Glasgow
Saturday 28 December 2019

If she’d just made time to listen, things could have turned out so very differently.

The setting was the house on Clarence Drive; the occasion Anna Scavolini’s non-denominational midwinter gathering cum farewell party. The tall, narrow townhouse was packed to the rafters – a motley assortment of friends, friends of friends and other assorted hangers-on, many of them gathered under the same roof for the first time.

Zoe and Sal had come, of course, along with Sal’s big sister Jen, and Jen’s twin three-year-olds, Ewan and Maisie. The twins had quickly formed a triumvirate with Jack, which subsequently became a quadrumvirate with the arrival of Mandy and her nine-year-old daughter, Ruby. As the oldest of the group, Ruby wasted no time in taking charge, marshalling her more diminutive underlings up the stairs for a rowdy game of tig, the rules and conditions of victory to be devised and enforced solely at her discretion.

Pamela Macklin was there too, having made it through from Edinburgh on time – an obvious point of pride for her – as well as Farah Hadid and her boyfriend, Émile. Marion Angus had turned up as well, accompanied by her long-term partner, Ben, who compensated for Marion’s verbal diarrhoea by barely speaking at all. The next-door neighbours, Jim and Arianne, a pair of well-to-do retirees with a fondness for involving themselves in other people’s affairs, had also put in an appearance. They and Anna weren’t exactly friends in the strictest sense, but given that they shared an adjoining wall, she could hardly conceal the fact that she was throwing a jamboree from them. Besides, they’d promised to keep an eye on the house, and its new tenants, while she was away, so she figured the least she could do was involve them in the proceedings.

And then there was Paul Vasilico, who she could probably have got away without inviting but had nonetheless felt compelled to – both for old times’ sake and because she’d been serious when she’d promised not to lose touch with him again, and wanted to demonstrate the depths of her seriousness. She’d been anticipating a degree of awkwardness between them, but the reality was that she’d been so busy playing the attentive host – making sure everyone had a drink in their hand at all times; constantly nipping back and forth to the kitchen to check that the mini quiches weren’t burning in the oven – that he’d barely had an opportunity to do more than nod to her in passing, and she back at him. At that particular moment, Jim, having clearly identified him as a man with similar priorities to his own, had collared him and was subjecting him to an extended soliloquy on the persisting issue, in spite of several sternly worded letters to the council, of non-residents hogging all the parking spaces on the street. Judging by Vasilico’s expression, he was already regretting not having had somewhere else to be.

All told, the house was fuller that night than it had ever been in all the time Anna had lived there, and possibly even since it had been built. In fact, there were so many people clustered into the living room, it was nigh on impossible to get from one end to the other without sucking in her chest and shimmying sideyways. Half of her was regretting having invited so many people to a single gathering, while the other half took genuine pleasure from the realisation that she actually had more friends than she’d thought. Now that it came down to it, she was going to miss having them all a mere walk or train ride away.

Still, with change came new opportunities. New opportunities, a new university, and a chance to put the events of the last year firmly in the rearview mirror.

‘It’s a one-year part-time lecturing contract,’ she explained to Arianne, who’d managed to catch her in between trips to the kitchen. ‘They’re trialling a dedicated criminology undergraduate programme and they want someone with experience of running one to help them get it off the ground.’

‘And what brought this on?’ said Arianne, swirling her glass of cognac. ‘Is the pay better in Perugia, or did you just fancy the change?’

Actually, Anna felt like saying to her, it’s because my boss at Kelvingrove stabbed me in the back and hung me out to dry after the entire university received sexually explicit images of me in their inboxes.

But, of course, she didn’t. Arianne Faulkner might well be the only person here tonight who didn’t know she’d been the victim of a revenge porn operation perpetrated by a group of militant male supremacists, and she wasn’t about to enlighten her now.

‘Well,’ she said, adopting a light-hearted tone, ‘they don’t have Scottish winters there, for a start.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Arianne, who never missed an opportunity to shift a conversation to herself – for which, in this instance, Anna was profoundly grateful. ‘At my grand old age, I feel the cold in my bones more with each passing year …’

But Anna was no longer properly listening. Her mind was wandering back to the events that had followed her tendering her resignation at the start of the month. Her walking out of Fraser Taggart’s office, leaving him in a state of stunned inertia. The frantic calls from colleagues, pleading with her to tell them that the rumours weren’t true. The eventual intervention from the Principal himself, impressing on her how valued a colleague she was, imploring her to reconsider. Eventually, in a last-ditch effort to persuade her, he’d offered her a period of unpaid leave, during which she would be free to pursue other ventures, including taking on paid work elsewhere.

‘Give it a year,’ he’d said, ‘and we’ll see how you feel then.’

And so, with no small amount of scepticism, she’d agreed to give it a year, and had duly withdrawn her resignation and immediately set about burning through the backlog of annual leave she’d accrued in order to avoid the resulting awkwardness of having to face her colleagues before her period of leave took effect at the start of the new year. It was hard not to feel like she’d basically been browbeaten into submission, and that any decision about her future at Kelvingrove had merely been deferred. Mind you, there was something undeniably gratifying about knowing that her presence there was so valued that the Principal would consider staging such an extraordinary intervention to secure her continued affiliation.

She’d had no communication whatsoever with Fraser throughout any of this. Anna strongly suspected he’d been ordered by the Principal to keep a low profile – no doubt after being given a summary bollocking for allowing this situation to ever arise.

‘… and what do you make of this virus that’s doing the rounds in China?’ said Arianne, interrupting Anna’s thoughts. ‘They were talking about it on the radio this morning, so they were. They’re saying it’s this super-charged new type of flu.’

‘Nothing for us to fret about, I’m sure,’ said Jim, breaking away from Vasilico to insert himself into the conversation. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from concerning ourselves with goings-on nearly five thousand miles away.’

‘But—’

‘Mark my words: in a few weeks, it’ll all’ve blown over and we’ll be left wondering what all the fuss was ever about.’

Anna caught Vasilico’s eye. He gave a rueful grimace, which she returned, then swiftly averted her eyes and scurried back to the kitchen with her tray of empty glasses.

She was bending down to check the mini quiches for the umpteenth time when she heard movement behind her. She stood up and turned to see Vasilico shutting the door behind him. The chatter from the living room, so overbearing until now, was muted to a distant murmur.

‘Paul,’ she said, a trifle flustered. ‘What’s up? D’you need something in your glass?’

‘What?’ Vasilico appeared momentarily confused. ‘No, my glass is fine, thanks. My cup runneth over. I just wanted to get you to myself for a bit.’

‘Jim’s been talking your ear off, I see,’ said Anna, steadfastly ignoring the implications of what he’d just said. ‘I swear, there’s not a topic on this earth he doesn’t consider himself an expert in.’

‘Yes, he’s quite something. He’s just been explaining to me how he’d solve Brexit, the Northern Ireland border and world hunger in ten minutes flat if the politicians would just give way to him.’

‘Goodness. They don’t realise what they’re missing.’

She could hear the way her voice sounded: high and artificially chirpy. She knew she was babbling, filling the space between them to avoid having to acknowledge the outsized pachyderm in the room.

Vasilico stepped towards her. ‘Anna …’

‘Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?’

But before Vasilico could respond, they were interrupted by the creak of the door. They turned to see Ben tentatively poking his head in. He blinked uncertainly from behind his thick, full-rim glasses as he regarded the pair of them, barely ten centimetres apart at the hob.

‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Anna, both too quickly and too emphatically. ‘We were just … I was just checking on the oven.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Ben, with palpable relief. He stepped into the kitchen, tucking a loose strand of long, lank hair behind his ear. ‘Actually, about that.’ He glanced at the oven. ‘I, uh, just wanted to make sure … you’re remembering Marion’s gluten-free?’

‘She’s what now?’ said Anna, a rictus grin stretched taut across her features.

‘Aaaaand that’s my cue to leave,’ said Vasilico.

And before Anna could plead with him not to abandon her to her fate, he slipped past Ben and ducked out.

‘You did remember, didn’t you?’ said Ben. ‘She’d never say anything herself – you know how she is – so I thought I ought to check.’

Anna continued to gaze back at him. Her cheeks were aching from keeping the smile fixed on her face. She knew she should stop grinning, but she’d held it for so long now that she couldn’t think of a way of changing her expression without it looking even more unnatural. Ben continued to gaze at her expectantly.

‘Of … course I remembered.’ She forced a laugh, which only succeeded in making her sound faintly unhinged. ‘What sort of a host d’you take me for?’

Ben relaxed instantly. ‘Oh, thank God. Cos, you know, gluten makes her bloat like nothing on earth and then she gets diarrhoea for days and … well, you get the picture.’ He turned to go. ‘Thanks for putting my mind at ease. I’ll let you get back to it.’

And with that, he slipped out, leaving Anna to contemplate this new and unanticipated dilemma.

She racked her brains, trying to think which of the various foodstuffs she’d procured for the evening meal qualified as gluten free. The mini quiches were out, for a start … as, presumably, was the chocolate torte she’d bought for dessert. The vegetable dip would be OK, surely – if not the dip itself then certainly the vegetables. Was she seriously contemplating leaving Marion to gnaw on cucumber and carrot sticks while the rest of them tucked into a lavish buffet spread?

She was just weighing up how straightforward it would be to slip out of the house undetected and hot foot it to Sainsbury’s when the door opened once again. This time, it was Zoe.

‘What?’ Anna almost snapped.

Zoe took a step back. ‘Jeez-o, doll. Don’t be getting yer underthings in a twist. Jist thought ye’d be wanting tae know yer old CO’s showed up.’

‘My what?’ Anna was in no fit state to deal with euphemisms.

‘Y’know – auld guy with the big belly and the dandruff. Used tae be yer boss till they kicked him tae the kerb.’

‘You mean Hugh?’ Anna found herself torn between relief and exasperation.

‘Aye, that’s the geezer. Also, just so’s ye know – reckon he’s been on the sauce.’

She mimed necking from an open bottle, pulled a grimace and slipped out, the sounds of the party swallowing her up as she disappeared from view.

Anna leant both sets of knuckles on the work surface, inhaled a deep breath and counted to five. She’d invited Hugh, of course, and had been somewhat surprised when, despite promising he’d be there, he hadn’t arrived with the other guests. But then, she’d been so busy dealing with a full house and keeping a dozen plates spinning that his absence had soon slipped her mind. And now, apparently, here he was, better late than never – and drunk, if Zoe was to be believed. What else was this night going to throw at her?

Steeling herself, she rearranged her face into what she hoped was a passable facsimile of orderly serenity and strode out into the hallway. There, just as Zoe had said, was Hugh. He did indeed appear to be somewhat the worse for wear, leaning against the wall for balance and breathing heavily through his open mouth. Farah was with him, speaking to him urgently in a low voice, though she clammed up at the sound of Anna’s approach and took a step back, arms folded about herself, almost as if she’d been caught doing something illicit.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said in a low voice.

And then, with one last, foreboding look at Anna, she hurried off, heading back into the living room to join the others.

For a moment, Anna was tempted to go after her. Please, she wanted to say, don’t leave me to deal with this on my own. But the moment had passed, and she knew, judging by the state Hugh was in, that leaving him on his own, even for a few seconds, would be the height of irresponsibility. So instead, she once more gritted her teeth and turned to face the music.

‘Hugh,’ she said, trying to maintain her smile. ‘You made it.’

Hugh didn’t so much turn as roll round to face her, his features broadening into an expression of unapologetic joy.

‘Anna,’ he slurred. ‘Oh, Anna, Anna, Anna. You were always the best out of all of us. Did I ever tell you that? If I didn’t, I should’ve, and I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry about how things turned out. Sorry about all of it.’

‘It’s fine, Hugh,’ said Anna wearily. ‘You know I don’t hold you responsible for any of it. The people to blame … well, they’re not under this roof tonight.’

‘It’s a waste. A bloody waste is what it is.’

Hugh poked an index finger in Anna’s direction for emphasis, but overshot and jabbed her right in the clavicle. Seeming to realise his mistake, he withdrew his hand into a clenched fist and had the good grace to look suitably ashamed by his faux pas.

Doing her best not to take this apparently unintentional act of assault personally, Anna gripped Hugh’s arm and led him over to the stairs. With her help, he managed to lower himself onto the bottom step and sat there, head tilted backwards, mouth hanging slack, while she stood, gazing down at him. Right now, her overriding feeling towards him was one of pity, but pity tempered by something else: a degree of repellence which bordered on disgust, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. She’d never seen him like this before; had no idea he was even capable of getting himself into this sort of state, and she wished now that she’d remained none the wiser.

‘What’s going on, Hugh?’ she implored him. ‘D’you want me to call Miriam?’

‘No!’ said Hugh immediately, growing seemingly alarmed at the invocation of his adult daughter’s name. ‘I …’ he began, then seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say and shook his head vehemently. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘Don’t want to trouble her.’

‘Well, is there someone else I can get for you? Someone who can—’

‘No. You. Only you. Need to talk to you. Need to tell you things.’

‘Well,’ said Anna, once again with forced levity, ‘no time like the present. Let’s hear it.’

But at that moment, there came an anguished shriek from overhead, followed by a series of short, sharp wails.

The children, Anna immediately thought. Something must have happened to one of the children. Now that it occurred to her, they had been suspiciously quiet for a good long while.

Without another word, she left Hugh where he sat and hurried up the stairs, wondering just what the hell was going on up there.

She soon found out. Ewan was on his hands and knees at the edge of the second-floor landing, his head wedged between two of the wooden balusters that formed the guardrail. He continued to wail while the other three children stood in a semi-circle around him, all trying their hardest not to look shifty. Well, Jack and Maisie were trying. To Anna’s eyes, Ruby looked altogether too pleased with herself.

Anna stared at the sight before her in disbelief. ‘What the actual fuck?’

The inadvertent chortle that escaped from Ruby did little to lessen the impression of her guilt.

It took several minutes and the combined interrogation skills of several of the adults to finally get to the bottom of what had happened. Apparently, Ruby had declared that Ewan had a fat head, and, in the face of his vociferous denials, had encouraged him to prove her wrong by pushing it between the balusters. He had duly done so and was now wedged tight – a situation which, in Ruby’s eyes, ably proved her point. Now, at least half the guests were clustered round him, each – in the apparent belief that they were being helpful – offering their own solutions to the problem, from rubbing butter on Ewan’s cheeks to calling out the fire brigade. Mandy, meanwhile, declared that they were ‘bloody eejits, the lottaya,’ while Sal did her best not to collapse in a fit of giggles, even as Jen, down on her knees and rubbing Ewan’s back soothingly, shot her sister an angry glare and told her it wasn’t bloody funny.

‘I mean,’ said Sal, wiping her eyes, ‘I know it’s not, but it also sort of is, y’know?’

Ewan, meanwhile, having apparently worn himself out, had ceased wailing and settled instead for letting out periodic self-pitying moans, which presumably required less energy and effort.

In the end, it required nothing so drastic as summoning the fire brigade. Nor was Anna required to fetch the Lurpak. It was Mandy who eventually pointed out that, since Ewan’s head was indeed the largest part of his anatomy, it would make more sense if he simply followed through on what he’d already started and pushed the rest of himself through the gap between the balusters. He took a great deal of convincing, but eventually he complied, and succeeded in squeezing his entire body through without too much effort, while Émile balanced precariously at the top of a stepladder on the half-landing below, ready to receive him.

By the time Ewan had been consoled, by multiple cuddles from Jen and an extra-large slice of chocolate torte, there wasn’t much left of the evening, and the guests began to drift away. Marion and Ben were among the first to leave, the issue of the lack of gluten-free food thereby resolving itself naturally. Jen and her brood followed shortly afterwards, an exhausted Ewan fast asleep on Jen’s shoulder; then, once the coast was clear, Mandy left too, dragging a recalcitrant Ruby by the arm and being heard to mutter darkly at her that she ‘couldnae take ye anywhere.’ The remaining guests nibbled at the buffet (minus the mini quiches, which had burned to a crisp while the drama was unfolding upstairs), but the spark seemed to have gone out of the event, and, before long, they too were making their excuses and preparing to vacate the premises.

Vasilico was the last to leave. Anna saw him out to the front step, where they stood facing one another, neither seemingly wanting to bring things to a close, but both afflicted by the same awkwardness that had characterised all their interactions of late.

‘Well,’ he said, breaking the silence, ‘I guess this is it.’

‘It’s only for a year,’ said Anna. ‘That’s no time at all. I’ll be back before you know it.’

A strained silence unfolded. Eventually, Vasilico cleared his throat.

‘So, ah, when’s the big moving day?’

‘Soon,’ said Anna. ‘We need to be out of the house by the sixth for the new tenants moving in. My contract with Perugia doesn’t start till the first of February, but I’d like to be there early so I can get Jack settled in before I begin teaching.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll come and visit you.’

‘There’s an idea.’

Again, Vasilico hesitated. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to attempt to kiss her – if not on the lips, then at least on the cheek. She wasn’t sure how she’d respond if he did.

But, in the event, the moment passed without incident. A few seconds later, he stirred, then gave her an unusually formal nod.

‘Well … safe travels.’

And, with that, he turned and headed off into the night.

Long after he’d disappeared from sight, Anna remained on the top step, barely noticing the chill of the concrete on her bare feet. There was a lot still to be done before the sixth. She had to finish packing, and the things she and Jack weren’t planning to take with them to Perugia would have to be put into storage. The small apartment she had lined up there – in the city centre, a stone’s throw from the Piazza IV Novembre and within walking distance of the university – couldn’t possibly accommodate all the clutter they’d accumulated over the years; nor would it be practical to ship everything over there from Glasgow. She still needed to pin Jack down on which Lego sets he wanted to take with him – not a conversation she was looking forward to.

At least she wouldn’t have to chase Zoe about packing up her stuff. She’d already vacated the premises a week ago; her and Sal were staying with Jen and the twins till they got their own place sorted out. No doubt about it, it was going to be tough, having fifteen hundred miles separating them after having lived under the same roof for the last four years. But at least they’d both have plenty to keep them occupied – Anna with her new post in Perugia, Zoe with the Childhood Practice course she’d enrolled in, and which was due to start in just over a week’s time.

Anyway, she told herself, it wasn’t for ever. Just for twelve months.

She sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils, held it for a moment, then let it out. She wasn’t looking forward to saying goodbye to all of this: the city she’d been born in, the house she’d occupied for the last nine years, the friendships she’d forged. But, all the same, she was glad to be drawing a definitive line in the sand. 2019 had, all told, been a bloody awful year, what with the Sandra Morton affair, followed hot on its heels by her ordeal at the hands of The Reckoning. She’d be glad when it was over.

2020 couldn’t possibly be any worse.

It was only after she was back inside, the door securely locked behind her, that she realised there was no sign of Hugh. He must have left while the crisis with Ewan had been unfolding upstairs. What had he wanted to talk to her about, she wondered, and what had prompted him to get himself into such a pitiable state? Her eyes strayed to the phone on the hallway table. She really ought to call him – to make sure he’d got home safely, if nothing else.

She shook her head, banishing the idea from her mind. Whatever was going on was his business, unless he chose to share it with her. And he had, it seemed, changed his mind about doing so – or else, surely, he wouldn’t have snuck off without so much as a by-your-leave. Besides, she had enough on her plate without involving herself in someone else’s affairs. She’d done more than enough of that lately, and it never ended well.

Whatever problems Hugh was facing, he was going to have to solve them himself.

Perugia
Wednesday 11 August 2021

Anna stood at the head of the high-ceilinged drawing room on the second floor of the Palazzo Florenzi. Historic paintings adorned the walls and a chandelier hung overhead, but the sense of historicity was blunted somewhat by the laminated signs commanding all and sundry to adhere to the government-mandated regulations regarding mask-wearing, social distancing and regular lateral flow testing. Five rows of seats faced the front, each a metre apart, the space between them marked by two strips of tape on the floor forming a stark white ‘X’. The blinking red LED of the camera mounted on a tripod facing her served as a constant reminder that the lecture was being beamed live into the bedrooms of those students who either chose not to attend in person or hadn’t been sufficiently quick off the mark to secure one of the limited spaces available. Beyond the camera, the eyes of around twenty-five students gazed back at her, their faces covered by masks of a variety of styles and colours. Their facial expressions might have been hidden from view, but their eyes shone with an attentive fervour.

‘Oggi finiamo qui,’ she said. ‘Grazie a tutti, e buona fortuna.’

As she dipped her head and took a step back, the students broke into a round of what appeared to be spontaneous applause. It started with just a couple of them in the front row, then quickly spread until it engulfed the entire room. As the applause continued,

Anna, a little overwhelmed, felt her lips extending into an embarrassed smile, and was grateful that her own snuggly fitting mask concealed her blushing cheeks.

The applause petered out. The students gathered their things and began to leave, forming an orderly, one-metre-apart queue for the door on the right, designated as the exit. As Anna packed away her laptop, one of the students, a girl of about twenty with an incongruous (and slightly manic-looking) cartoon smile design on her mask, broke off and approached her.

‘Professoressa, I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this class.’

‘Oh,’ said Anna, slightly wrong-footed by this unexpected approach. ‘Well, I’m glad you got something out of it.’

‘To tell the truth,’ the girl – Gabriela, that was her name – went on, ‘I only took it because I needed the grade points. My major is in comparative literature. But I’ve realised now that’s not really where my heart lies. I want to be a criminologist.’

‘That’s … that’s wonderful,’ said Anna, genuinely touched and not sure how else to respond.

‘Actually, I was wondering if you could give me any advice about applying to different universities.’

Anna felt her eyes straying inadvertently towards the wall clock. She managed to stop herself, but not quickly enough.

‘I don’t mean right now,’ said Gabriela hastily. ‘But if I could contact you at a more convenient time …’

‘Well,’ said Anna, silently cursing herself for being so transparent in her desire to beat a hasty exit, ‘I’m not sure how much longer my university email will be active, but …’

She took a notebook from her bag, tore a scrap of paper from a blank page and scribbled on it, before handing it to Gabriela.

‘There. That’s my personal email. Send me a message and I promise I’ll get back to you.’

Gabriela took the paper, practically gushing with gratitude. ‘Oh, thank you, Professoressa. I will. And enjoy your summer vacation.’

Anna smiled. ‘You too.’

Gabriela thanked her once again, then practically curtsied and hurried off to join her friends.

Shaking her head in amusement, Anna resumed her packing.

Ten minutes later, she exited the small corner office she’d occupied since the university reopened its doors the previous September, the handful of personal effects she’d accumulated there crammed into her shoulder bag. The multi-storey Palazzo Florenzi had been built in the eighteenth century, passing through the hands of various members of the aristocracy before finally coming into the possession of the university and serving as the headquarters of the Department of Philosophy, Social Sciences and Education, and it still had more than a whiff of a stately home about it.

She set off down the stairs and was making her way along the ground-floor corridor towards the exit when she heard someone calling her name behind her. She turned as Silvia Arrighi, the department’s elegant sixty-year-old director, came clomping after her in her heeled brogues. Anna stopped to wait for her.

‘I was hoping to catch you before you left,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for us during the last eighteen months – particularly under such … trying circumstances.’

‘It’s been a challenging time for everyone,’ Anna said.

That might well have been the understatement of the new millennium. Those eighteen months had been nothing short of surreal, from the daily reports about the spread of the virus to the announcement, when she’d barely got her feet under the table, of the university’s closure, followed by the nationwide lockdown that confined her and Jack to their little apartment on Via Gianna Brezzi for weeks on end. Then there was the resumption of classes in the form of remote learning, with all the trials and tribulations associated with unfamiliar and cumbersome technology (she swore, if she never attended another Zoom meeting, it would be too soon) – followed, after a few months, by a move to hybrid teaching once the university reopened its doors, punctuated by a succession of mini-lockdowns to tackle local flare-ups, each resulting in temporary, often last-minute, closures. All told, it had been an uncertain, frustrating and at times genuinely frightening period in her life, and being in a new job, in a new city, where she didn’t know anyone, hadn’t helped. And yet she knew, if she had the option to wind back the clock, she’d still have made the same choice to abandon everything and relocate to Perugia.

‘Well, you more than rose to the occasion,’ said Silvia. ‘I’ve heard nothing but praise from the students.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Anna. Then, mindful of the time, ‘Do you mind … ? I’ve arranged to meet someone.’

‘Certo, certo. I wouldn’t dream of delaying you further. But I wanted to emphasise how much we’ve appreciated having you with us, and … well, I wanted to see how you’d feel about potentially making it more permanent.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’ve been given authorisation by the Deputy Rector to offer you a permanent contract as a full faculty member. It’s a full-time position with a very competitive salary, not to mention a guaranteed research budget and a variety of other perks which are detailed in the written offer of employment. I know your intention was always to return to Scotland once your contract here ended,’ she continued, before Anna could speak, ‘but you’ve extended your stay with us once already, and – well, I think the last year and a half has caused several of us to reevaluate our lives.’

‘It’s … I’m not sure what to say,’ was Anna’s eventual response. Her eyes involuntarily glanced towards the door, aware of the passing time.

‘Of course,’ said Silvia hastily, ‘I don’t expect a decision immediately.’ She waved her hands theatrically, as if shooing Anna away. ‘Go. Enjoy your vacation. Take a week to think about it. But if you do decide to accept, know that the entire department would be honoured to have you as a colleague.’

Her mind abuzz, Anna traversed through the narrow, winding streets, up the steps of the Via Appia, to the Piazza IV Novembre. The historic public square teemed with a mixture of tourists, students and the handful of locals who’d come out to enjoy the late afternoon sun, now that the worst of the day’s heat had passed. Anna made her way through the crowd and took a seat on the steps of the Cattedrale San Lorenzo, facing the fountain in the middle of the square. The sun might have passed its peak, but, as she removed her cardigan and stowed it in her bag, she was grateful for the thin sleeveless summer dress she’d picked out that morning. There was a reason why Italians – those who have the luxury of doing so, at any rate – fled the cities en masse for the countryside and the coast in August. She’d be joining them herself before long, now that teaching was over at last – and would have done so considerably earlier, if the constant lockdowns and related upheavals hadn’t prolonged the academic year well into the summer months.

She heard a shout and looked up, a smile spreading across her face as she saw Jack running across the piazza towards her. He barrelled into her and threw his arms round her, practically knocking her over in the process: now five and a half years old and pushing fifteen kilos, he nonetheless remained blissfully unaware of his own strength.

‘Hey, Trouble,’ she said, returning the hug, then prying him off her gently but firmly. ‘What have you been up to?’

Jack grinned. ‘Abbiamo preso un gelato,’ he chirped.

‘Oh, che bello. Quali gusti?’

But Jack was now bored of speaking Italian. ‘I had chocolate,’ he responded in English, ‘but Francesca wouldn’t let me taste her pistachio.’ He sounded genuinely aggrieved.

‘Is that right? Well, if you wanted pistachio, perhaps you should have asked for that instead of chocolate, then?’

Jack considered this for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, his tone final.

‘No? So you reckon you should be able to have your cake and eat it, then?’

Jack frowned. ‘We didn’t have cake.’

‘Neither you did,’ Anna agreed. She got to her feet. ‘Speaking of which, where are …’

But even as she shielded her eyes against the sun, she spotted them, making their way across the piazza towards them: nine-year-old Francesca, all gangly limbs and long, uncombed hair, and her father, Matteo, tall and sinewy in a clay-stained T-shirt and old jeans. Spotting them, he grinned and raised a hand in greeting.

‘Caio, Anna!’

Returning the wave, Anna took Jack’s hand and headed down the steps to join them.

‘Hey, you two. Been having a grand old time without me, by all accounts.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Matteo amiably. ‘It’s been deeply trying for us all.’ He took Anna’s bag from her. ‘So, no difficulty in getting away, then?’

‘It’s all good.’

‘And you’re completely finished with work? No possibility of some last-minute catastrophe luring you back into the office?’

Anna smiled firmly. ‘I give you my word, nothing will prevent the four of us from being at Lago Trasimeno by lunchtime tomorrow.’

They headed south across the piazza, Anna and Matteo strolling side by side while Jack and Francesca ran on ahead. Where do they find the energy in this heat? Anna wondered.

‘Jack didn’t cause any trouble, did he?’ she said.

They tended to shift between English and Italian freely, but she was making a conscious decision to speak the latter now. Jack was far enough ahead that the odds of him hearing her were low, but she still preferred to add an extra layer of ‘protection’.

‘Well,’ said Matteo airily, ‘he did threaten to strangle Francesca with her own intestines.’ He saw Anna’s aghast look and smiled. ‘I’m joking. He’s been a model citizen from start to finish.’

Anna felt the tension leaving her. During their time in Perugia, Jack had been on a much more even keel. Indeed, it might even be fair to say he’d blossomed here – in spite of the strictures of lockdown, and helped in no small part, no doubt, by her greatly reduced working hours having allowed her to devote vastly more time to him than in the past. Nonetheless, she remained mindful of the various incidents that had occurred in their last few months in Glasgow – the tantrums and the biting – and remained alert for any signs of a return to ‘old ways’.

‘And you know we always enjoy looking after him,’ Matteo continued. ‘Both of us. Especially Francesca. She’s never had someone to boss around before.’

They watched the two children, hiding in adjacent archways up ahead, periodically peeking out at one another and cackling uproariously, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

Anna smiled to herself. She couldn’t deny that it had been a stroke of extremely good fortune to have found herself living in the same apartment block as a fellow single parent. It had been Matteo who’d proposed they form a bubble, pooling their resources, as it were, and for all intents and purposes becoming a de facto family unit. Especially during the first few weeks of lockdown, when everyone was cooped up indoors and venturing outside was limited to essential business only, it had been a godsend to have another child around for Jack to interact with at such a crucial stage in his development. She shuddered to think what the impact would have been on him if he’d had no contact with anyone besides herself. Once the restrictions had eased and some semblance of normality slowly began to creep back into their lives, they’d continued their arrangement, looking after each other’s offspring whenever the other had to go out. Matteo, a sculptor by trade, had his studio in the spare room of his apartment, while Anna’s contract only called for her to be at the university three days a week, meaning it was rare indeed for a situation to arise whereby one of them wasn’t around to play childminder.

And there were other advantages, too, to having an available bachelor just across the hallway, as Anna had soon discovered …

They enjoyed a lazy evening meal in the open-air courtyard of the apartment block, Anna and Matteo emptying the better part of a bottle of Sangiovese between them. Jack and Francesca soon tired of watching their parents drink wine and listening to them talk about boring grown-up things, and, to give him and Anna some peace, Matteo fetched the portable sprinkler and set it up at a precautionary distance from the table. Word soon got around and they were joined by a handful of other children from the adjacent buildings, who eagerly abandoned their clothes in an untidy heap on the patio and hurried to enter the fray. As they ran naked through the revolving spray of water, their squeals and whoops carrying in the still evening air, Anna filled Matteo in on her conversation with Silvia.

‘And what are you currently thinking?’ said Matteo, asking the one question Anna had been hoping he wasn’t going to ask while knowing full well that there was no way he wouldn’t. ‘What’s your gut feeling?’

Anna inhaled a deep breath. ‘My gut feeling … is that it’s an extremely generous offer, and anyone in my position would be chomping at the bit to accept it.’

‘But …’ prompted Matteo, who knew her mind better than she cared to admit.

‘But I honestly don’t know.’ She tried to explain: ‘I took it for granted that I’d be going back to Glasgow once my contract here came to an end. OK, so they extended it from twelve to eighteen months after the whole world went topsy-turvy, and my employers in Glasgow were magnanimous enough to extend my leave of absence, but I always assumed this was a temporary thing. But lately …’

She watched Jack at the other end of the courtyard, hands on his hips, gabbling away in an idiosyncratic mixture of English and Italian while waggling his crooked little penis at the other children with the lack of inhibition only a child could possess.

‘Look at him. He’s so …’ She waved her hand, giving up on trying to find the appropriate word. ‘Honestly, I think bringing him out here was the best thing I could have ever done for him. You’d think he’d lived here all his life.

‘And it’s not just him,’ she continued, as if she needed further justification. ‘I feel it too. Back in Glasgow, I was like this rubber band just waiting to snap. But here … well, I feel like I can actually breathe, for the first time in I don’t know how long.’

There were other things too, which she didn’t elaborate on. Things like the fact she no longer carried constant tension in her shoulders or suffered from headaches that lasted for days on end – things that, over the years, she’d resigned herself to accepting as simply being part and parcel of her life. She’d even been able to dispense with the hated dental splint (something she used to wear every night) since she was no longer grinding her teeth in her sleep – a habit she’d had since she was a teenager.

‘And I know some of that’ll change if I accept this position,’ she went on. ‘I’d be going back up to working full-time, taking on administrative duties again, but …’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘At the end of the day, it’s not about the workload or the pay or the guaranteed research budget. It’s about where I belong. And I’m just not sure where that is.’

She fell silent and leant back in her chair, feeling unexpectedly spent after this tortuous speech.

‘It sounds to me,’ said Matteo slowly, ‘like you’re talking yourself round to a decision you’ve already made.’

‘And I don’t suppose I can prevail on you to play devil’s advocate.’

‘I’m not sure it’d be in my interest.’

Anna glanced at him sidelong. Their eyes met, and they both shared a soft, knowing smile.

There was silence for a moment as they continued to watch the children. Matteo stroked the bristles on his chin with a calloused thumb as he pondered the matter.

‘We’ve got the villa at Lago Trasimeno for two weeks,’ he said eventually. ‘That’s two weeks for you to weigh up the pros and cons on either side. They can wait that long for their answer.’

Anna considered this, then nodded her assent.

‘Deal.’

They clinked glasses together, sealing the agreement. 

Anna collapsed onto her back, gulping down air. Matteo flopped down next to her on the bed, his own breathing no less laboured. He nuzzled her shoulder.

‘È stato bello?’

‘Lo è stato,’ she confirmed.

She lay there in the darkness, gazing up at the ceiling. The thin curtains fluttered as a gentle breeze wafted through the open balcony shutters. Her breathing gradually slowed, the sweat cooling on her body. She sensed the even in and out of Matteo’s breath next to her, their bodies almost but not quite touching.

‘It would be nice if we could lie like this all night,’ said Matteo, breaking the silence.

‘You know we can’t,’ she said, almost automatically.

She felt him recoil ever so slightly, as if a part of him had been hoping for a different response, even though this was a conversation they’d already relitigated countless times.

‘I know, but … it would be nice.’

‘We agreed it was best for both of them.’

‘I know. I just think perhaps it’s time for us to re-evaluate that decision. I think they’re ready for the truth.’

Anna said nothing. Matteo’s words hung there like a leaden weight in the air. They continued to lie there, their shallow, even breathing the only audible sound in the otherwise still room.

These conjugal visits had started roughly six weeks after the first lockdown was called. At the time, it had felt like a natural extension of their existing partnership, such as it was. It even had a whiff of the forbidden thrill about it, creeping on tiptoe across the hallway to the other’s bedroom once both children were asleep, then sneaking back again while it was still dark.

They’d been sleeping together in secret for nearly a month before they finally had a frank and honest conversation about what they were doing. By mutual consensus, they’d agreed not to tell either of their children. At the time, it had been less than a year since Francesca’s mother had abandoned her and Matteo for a man who’d made it clear he had no interest in acquiring a stepdaughter. It was all still too raw, Matteo had said, for her to cope with the idea of her father being in a new relationship. Anna, for reasons of her own, had been only too keen to agree.

Of late, though, Matteo had been dropping increasingly unsubtle hints about a desire to come clean to Francesca – meaning that Jack, too, would inevitably have to be brought into the picture. Over the last couple of months, the balance had shifted, from Matteo having been the instigator of the clandestine nature of their arrangement to Anna being the one insisting they retain the status quo in the face of Matteo’s clear desire for change. And she wasn’t completely lacking in self-awareness. She could see that, from the outside, their secrecy looked increasingly absurd with each passing day.

And yet, still, she resisted.

Levering himself up on his elbow, Matteo fixed her with a probing look. Finding herself unable to meet his dark eyes, she quickly looked away.

‘Jack isn’t stupid, you know,’ he said, his tone gentle but pointed. ‘Neither is Francesca. They’ll work it out eventually.’

Anna continued to avoid his gaze.

He sighed. ‘But you’re right. This was what we both agreed, and so this is how it will stay – until both of us are ready.’ He reached across and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Anyway,’ he added, a touch unconvincingly, ‘we’re fine just the way we are.’

Anna gazed up at him, feelings of gratitude and relief vying for dominance with the lingering pang of guilt that gnawed at her gut.

‘You’re sure you’re OK with this?’

Matteo smiled. ‘Sto bene.’

She returned the smile, a trifle more uncertainly, then watched as he slid out of bed and crossed over to the chair where he’d left his clothes. He pulled on his jeans and zipped them up. Then, tucking his T-shirt and trainers under one arm, he made his way back over to the bed, leaned over her and kissed her lightly on the check. She felt the trace of another smile, this one unforced, flicker on her lips. Then he straightened up and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. She listened to the sound of his bare feet padding away down the stone corridor, then the apartment door opening and shutting.

As she lay there in the dark, her phone, lying on the nightstand, began to ring, its screen lighting up the entire room. Scrambling across the bed, she snatched it up and answered it before the second ring was over, not bothering to check the caller ID in her rush to silence it before it woke Jack, slumbering in the room next door.

‘Pronto?’

‘Hello – Anna?’

A man’s voice. Scottish accent.

‘Who’s this?’ she said, switching to English.

‘It’s, ah, it’s Fraser. Fraser Taggart.’

‘Fraser,’ she said stiffly, recognising his voice before he’d finished saying his name.

She tugged the bedsheet around her body, even though she recognised the pointlessness of such a move. She hadn’t forgotten the pictures of herself that had been leaked to the entire university less than two years earlier, nor that he was among the people who she knew for a fact saw them before the email containing them was recalled.

‘How are you?’ she said, aware of – but unconcerned by – the harsh note in her voice that belied the seemingly civil question.

‘I’m well,’ said Fraser, sounding almost surprised to be asked. He gave a slight chuckle. ‘As well as anyone can be in this crazy new world we seem to have found ourselves in. How’s Perugia?’

‘You know what, Fraser?’ she said pointedly. ‘It’s actually really great – thanks for asking. I’m surrounded by culture and history, I get an average of 2,000 hours of sunshine a year, and I get to work with some really, really solid people.’

She’d thought, perhaps, that not having had any contact with him in the last eighteen months plus might have caused her feelings towards him to have mellowed a little. Now that she was faced with him at the other end of the phone, though, she realised she was as livid with him as ever and in no mood for shooting the breeze like they were old friends. Especially not at – she checked the display on her phone – quarter past midnight!

‘Were you calling about something in particular, or did you just want to check whether I was still awake at twelve fifteen?’

‘Twelve fif …’ Fraser began, before groaning as realisation dawned on him. ‘Of course. I was forgetting you were an hour ahead.’

Of course you were, Fraser.

‘Um … I can call back in the morning if …’

She considered telling him to do just that, then blocking his number. But she couldn’t. Whether she liked it or not, she still had unfinished business with her old boss. Whatever decision she ended up making about her future, she was going to have to deal with him again at some point in the not-so-distant future. Scorched earth was not a viable policy. She massaged the skin between her eyebrows with her free hand and suppressed a weary sigh.

‘No,’ she said, with as much forbearance as she could muster, ‘you might as well say your piece now.’

‘I’m grateful. And, I hasten to add, this won’t take long, but the fact of the matter is I have … well, something of a proposition to put to you.’

‘Go on,’ she said, already growing impatient.

‘Actually, it concerns a certain former mutual friend of ours. Hugh MacLeish, to be precise. You’re, ah, aware he passed away last spring?’

‘It hadn’t escaped my notice, no.’

It had been Farah Hadid who’d alerted her to the news, calling her the day after it had happened in a state of numb shock. She’d have flown back for the funeral had the travel restrictions at the time not made it impossible. Instead, she’d settled for watching the livestream on her laptop. Never the most emotionally expressive of people, she’d nonetheless blubbed through the better part of the service and had been glad she’d arranged beforehand for Matteo to take Jack out with him and Francesca, giving her the apartment to herself.

‘Of course, yes.’ Fraser at least had the good grace to sound chastened. ‘Well, anyway, it relates to something Hugh was involved with towards the end of his life. Something I was wondering if I might persuade you to take a look at.’

‘Is this about that research he was doing into the effects of austerity?’ said Anna, wondering what could have possessed Fraser to ring her up at such an ungodly hour to discuss this. ‘I told him at the time, I thought that was more his bag than mine.’

The project in question, for which Hugh had received funding in the year prior to Anna’s departure, had aimed to investigate the relationship between austerity as a political strategy and crime – more specifically the ways in which it disproportionately affected women, minorities and the poor, pushing them into criminal activity. From what Anna could gather, the project had languished for some time, and, on various occasions during the second half of 2019, Hugh had attempted to persuade her to take it over, on the grounds that there was significant overlap between their respective disciplines. Anna, who’d had more than enough on her plate, had resisted these overtures, and hadn’t been banking on Fraser picking up where Hugh had left off.

‘It honestly might be easier if we could discuss this face to face,’ said Fraser. ‘Are you planning to be in Glasgow at any point in the next couple of weeks?’

‘It’s not something I had on my list of things to do, no.’

In truth, she had been planning to pay a visit to Glasgow at some point before too long – especially now that the requirement to quarantine had been lifted for fully vaccinated travellers arriving from Europe. There were a handful of jobs she needed to take care of there, including a complaint from the couple she was letting the house to about water damage in the living room; things that ideally required her to be there in person and which she’d been putting off for some time. But she wasn’t about to be railroaded into coming by Fraser – especially over something she’d already indicated didn’t interest her.

‘Pity,’ said Fraser. ‘Quite apart from the business with Hugh, there’s the small matter of your impending return to work. The next teaching year begins in just over six weeks, and – well, we could do with knowing where things stand vis-à-vis your employment status here.’

Did he REALLY just say ‘vis-à-vis’?

‘Look,’ Fraser went on, ‘I wouldn’t normally suggest this, but if I covered your travel expenses, would you consider making the trip – perhaps, say, within the next week or so? I really would like to catch up with you. For old times’ sake, if nothing else.’

For a moment, Anna couldn’t think how to respond. Why the hell couldn’t he just say whatever he had to say to her over the phone? Hadn’t they all spent the last year and more learning, by virtue of necessity, that it was perfectly possible to hold the vast, vast majority of meetings remotely instead of insisting on having them face-to-face?

But then, she thought, perhaps it would be good to go back. She recalled Matteo’s words earlier, about her talking herself round to a decision she’d already made. It wasn’t quite as simple as that. An element of doubt remained, but it was a small one, and she now wondered whether a final visit to her old haunts might be what was required to force her to make the decision she knew, in her heart, she wanted to. A farewell tour of sorts, laying the ghosts of the past to rest. And, in spite of how abysmally Fraser had treated her during the Reckoning business, if she was going to sever her ties with Kelvingrove, she somehow felt she owed it to him to tell him to his face.

With a heavy heart, she made her decision.

‘All right. If you can find me a flight out of Perugia late tomorrow morning or early afternoon, I’ll come. Tomorrow, mark you,’ she added, before Fraser could respond. ‘Any later and you can forget it. I’m supposed to be going away on holiday.’

‘Of course,’ said Fraser.

He sounded slightly surprised, though whether by the specificity of her request or because he hadn’t expected her to agree under any circumstances, she didn’t know. For a moment, she wondered if she’d given in to him too easily.

‘I’ll look into flights,’ he went on, ‘and call you back shortly.’

‘Don’t bother. Just forward me the details and I’ll make the booking. You can reimburse me later.’

‘I’ll do that. Oh, and Anna? Thank y—’

She hung up before he could finish. Already, her mind was turning to the practicalities. She was fully vaccinated and, as required by all university employees, had been testing regularly, with all the evidence readily at hand, meaning there were no barriers she could think of to her travelling. So, tomorrow morning, Matteo could drive up to Lago Trasimeno as planned with Jack and Francesca, while she flew to Glasgow, met Fraser, they both said whatever they had to say to one another, she took care of the few bits of business she had there, then flew back to Italy and headed up to Lago Trasimeno on her own steam to join the others – at most, a couple of days later than she intended. Couldn’t be simpler.

Now she just needed to tell Matteo the lay of the land. 

Thursday 12 August

It was fair to say Matteo wasn’t overly enamoured by the plan when Anna put it to him, though he did reluctantly agree that, if Anna’s presence was required in Glasgow, then it made more sense for her to miss the first couple of days of their holiday than to interrupt it further down the line. He warmed further to the proposal when Anna told him or her intention for it to serve as a final tying up of loose ends before definitively drawing a line under that period in her life.

Shortly after 8:30 that morning, Matteo, Jack and Francesca all bundled into Matteo’s ageing Fiat, along with toys, swimwear and enough clothes and other provisions to see them through the next fortnight. Anna kissed Jack goodbye, promising to see him soon, but he was already buckled into the backseat, too engrossed in the cartoon playing on his tablet to do more than grunt in her general direction.

‘I should be with you by Friday night,’ she said to Matteo, as he got behind the wheel. ‘Saturday at the absolute latest. I’ll let you know what’s happening once I know for sure.’

She gave his shoulder a brief, affectionate squeeze through the open window, unnoticed by the two children. And then they were off. She stood at the kerbside, waving them off as the Fiat rumbled up the narrow street.

She couldn’t ignore the twinge of anxiety – and no small amount of self-reproach – she felt over palming Jack off on Matteo, even if it was only for a couple of days. But then, she told herself, this was always on the cards. If she planned to stay in Perugia, she’d have had to go back to Glasgow to settle up at some point, and it made sense for her to go by herself rather than take Jack with her. She could get done what she needed to do a whole lot quicker without having to drag him around everywhere with her – and besides, she thought, it avoided the possibility of him deciding he preferred Glasgow to Perugia. As far as she could tell, he’d largely forgotten about his old life, but every now and then he’d still say things out of the blue like ‘When are we seeing Ewan and Maisie?’ or ‘When do I go back to playgroup?’ She strongly suspected he had no real conception of just how much distance now lay between him and the places and people he’d come to know so well during the first four years of his life. Whenever he mentioned them, the way he spoke about them led her to believe that, as far as he was concerned, they were just a short car ride away, and all that prevented him from visiting the Lego shop in Buchanan Galleries or tearing around Dowanhill Park with Ewan and Maisie was the restrictions on travel and social mixing imposed by the pandemic – something that, in contrast, he seemed to have no difficulty at all in understanding, and accepting. Now that she thought about it, there was something profoundly depressing about that fact.

She reminded herself she really was just going away for a couple of days – an incentive, if there ever was one, to get everything she needed to do done in double-quick time. Besides, Jack needed to get used to her not being constantly on hand before he started school in the autumn. That, too, she realised, reinforced her need to make a decision soon about where her future lay. Wherever they ended up living, she was going to have to get him enrolled at a local school. That or home-school him – something she’d always sworn she’d never do. In fact, she thought, there was a strong chance she was already too late to arrange anything for him in Glasgow. The schools in Scotland always went back early – possibly even as soon as the following week.

She stirred and realised she’d completely lost track of how long she’d been standing there at the kerb. Muttering a hasty apology to the elderly woman who’d been patiently waiting for her to stop blocking the pavement and let her pass, she hurried back inside to finish her own packing.

She dug out her old wheelie case, battered and worn from constant use and covered with the remnants of umpteen different luggage stickers. In addition to underwear and toiletries, and a raincoat to combat the inevitable Scottish summer weather, she packed three changes of clothes: one for today, since she’d no doubt be as sweaty as a builder’s cleft by the time she touched down, one for tomorrow, and an extra one for the day after just to be on the safe side, though she told herself she wouldn’t need it.

Just a flying visit.

The flight Fraser had identified for her, and which she’d booked at 2 a.m. that morning, departed San Francesco d’Assisi Airport at 11:05, with a connecting flight at London Stansted, touching down in Glasgow at 15:10 local time. She’d be gaining an hour – not great off the back of a decidedly interrupted night, but she could hardly expect the entire country to wind its clocks forward to accommodate her.

She took a taxi to the airport, arriving in plenty of time for check-in and the enhanced security process, which included taking her temperature and running through a seemingly endless series of questions about her own health and whether she could have been exposed to anyone with COVID in the past week. By far the biggest source of delay, however, was her personal alarm, a device which resembled a standard wristwatch but was designed to emit an ear-splitting 125-decibel siren when activated. She’d procured it in the aftermath of the Reckoning affair and now never left the apartment without it, but she hadn’t anticipated the security staff treating it like an unexploded IED. Eventually, however, she managed to persuade the stone-faced head of security that she hadn’t jerry-rigged it in her garage and it wasn’t going to explode once they were 35,000 feet in the air, and was waved through with the forced, condescending smile of a man who clearly thought women’s safety concerns amounted to a whole lot of fuss about nothing.

The flight wasn’t full, but still too busy for her liking. In days gone by, she’d have thought nothing of being crammed like a sardine into an enclosed box filled with nothing but recycled air. Now, though, she was hyper-aware of just what a tinderbox the cabin really was, and found herself tensing at every stray cough and throat clearance. What if she caught the virus on the flight? She’d be unable to travel back to Italy until she was negative. She might not see Jack for over a week. He’d think she’d abandoned him.

Get a grip, Scavolini, she told herself. You’re acting like it’s a done deal. You’re masked, you’re vaccinated up the wazoo, you’re taking all the precautions you possibly can. Just sit back and go with the flow.

They landed in Glasgow a few minutes ahead of the scheduled time of arrival. Getting through security took longer than expected thanks to the additional, post-Brexit layers of bureaucracy now being placed on travellers arriving from the EU. She was travelling on her Italian passport – which she’d qualified for during her ten-year sojourn at the Sapienza in her twenties and had continued to renew – almost as a point of principle, and had never felt more glad that she had it than on the morning of 24 June 2016 when she woke to discover that the island she then called home – the southern half of it, at any rate – had narrowly voted to commit collective hara-kiri. In retrospect, she’d often wondered if the seeds for her eventual relocation to what her mother (her own status as a resident of France now the subject of protracted wrangling with the relevant authorities) would have quaintly referred to as ‘the Continent’ had been planted on that very day.

After texting Matteo to let him know she’d landed safely, she headed through the terminus, tugging her case behind her as she weaved through the crowds of business travellers and holidaymakers, giving everyone as wide a berth as possible.

Exiting through the sliding doors and out into the open air was like stepping into a walk-in freezer. They’d been informed by the captain when they landed that it was a balmy eighteen degrees in Glasgow, but after becoming so heavily acclimatised to the heat of the Perugian summer, she’d have believed him if he’d told them it was in single digits. She hugged her arms through the fabric of her long-sleeved corduroy shirt and wished she’d had the forethought to bring something heavier-duty than a flimsy polyester raincoat. She gazed up at the sky, a thick blanket of grey cloud between her and any hint of sunlight. Somehow, it managed to feel more oppressive than Perugia at the height of the summer season, when the mercury regularly passed thirty – like being smothered by a thick, grey duvet.

As the shuttle bus trundled along the M8 towards Glasgow, her sense of trepidation steadily grew. To say her recent memories of the city weren’t exactly rosy would be understating the matter something rotten. But it wasn’t just that. Being forced, by the small matter of a global pandemic, to remain away for so long had made it possible for her to avoid confronting what it would mean to definitively cut her ties with the place. Until now, she’d been cocooned from the wider ramifications, allowing herself to behave as if her decision would impact only her – and Jack, of course. And Matteo, she supposed. But the prospect of coming face to face with her friends and co-workers – people she cared about, and who cared about her – was one she dreaded. Despite constantly reiterating to herself the need to put herself first, it was hard to shake the feeling that she was somehow letting them down – especially her colleagues, whom she’d essentially strung along for the last eighteen months, allowing them to believe her return to the fold was imminent. She resolved to keep as low a profile as possible during her visit: get in, get out, and avoid seeing anyone she didn’t absolutely have to. She thanked her lucky stars unnecessary socialising remained something of a convenient taboo.

Conversely, the one person she genuinely did want to see, and deeply regretted not being able to, was Zoe, currently off hiking in the Brecon Beacons with Sal. Throughout the pandemic, they’d stayed in touch with weekly FaceTime calls – an absolute godsend as far as Anna was concerned. It had been somewhat surreal following Zoe’s life from a distance, participating in the virtual housewarming party she and Sal threw once they’d moved into their new flat, as well as seeing her successfully completing her HNC and starting her job as an early years practitioner at the nursery in Broomhill. She told herself there’d be plenty of other opportunities for them to see one another, especially as the world increasingly got back to normal. And yet, there was something about coming back to a Zoe-less Glasgow that just felt all sorts of wrong – as if it wasn’t truly Glasgow without her there.

She watched through the grimy window as the bus crawled through the city centre, seeing the familiar streets as if through fresh eyes. A lot, it was clear, had changed since she was last there. The pavements were virtually empty, and the number of boarded-up shopfronts and FOR SALE and TO LET signs seemed to almost match in number those that were open for business. The city centre had already been in a state of decline when she left, thanks to the machinations of racketeering landlords and a series of municipal planning failures, but the pandemic appeared to have accelerated the process tenfold. Now, it was just a hop, skip and a jump away from being a veritable ghost town.

She got off the bus at Hope Street. Having failed to summon a taxi from any of the local companies whose numbers she had on her phone (‘We’ve a shortage of drivers on at the moment,’ the dispatcher of one firm apologetically informed her) and reluctant to pay the exorbitant fees associated with the black cabs that lined the rank outside Central Station, she lugged her case up to Buchanan Street and took the subway to the West End. She was due to meet Fraser in Kelvingrove Park at 4:30, and, by the time she finally emerged from the station at Kelvinbridge, she found herself with just under half an hour to kill. She stopped at a café on Otago Street – a regular haunt of hers in days gone past – for a cappuccino, more to pass the time than because she was actually in need of sustenance. Then, after successfully persuading the owner to let her leave her case behind the counter for an hour or so, she headed on down to the Kelvin Way, arriving at the northwest entrance to Kelvingrove Park with a few minutes to spare.

In the end, Fraser was almost a quarter of an hour late, trotting along the path towards her with his jacket tucked under his arm – looking, to Anna’s mind, more than a tad absurd in his ultra-tight shirt and chinos. He came to a halt an arm’s length from her, and they did that awkward little half-dance that had become so common in the world they now inhabited, attempting to mark the occasion in some way that didn’t involve physical contact. Not that she would ever have considered hugging Fraser – or even, after the way he’d handled the business with the photos, shaking his hand.

‘Travel work out OK?’ he asked, once they’d dispensed with the formalities, or lack thereof.

‘Apart from not being able to summon a taxi for love nor money.’

Fraser gave a rueful grimace. ‘Yes, I’ve noticed that. A lot of the drivers found alternative work during lockdown, I gather. Still, you made it here in one piece.’

‘So it seems.’

‘Well, I’m grateful to you for making the trip, especially at such short notice. I appreciate Glasgow’s a little out of your way these days.’ He gave a small, awkward laugh, before his expression became serious. ‘And I’m sorry we’re meeting under such unhappy circumstances. It goes without saying that Hugh was a much-loved and valued colleague.’

For Anna, who’d witnessed firsthand how the university, and Fraser in particular, had treated Hugh following the restructuring that had led to his old position of head of department being eliminated, these words rang decidedly hollow, but she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to get into a slanging match with him. At least, not yet.

‘He was, yes,’ she agreed blandly.

‘I don’t know about you, but I still can’t quite grasp that he’s gone. I keep expecting to come across him shambling down the corridor towards me, battered old briefcase in hand, wearing one of those garish woollen neckties he was so fond of.’

Anna smiled dutifully, finding the comment more condescending than genuinely affectionate.

Fraser nodded, smiling fondly. ‘Yes, he was quite a character, our Hugh. Memory like a sieve, bless him – always turning up late for meetings, full of apologies and telling us all how unlike him it was to forget. D’you remember that time he stood waiting for three quarters of an hour in the Mitchison Room, wondering why no students had shown up, only for it to turn out it was because they were all waiting for him over in the Rutherford Building?’

Now this just felt like cruelty – not conscious cruelty, perhaps, but the lack of thought only made it all the more objectionable.

‘He made a lot of difference to a lot of people’s lives,’ Anna said pointedly.

‘Yes,’ Fraser agreed, cheerfully failing to pick up on her rebuke, ‘and I’m determined to honour the contribution he made to the field in some way – to ensure that something positive comes from it all. That’s why I’ve been labouring so hard behind the scenes to make sure this scholarship comes to fruition.’

‘Scholarship?’

‘Of course, you won’t be abreast of any of this, what with you having departed for sunnier climes. Earlier in the year, we received an approach from a wealthy benefactor. I’m guessing you’re familiar with Dame Jackie Gordon.’

‘The great philanthropist,’ Anna nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of her.’

‘Well, she’s offered to fund a grant in Hugh’s name, to be made available exclusively to students from marginalised backgrounds. Levelling the playing field, as it were – making a postgraduate career in the social sciences a more attainable reality.’

Why did she get the feeling she was being buttered up for something? And yet, it seemed churlish to think of what Fraser had just described in anything less than wholly positive terms – a genuinely lovely way to honour the man’s legacy. So she simply nodded thoughtfully and said, ‘He’d have liked that.’

‘Yes, I think so too,’ said Fraser. ‘Of course, it’s still early days. Nothing official’s been announced yet – so, needless to say, keep this under your hat for now.’ He gestured to her. ‘Shall we?’

They set off along the footpath at a leisurely pace, Fraser with his jacket slung over his shoulder, his free hand in his pocket. Stealing a glance at him, Anna thought he looked older – more drawn about the face, his hairline having receded a good couple of centimetres compared to what she remembered. Or maybe it was just that she’d successfully managed to scrub her memories of him from her mind.

‘Tell me,’ he said, as they tramped along, side by side, ‘how much do you know about the circumstances surrounding Hugh’s death?’

‘Just what was in the death notice in the Tribune and what Farah told me,’ Anna replied, still wondering what all this was leading up to, ‘which amounted to the same thing. He passed away last May after a short illness.’

Fraser glanced briefly at her, his expression inscrutable. ‘And you’ve not had any contact with his daughter?’

‘With Miriam? No. I had thought to get in touch, but …’ She hesitated. ‘But I decided there was nothing I could say to her that she hadn’t heard a hundred times already.’

Plus, there were the pathological insecurities she experienced about situations that made her feel emotionally vulnerable – the same insecurities that had caused her to miss her own father’s funeral fifteen years earlier. She’d procrastinated for so long about reaching out to Miriam that, eventually, so much time had passed that any belated message of condolence would only have succeeded in drawing attention to her failure to get in touch on a more respectable timescale.

‘Yes, she’s not had her sorrows to seek, that one,’ Fraser agreed. ‘Little brother dead when she was barely more than a mite herself, then losing her mother to cancer just a few years ago. And now old Hugh.’

Anna, still lost in her own thoughts, didn’t respond. She wasn’t clear about the precise details of what had happened to Alfie, the younger of Hugh’s two children – only that he was killed in some sort of domestic accident when he was just a toddler. And she only knew that much from whispered gossip among the university staff. Hugh had never spoken to her about it, and it wasn’t the sort of thing you asked about. Of his wife, Geraldine, she knew only a little more. It was fairly common knowledge that Geraldine had survived a bout of cancer in her early forties. As to what type, no one had been able to shed any light – only that it had returned in 2015, and from there it had been a short and painful downhill battle. Never one to share much about his private life, Hugh had kept from his colleagues what the family was going through until very near the end. Anna, who’d never met Geraldine while she was alive, had attended the funeral to show her support to Hugh. It was there that she’d met Miriam for the first time – an odd, rather flighty young woman roughly eight years her junior, who, from her spaced-out appearance and vacant stare, was either heavily self-medicating or disassociating with a vengeance.

‘Truly, my heart goes out to her,’ Fraser went on, shaking his head sadly. ‘You can hardly blame her for lashing out.’

‘Lashing out?’ repeated Anna, shaken out of her reverie by this apparent non-sequitur.

Fraser halted and turned to face Anna, a pained grimace on his face. ‘There was an, um … something of a confrontation at the funeral. You’ll be aware that the rules at the time meant no more than six people were allowed to attend the service.’

Anna nodded, still wondering where this was going.

‘But a whole gaggle of us gathered outside the crematorium to pay our respects. There must have been upwards of sixty there, all told – staff and students alike, spread all throughout the grounds to adhere to the two-metre rule.’ He smiled briefly, as if to acknowledge the faint absurdity conjured up by the image. ‘Anyway, at the end of the service, the mourners all trouped out, Beryl – Hugh’s sister – and her husband and kids leading the pack. And while Beryl was thanking us all, saying it meant the world to her that we’d all shown up to see her brother off, out came Miriam. And straight away, she homed in on me and started screaming at me, saying all this was my fault and how dare I show my face. I’m convinced she’d have gone for me if a bunch of people hadn’t stepped in to hold her back.’

Anna shook her head, trying to make sense of all of this. ‘I don’t understand. Why would it be your fault Hugh was ill?’

Fraser sighed. ‘That’s just it. Hugh wasn’t sick. That’s merely a story the family put out because they figured it was more palatable than the truth.’

‘Which was … ?’

Fraser hesitated, briefly looking left and right to make sure no one was within earshot, then took a couple of steps closer to Anna, in flagrant violation of the same two-metre ruled which he’d invoked just moments earlier. Under normal circumstances, she’d have taken a step back, but she was now so desperate to know the truth that she remained stock still even as she felt his warm breath on her face.

‘The truth,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘is that Hugh died by suicide.’