It was a small party that made its way up Dundas Street that morning – two adults and two small boys. Both boys were wearing kilts and white Aran sweaters. The adults – Stuart Pollock and his mother, Nicola – walked slightly ahead, apparently deep in conversation, while the boys trailed behind them, occasionally taking a few quick steps to catch up. Passers-by smiled at the sight of the boys in their kilts and, were they to give any thought to the matter, might conclude that this was a small fam...