“Always in pairs these days though, and always with a photographer at the end of the garden path, camera eagerly trained on Sam, ready to capture him if he lost his temper again. He had only done that once, after a particularly bad spell that had reduced Rita to a whimpering wreck of a woman, scared of her own shadow; a crude parody of the woman Sam had met and fallen in love with all those years ago at the Newtongrange Pit dance. After a fortnight of constant calls and door knocks, Sam had finally answered his door.”