Further south, Fran’s attention kept returning to Sheep Rock to the east. It had been painted and photographed many times, but something about the shape, the sloping green plane at the top of the cliffs, the way it dominated that side of the island, attracted her to it nevertheless. When Perez was a boy, they’d grazed sheep there; the men had gone over in a small boat and climbed a chain to get on to it. Would she be able to bring something fresh to the image? She’d asked Perez what she should give Mary and James as a gift. ‘Do a painting for them,’ he’d said. ‘They’d value that more than anything.’ She’d found nothing suitable to bring. Now she thought she’d draw something that would give her take on Fair Isle, on the iconic Sheep Rock. It would have to be in this light, she thought. Very clear, after rain.

She had the picture in her head, was so engrossed in fixing it there, that Poppy’s second question startled her. She’d almost forgotten that the girl was with her.

‘They all think I killed Angela, don’t they?’

‘I don’t know what they think.’

‘I hated her,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m glad she’s dead.’

‘It must have been hard, your parents splitting up. You were still quite young.’ But not as young as Cassie when Duncan and I separated and she seems to have survived. I hope she’s survived. The perennial guilt of the lone parent.

Poppy stopped in the middle of the road. ‘I didn’t hate her because she made my parents divorce. I mean, that was a pain. I thought my mum and dad were happy. But it happens all the time. I could cope with it. There aren’t many of my friends who live with both parents now. I just hated her.’

‘Why?’

‘She was a cow and she treated my dad like shit.’

Fran didn’t know what to say. She was curious, of course. For the first time she could understand Perez’s fascination with the detail of his work, this voyeurism into other people’s problematic lives. But really, what right had she to pry? She didn’t have the excuse of work. In the end, she didn’t have to say anything. Poppy was already continuing.

‘You know Angela only married my dad so she could get the job on the island? I mean, look at him. What else could she see in him?’

‘He’s kind,’ Fran said. ‘Understanding.’

‘He’s old and worn out. He wears corduroy trousers and cardigans. He’s going bald.’

Fran grinned. Poppy caught her eye and began to giggle too. Fran thought it wouldn’t be so bad having a teenage daughter. Mary drove down the road behind them. She stopped and shouted to ask if they wanted a lift back to Springfield.