And he did eventually reach it, having stumbled in and out of pools in the darkness, his boots soaked and his ankle painfully twisted from where he’d stepped into a dip in the ground. Then he saw lights in the distance, and from the number of them he realized he must have come to the loop of the road on the eastern side of the island, where houses clustered around the port.

This was not good news. It would take him hours to walk home from here along the road, but it would be madness to go back on to the moorland. Tom felt very tired and foolish. He began to follow the road home.

To keep his thoughts at bay, he focused again on the steady trudge of his feet, but still he felt a rising panic in his chest that grew stronger every minute. It was because he was so tired, he thought. And he had been on the island too long. Of course he should have known better than to come back here, should have known better than to think it would solve anything. All it had done was make things worse.

As the panic seemed to be reaching its pitch, he realized where it came from: his feet were taking him closer and closer to the track leading to his old house. He would have to pass it soon. Then he was upon it.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Tom broke into a run, but even the pain in his ankle and the sound of his own broken breaths in his ears were not enough to push out the other things in his head. Only when the house was long behind him did he allow himself to stop, bent double with his hands on his knees, his harsh breaths vocalized like sobs. He would never outrun this.

Tom walked for almost two hours without knowing what he was doing. He was unsure if the shaking was due to exhaustion or cold or fear. Eventually he was so tired and his ankle hurt so much that the pieces of Nicky grew hazy around the edges and then, finally, faded away.

At some point later he heard the sweep of a car approaching in the distance, the smooth rumble growing louder before the car appeared from around the bend up ahead, drenching Tom in the white of its headlights. Squinting, Tom moved closer to the edge of the road to ensure he wasn’t in its path. But instead of gliding past him, the car slowed and then pulled up a few feet ahead of him. As Tom limped towards it, the driver opened their door, and Tom saw it was Gavin McKenzie, with Fiona next to him in the car. Was there no escape from the woman?

“Tommy, it’s a wee bit late for a walk,” Gavin said as Tom drew level. “You going home? We’ll give you a lift.”