Cal’s toiletries bag was always packed and ready in the bathroom. He gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror and was unhappy with his hair, but time was against him and he assured himself that where he was going, no one would care.

The girl in his bed slept throughout all this activity. Was it wrong to leave her without so much as a goodbye? Would she even care? Did he?

Cal turned his back on her and left the flat. The lift slid smoothly open almost immediately. Probably no one had used it since he and Lisa had returned whenever it was before. A button from his shirt lay on the floor. The passion had kicked in quickly. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.

The man looking back from the lift mirror made an effort to look younger than his mid thirties. He was of average height and build, his body trim from the gym and his dark hair still thick enough to be styled. His flat, even tan suggested sun beds rather than sunshine. His clothes were never more than six months old.

The lift dropped quickly through the five floors to the garage. Cal’s Audi sports car was his joy. He had paid way too much for it, but he needed the image. The big deal would come soon and he would be free from the barely sustainable debt that funded his lifestyle. He was never less than sure of that. There was nothing like getting out on the road with the roof down, bass beat thumping, leaving others in his slipstream. And when did you ever see guys in these cars alone?

It was too cold to have the roof down yet. As soon as the electronic security door rolled open to expose the street, he was away. A taxi blasted its horn at him as he screeched out in front of it. He roared on scornfully. Taxi drivers had no room to complain about anyone else’s driving.

The traffic lights frustrated him as he raced from one red to the next, but soon he was on the main highway, relishing the surge of the turbo power. It took twenty minutes to leave the sodium lights of the city behind.

As he drove along the side of Loch Lomond, the moonlight playing on its waters, his thoughts returned to Aunt Mary, always the same, so warm, seemingly ageless. But death had summoned her now. Too early, and he knew that she would accept the call.

Mary MacCarl was part of a different life, a separate world almost. She came from a time when his parents were alive and the family ties remained strong. She still knew him as Calum.

He had left all that behind, but, gentle though she was, his aunt had a resilient streak. The monthly calls always came, even if he didn’t always respond to the stilted messages she sometimes left on his answer machine. Always a card for his birthday and a gift at Christmas. Guilt caught him occasionally when he realised he’d neglected to return one of her calls. It was just that he had so much going on and the old connections slowed things down.