The ticket collector mulled this over. “It’s two-sixty for an adult to Banavie,” he said. “If it was up to me, obviously, I’d let you on for free, but—”

“Deal,” Sinead said. She fished in her pocket, produced the exact change, then stepped aboard. “Now, what can you tell me about Archie Tatties?”

* * *

It was half-past midnight, and Logan was feeling the pull of his hotel room’s minibar. It was rare that they got put up anywhere expensive enough to boast such an extravagance, and he could feel it calling to him from behind the cupboard door, luring him in with its siren call.

Tomorrow, once admin had time to find somewhere else—somewhere cheaper—he and Tyler would have to relocate. No more waterfall shower. No more king-size bed with fancy sheets.

No more minibar.

It had been a long, stressful journey. Tyler hadn’t talked about whatever the big secret was, but he’d made up for it by talking about anything and everything else until finally, Logan had announced that they both had something to contribute to the journey, and that Tyler’s contribution should be silence.

And then, there had been the pitstops. All those snatches of time spent waiting with the engine running while Tyler hurled into a bush in yet another layby. Still, at least it wasn’t into the front footwell this time, so that was an improvement.

Logan didn’t remember how he’d got there, but he was squatting in front of the minibar now, staring at its tantalising glass frontage. It was jammed full. Enough to keep him going half the night, if he was so inclined.

He stood up. Turned away.

No. He couldn’t disappoint them. He couldn’t disappoint himself.

He turned back. Knelt.

But, no one would know.

And he wouldn’t be the one paying for it, which was a bonus.

And no one would know.

“Fuck it,” he said, then he pushed down the guilt, pulled open the minibar door, and reached inside.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Logan had already polished off the Pringles and the little bag of pretzel things, and was now just waiting for the kettle to boil so he could get ripped into the Kit Kat. It was a tiny plastic hotel kettle, and had been heating up for what felt like quite some time. Judging by the sound it was making, it was a long way from the finish line, too.

There had been two cups on the tray alongside the kettle, both roughly the size of a thimble. Combined, they might be able to hold a good gulp’s worth. There was a teabag waiting in both so they’d be ready for action in the unlikely event that the water in the kettle ever reached boiling point.