Ankle deep in the salty north sea, trousers rolled in untidy folds to reveal skinny white legs, he dipped his hand into a pocket, withdrew two black-and- white photographs. The girl in them smiled at him, confident in her conquest. With ceremonial precision, he tore the photographs, first in halves, then in quarters, finally in infinitely smaller pieces. Casting the confetti to the waves, he turned his attention to the figure on the shore. This one was his now. His hand waved a happy acknowledgement, his smile said otherwise. The oily waters of the port of Leith knew the truth.