Glasgow, 1992

Kippy could tell what they were both thinking. His mother had looked delighted, and Marion McCaskill put a hand on Lillian's arm every time she made a point. Dod's mum shot a glance over her shoulder at him as she did so, eyes as wide as his mother's.

"Is this your girlfriend, Alan?" the unasked question went. "Goodness, she's a lovely lassie."

Lillian had been what she called a boarding school brat, and she was very good at small talk to anyone and everyone. When he'd told her his mother was finally making good on her threat to come and visit him, she clapped her hands.

"I have to meet them!"

"They're no..."

How to explain? When you grew up in a small fishing town, and your mother was the product of generations who'd lived in the same place, working on boats, farms, and in pubs and shops, such people were millions of miles away from Lillian's common acquaintances.

"The mothers love me," Lillian said.

"But you're no–"

This time she cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. "I can act it if you want?"

It was a tempting offer, but a deception too far for Kippy. Daisy, bless her heart, had never let on that the reason they split up was that she'd found out that the female sex did nothing for him. She could have told all and sundry, and the news would have spread around the streets of Kirkcudbright, people wide-eyed and eager to discuss Alan Kirkpatrick, the just-about only gay in the village.

Daisy didn't even say anything to Katrina, his cousin. As the two of them were very close—they even lived together these days—that was an almighty achievement and something he thanked the stars above for every day.

Katrina wouldn't mind, he knew, but she'd tell someone. She wouldn't mean to, and she'd swear the someone to secrecy, but how do you know you can trust the people you tell the secrets to? The joy of living in a small town was being able to gossip, and know that the recipient listened in delighted awe, half their mind on the topic and the other wondering who they could pass on this delightful gem to next.

"No, dinnae bother," he said to Lillian.

She did so anyway, coming with him to Buchanan Bus Station to meet his mother and Marion. Their journey had taken them three hours, but his mother couldn't drive, and driving in city traffic was something Marion, like most Kirkcudbright people, viewed with suspicion.

"Alan!"

"Lovely to see you, son!" Marion pressed him extra close. She had picked out her best clothes for the visit, he could tell, a printed dress, a silk scarf and a woollen coat worn with court shoes. By the end of the day, her feet would be killing her. They'd always enjoyed a comfortable relationship, but since...The Thing, Marion tried to use him to fill the gap her son had left. Sometimes, the need he felt coming from her was so fierce, he thought it would knock him off his feet.

Marion and his mother looked at Lillian, curiosity killing them, but too reserved to ask.

"Mum, Marion, this is Lillian. My friend from art school."

"Darlings!" Lillian did her best to act like an art school student. "I'm so pleased to meet you. Kippy has told me so much about you."

He hadn't really.

"I expect you'd like a tea, and perhaps a cake?"

She took hold of his mother's arm and gestured that he should do the same with Marion. Neither had assented, but they hadn't said no, either. Lillian steered them in the direction of John Lewis's. The coffee shop in there looked out over the Buchanan Galleries shopping malls and one of the busiest bits of Glasgow.

His mother and Marion's faces had taken on a shell-shocked expression. On a Saturday morning, pedestrian footfall was at its peak, as shoppers swarmed the buildings and bustled their way in and out of doors.

"Is it always this busy?" Marion asked, and he smiled. "Aye. You get used tae it, though."

She squeezed his arm.

"Dod would hae liked to visit you here, wouldn't he? Youse two would have had a whale of a time when he came up tae see you."

He nodded again, not sure if that was right. Dod had never expressed much of an interest in going beyond Dumfries, the nearest big town to Kirkcudbright. Kippy's job, though, was to indulge Marion in her memories and her what if's.

Inside John Lewis, he watched their eyes pop again as they took in the sheer quantities of stuff for sale—clothes, make-up, electrical goods, furniture, haberdashery and more. Marion and his mother were pounced on as they walked through the perfumes counters, squirted with samples they didn't have time to refuse.

"I quite like that," his mother sniffed her wrist as they took a seat upstairs. "I might buy myself some."

"At thirty pounds, ma? I doubt it," he said, and then felt ashamed at how dismayed she looked.

Lillian stood up. "I'll get the coffees in! Do you trust me to choose you cakes, ladies?"

His mother fumbled in her handbag and drew out an old, battered leather purse.

"You must let me pay for these, Lillian love."

Lillian shook her head. "Pay me back later." By which she meant, "but I won't remind you".

Alone, the two women didn't ask him about Lillian. They did ask, though, about life at art school. Again, it was hard to explain. Kippy's mum, Louisa, was arty in her own way. She'd always been the one who decided how their house was decorated, and she was skilful with knitting needles and crocheting, but she couldn't have told anyone where her son's talent came from. It certainly wasn't anything to do with the genes on his dad's side.

"They're gonnae run that exhibition again," she said now, smiling gratefully at Lillian as she returned with a tray laden with cups, teapots and cakes.

"The memorial exhibition?" Lillian asked, placing the tray down and pouring out teas. "Ladies, I got you some eclairs. They're so lovely, aren't they?"

Louisa took her tea and eyed the eclair more cautiously. His mother was always on a diet. The luck of the skinny Burnett genes had run out on her once she got to her forties.

"Yes, love. Has Kippy telt you about that, then? That's how he got to art school. The exhibition was–" She looked at her friend warily, but Marion smiled glassily.

Lillian took a sip of her own tea. "The exhibition was to commemorate the lives of those who were lost in that accident, wasn't it? And there was a competition too, that Kippy won, and that gave him enough money to pay for art school."

There was an awkward silence, the kind that people try to fill when they are worried someone might burst into tears.

"Aye," Marion said finally. "Kippy painted a great picture of the Fisher King and all the lads. It was far and away the best one in that competition."

Louisa had pulled the éclair towards her and was using her finger to scoop up tiny bits of cream. "Did you hear he's out? Tony Walker? Daisy's dad?"

"Is he?" Kippy asked, startled. Tony Walker had funded the exhibition and the art competition and thus the money Kippy had won that got him to art school. They only found out later he'd stolen all the money from the Metropolitan Police, of all people. Even nicking from the cops didn't make the money returnable, however.

"Aye. Mick told Morag he saw him when he was down in London doing stuff for that film company. He stayed with Daisy's family."

Louisa sounded faintly reproachful. She'd liked Daisy, the first girl Kippy had introduced as a girlfriend.

Lillian, he could tell, was storing all this up. He could see the questions in her mind, and unlike Louisa and Marion, she'd be asking them later.

There was a lot to explain. He'd told Lillian about the art prize that had got him into Glasgow School of Art once he'd sat and passed his access course, but the Daisy stuff was new to her. He hoped she'd work it out and not say anything incriminating.

And she didn't know about Dod.

"Daisy, Daisy," she said, teasing. "Do I need to be jealous, Alan?"

His mother would like that, her calling him Alan.

"No, Lillian," he signalled at her with his eyes to stop, and she smirked.

"Anyway, ladies! I'm sure you want to see the sights of Glasgow? I thought a bus tour might be next."

About to object, Kippy changed his mind. It was a smart idea. He hadn't thought about how his mother and Marion would spend their time here, and already the day stretched out in front of him. Two hours on a bus where the guides imparted their local knowledge with a side helping of Glasgow sass would be ideal.

He stood up. "My treat," and Lillian got to her feet too, kissing him lightly on the lips. "You said it, precious."

Later that day, he waved Louisa and Marion away with relief. The good thing about the bus back home was that if they wanted to catch it to make the connection to Kirkcudbright, they had to leave late afternoon. If they'd lived in Edinburgh, they could have stayed there until almost midnight as buses ran between the two cities every half hour all day and most of the night.

The horrors.

"Interesting, interesting Alan Kirkpatrick," Lillian said, waving too as the faces on the bus got smaller.

"Daisy. Fake girlfriends. Marion's son, Dod. The thief who stole money from the police and paid for you to go to art school. Maybe I need to re-think my ideas of what happens in small towns."

"Lillian, I'm no' in the mood." He threw off the hand she had placed on his shoulder and then felt wretchedly ungrateful. She had kept his mother, and Marion entertained all day, after all.

"Daisy was this lassie who moved to Kirkcudbright," he said as they made their way out of Buchanan Bus Station and to a bar on Hope Street Lillian promised was 'fun'. "I liked her, but no' in that way. Her dad poured a lot of money into the town, no' just the art competition. He also put money into local businesses and pubs. He was—is—a nice man."

"And did you use Daisy as cover?"

"Yes. She's the only one from ma old life who knows I'm gay." He would give Lillian that small bit of insider info, the reward for spending her Saturday the way she had done.

Dod, though? No. Dod was still his to hold tight to his heart.