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had after she’d washed it, her eyes soft brown and her lips parted. Then I blinked and she was gone.
    â€œI’d better get moving,” I said, nodding to Hector.
    â€œAye, don’t let those Oxford buggers get a head start with the whisky.”
    â€œGoodnight, old man,” I said, tugging the blanket up so it covered his chest.
    â€œGoodnight, failure,” he replied with a hoarse laugh.
    I walked out of the retirement home and into the twilight. I wished I had the ancient Athenian’s faith in eternal rebirth. If I had, I might have been able to let Caro go more easily – as well as prepare myself more adequately for the full stop that I knew was soon going to be applied to my father’s life.
    I turned the corner and walked down to the bus stop on East Trinity Road. It was coming up to half past seven and I knew there would be a bus along any minute to pick up citizens who worked in the tourist bars and restaurants in the central zone. As I headed towards the small cluster of people I heard a voice raised in anger.
    â€œYer vouchers, ya cunts! Gie us yer fuckin’ vouchers!”
    I slowed my pace but kept walking towards them, slipping my right hand into my coat pocket.
    â€œAwright, here you are!” a woman cried, the last word turning into a long-drawn-out sob.
    â€œTake them and leave us alone,” said another voice, male and unsteady. “Please!”
    I stopped and looked at the group. It was almost dark and though the streetlamps had come on, their light wasn’t yet bright. I thought I could see a pair of young men wearing cut-off coats and trousers turned up to beneath the knees: standard youth gang get-up. I considered calling Davie on my mobile then decided I could handle them on my own. That was my first mistake.
    â€œYou two!” I shouted. “Stay where you are!” I walked quickly towards the bus stop as five heads turned in my direction: two middle-aged women, one with a scarf round her hair, an elderly man whose cheekbones looked like they were about to break through the skin of his face, and a pair of pimply, shaven-headed youths. One of them had a red lightning flash tattooed on his left cheek.
    â€œWho said we were goin’ anywhere, shite?” Flash stepped forwards and jabbed the point of a stick at me. I reckoned it was a sharpened broom handle, the weapon of choice for your standard headbanger.
    The other bootboy looked less courageous. He moved behind the innocent bystanders and stared at me, his jaw slack.
    â€œEh, shite?” the first guy said.
    â€œPut it down,” I said, making sure my voice didn’t waver. “It’ll be better for you if you do.”
    â€œFuck you, pal,” he said, running his eyes over me and grinning broadly to reveal shiny yellow teeth; some of the gangs apply metallic paint. “What are you, anyway? Undercover slime?” He stamped his boots on the pavement. “I like steppin’ in youse.”
    â€œPut the stick down,” I repeated. “Last chance.”
    â€œLast chance for you, fucker.” Flash lunged at me, his weapon aimed at my throat.
    I stepped aside and brought my cosh down hard on the youth’s forearm. The unmistakable sound of cracking bone rang out.
    The stick fell to the pavement, rapidly followed by its owner. He started squealing in agony.
    I left him where he was and moved towards the others. They were all motionless, the other gang member included.
    Then the timorous one shouted “Nae surrender, Gus” at his prone pal.
    I turned my head for a second. In an instant the shouter was away, his heavy footwear pounding down the asphalt. There was no chance of my forty-four-year-old legs getting near him so I didn’t bother giving chase. I went back to Flash and dragged him to his feet.
    â€œYou bust ma arm,” he said in disbelief, his bravado completely gone. “You bust ma fuckin’ arm.”
    â€œStop