His father smiles and glances back at him. ‘I really don’t want to have a heart-to-heart. Do you?’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Well let’s not then. Let’s just say that I think the best thing you could do is try and live your life as if Emma were still here. Don’t you think that would be best?’

‘I don’t know if I can.’

‘Well you’ll have to try.’ He reaches for the remote control. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing for the last ten years?’ On the TV, his father finds what he has been looking for, and sinks further into his chair. ‘Ah, The Bill.’

They sit and watch the TV in the light of the summer evening, in the room full of family photographs and to his embarrassment Dexter finds that he is crying once again, very quietly. Discreetly, he puts his hand to his eyes, but his father can hear the catching of his breath and glances over.

‘Everything alright there?’

‘Sorry,’ says Dexter.

‘Not my cooking, is it?’

Dexter laughs and sniffs. ‘Still a bit drunk, I think.’

‘It’s alright,’ says his father, turning back to the TV. ‘ Silent Witnessis on at nine.’

SATURDAY 15 JULY 1988

Rankeillor Street, Edinburgh

Dexter showered in the shabby mildewed bathroom, then put on last night’s shirt. It smelt of sweat and cigarettes so he put the suit jacket on too, to hold the odour in, then squeezed toothpaste onto his index finger and polished his teeth.

He joined Emma Morley and Tilly Killick in the kitchen, beneath a greasy wall-sized poster of Truffaut’s Jules et Jim. Jeanne Moreau stood over them laughing as they ate an awkward, bowel-tweaking breakfast: brown toast with soya spread, some kind of aggregate muesli. Because this was a special occasion, Emma had washed out the continental-style espresso maker, the kind that always seemed to be mouldy inside, and after the first cup of oily black liquid Dexter began to feel a little bit better. He sat quietly, listening to the flatmates’ self-consciously larky banter, their big spectacles worn as a badge of honour, and had the vague feeling that he had been taken hostage by a rogue fringe theatre company. Perhaps it had been a mistake to stay on after all. Certainly it had been a mistake to leave the bedroom. How was he supposed to kiss her with Tilly Killick sitting there, babbling on?

For her part, Emma found herself increasingly maddened by Tilly’s presence. Did she have no discretion at all? Sat there with her chin cupped in her hand, playing with her hair and sucking her teaspoon. Emma had made the mistake of showering with an untested bottle of Body Shop strawberry gel and was painfully aware of smelling like a fruit yoghurt. She badly wanted to go and rinse it off, but didn’t dare leave Dexter alone with Tilly, her dressing-gown gaping open on her best underwear, a red plaid all-in-one body from Knickerbox; she could be so obvioussometimes.

To go back to bed, that’s what Emma really wanted, and to be partially dressed once again, but it was too late for that now, they were all too sober. Keen to get away, she wondered aloud what they should do today, the first day of their graduate lives.

‘We could go to the pub?’ suggested Dexter, weakly. Emma groaned with nausea.

‘Go for lunch?’ said Tilly.

‘No money.’

‘The movies then?’ offered Dexter. ‘I’ll pay. .’

‘Not today. It’s lovely out, we should be outside.’

‘Okay, the beach, North Berwick.’

Emma shrank from the idea. It would mean wearing a swimming costume in front of him, and she wasn’t strong enough for that kind of agony. ‘I’m useless on the beach.’

‘Okay then, what?’

‘We could climb up Arthur’s Seat?’ said Tilly.

‘Never done it,’ said Dexter casually. Both girls looked at him, open-mouthed.

‘You’ve never climbed Arthur’s Seat?’

‘Nope.’

‘You’ve been in Edinburgh four years, and you’ve never?. .’

‘I’ve been busy!’

‘Doing what?’ said Tilly.

‘Studying anthropology,’ said Emma and the two girls cackled unkindly.

‘Well we must go!’ said Tilly, and a brief silence followed as Emma’s eyes blazed a warning.

‘I haven’t got proper shoes,’ said Dexter.

‘It’s not K2, it’s just a big hill.’

‘I can’t climb it in brogues!’

‘You’ll be fine, it’s not hard.’

‘In my suit?’

‘Yes! We could take a picnic!’ But Emma could feel the enthusiasm starting to slip away, until Tilly finally spoke:

‘Actually, you two should probably go without me. I’ve got. . stuff to do.’

Emma’s eyes flicked towards her, catching the end of a wink, and Emma thought she might very easily lean across and kiss her.

‘Alright then. Let’s do it!’ said Dexter, brightening too, and fifteen minutes later they were stepping outside into the hazy July morning, the Salisbury Crags looming over them at the end of Rankeillor Street.

‘We’re really climbing up there?’

‘A child could do it. Trust me.’