Once Maggie'd gone, he turned Sofia to face the garden. Little stretches and a pop of her lips and her lips widened and she smiled and then it was gone. She was still asleep. "Shame your daddy's not much of a gardener," he whispered to her. "Mummy neither." Not many little girls in Edinburgh had their own garden.

Pity you rarely got the weather to take advantage of it. Usually raining or windy or both. Today was dry and the wind hadn't come out to play yet.

One day, when she was older, they'd appreciate it together.

For now he'd sit here with her and she could sleep and he could enjoy his garden. He'd worked hard enough for it.

He closed his eyes after a bit, but the inside of his head was too busy. His eyes sprang open again.

"It's okay," he said when Maggie returned.

"What is?"

"The grass. Doesn't need cut. Not yet."

"Charlie," she said.

He said nothing.

"Carlos, look at me," she said.

He looked at her. He liked looking at her. She was pretty, didn't need make up. She was half his age, twice as smart. She'd gained a little weight having Sofia and it suited her. She was sexy even with baby sick on her sleeve.

She said, "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He took a breath through his nose, smelled her perfume, something delicate, rising above Sofia's sweet milky smell.

"Mum spoken to you recently?" he asked.

"Only once since I told her to sober up. She phoned. Wanted to know if you'd fix her tap."

He smiled. "That again. No mention of Sofia?"

"Yeah." Maggie glanced at her feet. "Said she was sorry."

"I don't doubt it."

"Neither do I. You don't think I'm wrong, do you?" Her tongue flicked out, licked her lips. "Is that what this is about?"

"How can you think that?" He shook his head.