effort she was putting in she’d be lucky if her underwear didn’t get at least a wee bit damp.
    I didn’t recognise her from Inverfaughie. She must be a