‘Can I get him for you?’
He looked at her.
‘You’re allowed in the stacks?’
Carmen beamed.
‘Apparently so.’
‘Goodness. What next: the metric system?’
He glanced out at the street where he had left the Land Rover with its hazards on, a call known to attract the most implacable enemy of all Edinburgh drivers: the traffic warden. He peered down the road, enjoying a clear line of sight. Nothing yet, but they had the habit of popping up stealthily out of nowhere.
Mr McCredie appeared from the stacks eventually, brushing crumbs from his jumper and feeling for his spectacles.
‘Ramsay!’ he said joyfully. He peered out of the window. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, won’t you just pay for parking?’
Ramsay sniffed. ‘Never! Those robdogs.’
‘Well, we’d better be quick. How’s the family?’
‘Good, good.’
‘How many is it now?’
‘Five … Well, it’s going to be six actually.’
Ramsay went rather pink with pride.
Carmen couldn’t help it. ‘You have six children?’
‘Well … five and a bit.’
Carmen blinked. ‘Doesn’t your wife mind?’
‘Well, she isn’t my wife yet and it’s mostly her idea so … ’
Ramsay’s voice trailed off, but there was a twitch in the corner of his mouth as there always when he thought of Zoe.
‘Cor,’ said Carmen. ‘I hope you have a big house.’
Mr McCredie laughed.
‘Oh, there’s plenty of room up Ramsay’s way.’
‘So you have a huge house but not enough cash to pay for parking?’
‘It’s not the money!’ said Ramsay. ‘It’s the sport.’
‘What have you got for me?’ said Mr McCredie.
‘Hang on, you’re a sales rep?’ said Carmen.
They both nodded as if this were obvious. Carmen had assumed they were friends （which they were）。 Mrs Marsh treated all sales reps as if they were dangerous criminals.
Ramsay’s face lit up. ‘Wait till you see what I’ve got for you today!’
‘What? Don’t tell me: an Up on the Rooftops?’
‘You are joking, aren’t you? We’d all be in the Bahamas right now.’
Nonetheless he heaved the two heavy boxes up onto the old desk and, curious despite herself, Carmen inched closer.
‘Oh, this is Carmen,’ said young Mr McCredie finally. ‘She’s helping me out over the holidays.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Ramsay. ‘You have … ’
He indicated something, and Carmen, who had been rather cross with him not dealing with her as the person in charge of the shop, put her hand up to her head. Somehow she had managed to stick a red bow on the side of her neck.
‘Oh!’ she said, ripping it off crossly.
‘I thought it was a feature,’ said young Mr McCredie. ‘You know. Seasonal.’
‘A bow stuck on my neck? You thought this was part of my shop modernisation?’
‘Um … ’