As far as he knew, Allan only smoked when around smokers – obliging smokers. Looking up and down the street, Mike saw no sign of Calloway and his cohorts. Plenty of other bars they could be in. He remembered the bike sheds at school – there really had been bike sheds, though they were only used for improvised kickabouts. Behind them, the smokers gathered at break and lunchtime, Chib – having earned the nickname even at that early stage in his career – chief among them, breaking open a pack of ten or twenty and selling singles at inflated prices, plus another few pence for a light. Mike hadn’t smoked back then. Instead, he would hang around on the periphery, hoping for some sort of welcome into the brotherhood – an invitation that had never come.

‘Town’s quiet tonight,’ Allan said, flicking ash into the air. ‘Tourists must be lying low. I always wonder what they think of the place. I mean, it’s home to us; hard to see it with anyone else’s perspective.’

‘Thing is, Allan, it’s home to the likes of Chib Calloway, too. Two Edinburghs sharing a single nervous system.’

Allan wagged a finger. ‘You’re thinking of that programme on Channel 4 last night… the Siamese twins.’

‘I caught a bit of it.’

‘You’re like me – too much TV. We’ll be in our dotage and wondering why we didn’t do more with our lives.’

‘Thanks for that.’

‘You know what I mean, though – if I had your money I’d be helming a yacht in the Caribbean, landing my helicopter on the roof of that hotel in Dubai…’

‘You’re saying I’m wasting away?’ Mike was thinking of Gerry Pearson, of emails with embedded photos of speedboats and jet skis…

‘I’m saying you should grab what you can with both hands – and that includes the blessed Laura. If you nip back to the auction house, she’ll still be there. Ask her out on a date.’

‘Another date,’ Mike corrected him. ‘And look what happened last time.’

‘You give up too easily.’ Allan was shaking his head slowly. ‘It amazes me you ever made any money in business.’