I can’t help watching as he stands up and stretches. He looks in his late thirties. I’m 36 and he can only be a couple of years older than me. I should look away, but I can’t tear my eyes off him as he shifts from one foot to the other and stamps his feet, keeping his hands on the car for balance.

‘I’ve not been inside since Mr Evergreene died, but the outside gives a good indication of the state of things. Maybe I can help?’ He hesitates. ‘And I’ve just realised that I’m a complete stranger and I didn’t make the greatest of first impressions earlier and you probably don’t want to be alone in a dark house with me, so don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to be pushy.’

The fact that he’s aware of that makes me trust him a lot more. And honestly, the thought of going back into that house by myself is a much scarier option. He seems knowledgeable and if he could give me even an indication of where to start … ‘That’d be great.’

He looks surprised that I’ve agreed and moves away from the car to give me space as I swing my legs out and groan when I stand up because I’ve been sitting still for too long.

He’s still trying to get feeling back in his legs with some demented version of the Hokey Cokey.

‘Why are you being so nice?’

‘I don’t know whether to be offended that you think I’m such a horrible person or just to apologise for being such a twat earlier.’ He sighs. ‘Because I can’t bear seeing people cry. No one with a heart could watch someone else cry and not try to help in any way they can.’

The way he speaks is so gentle that it’s a war with myself not to start welling up again.

‘If you’re anything like me, you just needed to let out a bit of frustration before you pick yourself up and get on with it.’ He leans across and pushes his torch into my hand. ‘Here. Let me go and grab some supplies and I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Supplies? At this time of night?’ I call after him because he’s already started walking off across the driveway, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pockets.

‘You’ll see,’ he replies without turning back.

‘Watch out for those mountain lions,’ I call before he reaches the road.

He laughs, and this time he does turn back, the wind blowing his wavy hair across his face. ‘There aren’t any mountain lions.’

‘I knew that,’ I mutter, but I don’t think he hears me.

Obviously there are no mountain lions. I knew that all along. Mountain lions in Scotland. Hah. No one would’ve fallen for that.

Chapter 5