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lie in their beds until ten? Would they?”
    â€œNo,” said Matthew. “Most people will start much earlier than that. Nine o’clock seems reasonable to me.”
    Big Lou snorted in disbelief. “It would be an awfie odd day that we saw you about the place at nine,” she said.
    Matthew smiled tolerantly. “Reasonable for other people,” he said. “What’s the point of opening a gallery at nine when it’s well-known that nobody buys pictures before noon, or at least before eleven? I’d just sit there doing nothing if I opened up at nine.”
    Big Lou rolled her eyes. “That’s what you do anyway, isn’t it?” she said. “And I doubt that you spend more than a few hours a day at your desk, what with your coffee drinking and those lunches you have. Two hours a day, something like that?”
    Matthew shrugged. “Well, Lou, it wouldn’t do you much good if I stopped drinking your coffee. You should be encouraging me, not making me feel guilty.”
    Big Lou said nothing. She liked Matthew, and he liked her, and these exchanges were good-natured, even if Big Lou meant every word of her criticism. But now it was time for her to prepare Matthew’s coffee, and besides, there was an important piece of information for her to impart to Matthew.
    While she clamped the grounds container in place, Big Lou asked Matthew over her shoulder whether he had heard of Cyril’s misfortune. Matthew had not, and while the espresso machine steamed and hissed, Big Lou related the melancholy story of Cyril’s detention by the Lothian and Borders Police.
    â€œAngus will be very upset,” Matthew ventured.
    â€œAye,” Lou said. “Cyril is his only real friend.”
    Matthew thought this a bit extreme. “Oh, he’s got other friends, I think. Domenica, for example.”
    â€œShe tolerates him,” said Big Lou. “But only just. Have you heard the way she talks about him when he’s not there?”
    â€œThere are people down at the Cumberland Bar,” said Matthew. “He’s got friends there.”
    â€œNot much use having friends in a bar,” said Big Lou enigmatically. “Anyway, Cyril meant a lot to Angus. And now I expect they’ll put him down. That’s the way it is for dogs. Step out of line, and that’s it. We had a dog in Arbroath that worried sheep and a farmer shot it. No questions. That’s how it is for dogs.”
    Matthew half-listened to this dire prediction. He was thinking of friendship: even if Angus had few friends–which he did not think was true–then how many close friends was it possible to have? Big Lou herself was hardly one to imply friendlessness on the part of Angus; Matthew had not heard her mention any friends, and he had always suspected that her life outside the coffee bar was a solitary one, immured, as she was, in her flat with all those books.
    â€œWhat about you, Lou?” he asked. “You say that Angus doesn’t have many friends, but how many do you have? I’m not trying to be rude, asking this question–I was just wondering.”
    Big Lou reached for the polishing cloth. There was never any dirt on the bar, but that did not prevent her polishing it assiduously, staring into the reflective surface in the hope of finding a speck of something that she could rub away at.
    â€œFriends?” she said. “Friends? I’ve got plenty, thank you very much, Matthew. Plenty of friends.”
    Matthew, leaning against the bar, took a sip of coffee. “Here in Edinburgh?” he asked. “Or up in Arbroath?”
    Big Lou polished energetically, moving her cloth in large circles that threatened to collide with Matthew’s elbow. “Both places,” she said. “Arbroath and Edinburgh. And some in Glasgow and Dundee. Everywhere, in fact.”
    â€œWho are your Edinburgh friends, Lou?” pressed Matthew. “Not