Judith was delighted to see Ryan and Belinda’s relationship flourish, but Danny expressed reservations about the whole thing. Remembering how he’d been distracted from painting by Ingrid, he worried that Ryan’s contentment might have a harmful effect on his writing. He claimed that, in his experience, love narrowed perceptions, shrinking the universe from a chaos of infinite stimuli and possibilities until it became just one person. Single track minds, he argued, rarely produced interesting art.

 In what seemed like no time at all, Gairloch College was enjoying its first anniversary dinner, where freshly shot grouse was being washed down with Chateau Haut-Brion at one-hundred and twenty pounds a bottle. This wasn’t as profligate as it might seem. Before a single cork had been popped, Danny had treated his students to a wine appreciation course and legitimised the expense as part of their education. He reckoned that if the kids knew what decent booze tasted like then they would aspire to better things in life than Buckfast and Special Brew, when they eventually returned home.

 It was a bright, muggy evening so the front door had been left open. What with the party atmosphere, no one noticed a woman walking into the kitchen, carrying a small child in her arms. Judith was only alerted when, one by one, students suddenly stopped talking and stared towards the door. She looked up to find Ingrid, suntanned and beautiful, staring across at Danny, sitting halfway along the table, beneath his mother’s portrait on the back wall. Wearing those perennial blue overalls, he was too busy tucking into a grouse and slurping on red wine, to realize that the love of his life had just entered the room. It wasn’t until complete silence reigned that he eventually looked up, by which time Francesca — Ingrid’s less attractive sister — had arrived too. As his eyes darted from Ingrid’s to the child in her arms, his face grew pale. He sprang up and rushed round the table towards her.

 “Ingrid? What’s going on?”

 “We need to talk,” she asserted arrogantly.

 Danny gestured towards the lounge then followed the hip swaying actress in her white, diaphanous trousers and matching silk, strapped summer top. Meanwhile, Hamish gave his seat up to Francesca — who was now holding the child — while Judith took advantage of the distraction. She slipped out into the sticky evening, ostensibly to have a cigarette, but mainly to eavesdrop at an open, front window. Blowing smoke, she stood with her back to the rugged, grey-stone wall, while Ingrid’s spoilt voice filtered through the net curtain.

 “It makes no odds whether I informed you at the time or in the next century, your Lawrence’s father — end of.”

 “How do you know he’s not Bob’s?”

 “Because we hadn’t had sex in years…we were never really a physical couple.”

 There was a contemplative pause before Danny’s next question.

 “Why have you only seen fit to tell me about Lawrence now?”

 “I was a psychological mess…coming down off years of coke and booze. My meagre energies would have been denuded even more if I’d had to deal with you as well as Lawrence, and that would have benefited no one. I thought it more practical to concentrate on getting myself fit.”

 “There’s that ‘practical’ word again…your euphemism for being a selfish bitch!”

 “Like your use of ‘sacrifice’ you mean, whenever you shirked responsibility. I mean, where’s your sense of sacrifice now?”

 “What?”

 “Can’t you see that missing my pregnancy and avoiding Lawrence’s first sixteen months was a sacrifice worth making, so that he wasn’t damaged for life. We’d have been arguing, just like now, and that can really screw newly born babies up — forever.” There was a brief pause. “I needed time to get my head straight, ok?” At this point, the actress’s voice quavered a touch too emphatically for Judith’s liking. “Part of the reason I never told you was because I was on the verge of having an abortion… then I nearly gave him up for adoption. If I hadn’t had the space to resolve my psychological problems, we wouldn’t have even made it through the pregnancy together. It’s from this point now that you have to start being Lawrence’s father…now’s the time for you to start applying your morality to practical purposes, like raising our son.”

 “Do you mean within a family unit?”

 Ingrid hesitated before answering, “yes.”

 There were another thirty seconds before Danny spoke again, making an attempt at levity which Judith interpreted as an articulation of his delight.

 “Come to think of it, we really need a drama teacher.”

 But there was no laugh from Ingrid, polite or otherwise. “Well, you’ll have to throw your little toys away now you’ve got responsibilities.”

 “What toys?” Danny laughed in bewilderment.

 “This place I mean. We’ve got to move full steam ahead, for Lawrence’s sake. There’s no way we’re going to achieve anything stranded out here in the back of beyond. If we move to London, I can get back into acting and you can realize your full potential in the art world, instead of hiding away from life up here.”

 “But…I…I can’t desert these kids.”

 “Your responsibility is to me and Lawrence now, not a bunch of scrounging schemies. I noticed that was good wine they were quaffing out there at my child’s expense…Haut-Brion!...Chateau Haut-Brion! Oh, you’ve got to toughen up Danny! Time to join the real world I’m afraid.”

 “I need to think.”

 “You shouldn’t have to think about it…you love me right?”

 “I’ve got to get some air.”

 Totally preoccupied, Danny didn’t even notice Judith as he bounded out the front door, heading towards the beach. By the time he returned, after dark, the party had broken up and the students were lying outside the byre on their mattresses, unable to sleep because of the heat. When he entered the kitchen, Judith was washing dishes with Francesca, while Ingrid sat drinking wine at the table.

 “Where the hell did you get to?” she moaned.

 Judith and Francesca left them alone, the latter going upstairs to check on little Lawrence, the former going outside to listen in at the kitchen window.

 “So?” Ingrid demanded.

 “This isn’t easy for me.”

 “Life isn’t easy Danny.”

 “The way I see things, I’ve not made any bond or promises to our son. In fact, until the last few hours he may as well not have existed. But these kids, these ‘scrounging schemies’ I have bonded with and I have made promises to. I’ve already seen enough to know I’ll never have anything in common with you or our child…not like I have things in common with these people. I mean, you’ve already got him dolled up in designer clothes for God’s sake! No. Under your terms, fulfilling the obligation to my biological child would mean betraying twenty-two others…my spiritual children if you like. Surely, being as ‘practical’ as you are, you’ll acknowledge that it’s more efficient to bring twenty-two kids up well, rather than just one, who, in fact, isn’t going to be brought up well at all, but encouraged to be an obnoxious, selfish, greedy, grabbing brat like his mother.”

 “Typical friggin’ socialist! Worry about everyone else’s kids while avoiding responsibility for their own! What sort of a man abandons his family?”

 “I don’t know. This is my family…you’re quite welcome to join us.”

 “You’re a lunatic! You’ll never rise out of the gutter because you love it there you freak! Francesca!” Ingrid wailed up the stairs. “Bring Lawrence! We’re leaving!”

 Judith hid herself round the side of the cottage, where she waited until Ingrid’s silver Range Rover had tore off, spraying gravel in its wake. When she re-entered the kitchen, Danny was removing a bottle of malt and a glass tumbler from an overhead cupboard. On turning round he spotted her and went back for another glass, while she sat down at the end of the table in silence. He came and sat on the corner next to her, half filling the tumblers before handing her one. Though she was happy to see the back of Ingrid, Judith’s conscience compelled her to play devil’s advocate. There was, after all, a child involved.