"But gran," I protested. "It's bad for you."

"I know." She smiled broadly. That was another reason I didn't ever take it up, after your grandfather died; they'd found it was unhealthy by then." She laughed. "But I'm seventy-two years old now, and I don't give a damn."

I chucked a few more pebbles. "Well, it isn't a very good example to us youngsters, is it?"

"What's that got to do with the price of sliced bread?"

"Eh?" I looked at her. "Pardon?"

"You're not really trying to tell me that young people today look to their elders for an example, are you, Prentice?"

I grimaced. «Well…» I said.

"You'd be the first generation that did." She pulled on the cigarette, a look of convincing derision on her face. "Best do everything they don't. That's what tends to happen anyway, like it or lump it." She nodded to herself and ground the cigarette out on her cast, near the knee; flicked the butt into the water. I tutted under my breath.

"People react more than they act, Prentice," she said eventually. "Like you are with your dad; he raises you to be a good little atheist and then you go and get religion. Well, that's just the way of things." I could almost hear her shrug. "Things can get imbalanced in families, over the generations. Sometimes a new one has to… adjust things." She tapped me on the shoulder. I turned. Her hair was very white against the rich summer green of the Argyllshire hills and the brilliant blue of the sky beyond. "D'you feel for this family, Prentice?"

"Feel for it, gran?"

"Does it mean anything to you?" She looked cross. "Anything beyond the obvious, like giving you a place to stay… well, when you aren't falling out with your father? Does it?"

"Of course, gran." I felt awkward.

She leaned closer to me, eyes narrowing. "I have this theory, Prentice."

My heart foundered. "Yes, gran?"

"In every generation, there's a pivot. Somebody everybody else revolves around, understand?"