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“What? Oh, aye. Sounds good.”

We head out together, with Penny, who’s confused but delighted to be having another walk so soon.

The trees on Rowanbank Street have been dropping their leaves all week, and the pavement is gold and red underfoot. I slip my arm through Ryan’s and wait for him to speak.

“She’s clean,” he says eventually. “Eleven months. She’s never managed that long. No even close.”

I squeeze his arm. We turn onto Hyndland Road. A bus goes past, lifting the leaves round our feet.

“She’s got a job at a supermarket. Says she likes it. And she hasnae seen Shug in years. She was…different from how I remember her.”

He’s quiet for a while, but there’s more, I can tell. I don’t want to pry, though. If there are things he isn’t ready to share, that’s okay. He can take as long as he needs.

Coorie & Blether comes into sight before he speaks again.

“Soon as you rang, I thought, right, she’s seen the belt, seen me in the papers. She thinks there’s money to be had. But she never asked me for anything. No a penny. She actually says she wants to be more independent. To rely on me less.”

He looks down at me. “I don’t know what to do wi’ that, Briony.”

I lean into him as we approach the café door. Before we reach it, he says, “I gave her my email. Said she could write to me, if she wants. We’ll see how things go.”

Through the window, Jill spots us and waves. I wave back.

“I’m proud of you,” I tell him.

“For going for a walk?”

“For going for a walk.” I push open the door. “Come on, champ. I’m buying.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

RYAN

I sit on the bench by the mats and start wrapping my left hand. Thumb loop, round the wrist three times, up across the back of the hand.

The finger is nearly right now. Still a bit stiff first thing, but it bends the way it’s meant to. No sparring yet, though. Just light technical work today.

I’ll have to defend the belt in the spring, most likely. I’m not thinking about that much yet. For as long as I can remember, the whole point of my life was winning that championship. Since I won it, I’ve been focused on other things. A certain florist, mainly.

As I fasten the wrap at my wrist, my eyes land on the Christmas tree by the entrance.

Tree is a generous word for it. It’s plastic, about four foot tall, and listing to the left like it’s had a few. Six baubles. One length of silver tinsel that has very clearly been round the block. And that’s it. Glasgow Fight Club’s entire festive decor. Nothing else in the whole gym.

That’s how it’s always been. It’s just never bothered me before. I’ve put a fair bit of money into this place, but every penny has gone on the practical stuff. Mats. Bags. The treatment room. Keeping the kitchen stocked. Decorations never once crossed my mind.

Now, though, I’m sitting here thinking that tree looks fucking tragic, and I know why. Every evening last week, Briony lay on my sofa with her sketchbook, her feet in my lap, playing with designs for the shop’s Christmas window. Every so often, she’d turn it round to show me. What do you think? Pine branches or silver birch? To my surprise, I found I had opinions. Strong ones. Birch, for the record.

I start on my right hand.

I’ll get somebody in. Do the place properly.

“All right, champ.” Liam stops beside the bench, water bottle in hand. “Guess who’s been booked on Innes’s podcast?”

“Let me think.”

“Me, you smart arse. Cannae believe he had Imran on before me, mind.” He shakes his head, sorrowful. “Must’ve been an oversight on Innes’s part. New podcast, what can you do? He’s still learning, I suppose.”

Then he’s off to the heavy bags before I can tell him what I think of that.