The Long Glasgow Kiss

‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Lennox. If there’s anything I can ever do …’

‘What I want you to do is have a good life. Marry one of those strong, pretty Ukrainian-Canadian girls with sky-blue eyes, rosy cheeks and butter-coloured hair they’ve got in Saskatchewan and have a dozen blond kids.’

Davey sat silently in the car on the way back, the white envelope on his lap. He didn’t speak until I pulled up outside his digs.

‘I’ll never forget this, Mr Lennox. Never.’ His face was determined. Almost grim.

‘Good,’ I grinned. ‘I don’t expect you to. Maybe one day I’ll come out and visit.’

*

After I left Davey, I drove back to Great Western Road. Something churned in my gut and I knew it was because, out there by the river, I had faced things with Davey that I hadn’t faced since the war. It had liberated me and burdened me all at the same time. But at least, for once, I knew for sure what my next move was going to be.

I parked the Atlantic outside my digs, walked up to the door, unlocked it and stepped into the hallway. But I didn’t go up to my flat.

Instead, without hesitating, I knocked firmly on Fiona White’s door.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to the following people for their help and support: Wendy, Jonathan and Sophie; my agent Carole Blake, my editor Jane Wood, as well as Jenny Ellis and all at Quercus; my copy-editor Robyn Karney; Louise Thurtell at Allen and Unwin; Marco Schneiders and Helmut Pesch at Lübbe Verlag, as well as all of my other publishers around the world; also to Colin Black and Chris Martin.