He should have known better, he told himself. He wasn’t built for long-term relationships. Deep down, he knew that was just a pathetic excuse to explain his loss, but it was all he could hang on to. His stubbornness had also enabled him to support a murderer. Of course he knew what Ian Burton had done, but if he went against his statement, for Kelly, then it would undermine everything he did.

But he bitterly regretted it.

Besides, Lizzie was better off with her mother.

The booze was making him maudlin and self-indulgent, and El Cabro wasn’t helping, with his stories of greatness on the mountainside. To be fair, the young lad wasn’t bragging at all, but the alcohol was playing tricks on his mind and he knew it was time to go to bed. The landlord had prepared a four poster bed for him, and he’d wanted nothing more than for Kelly to climb in beside him, but he’d have to sleep alone tonight. Again. He chastised himself.

‘Your missus not happy with you, mate?’

Johnny looked at the hiker, who was sitting at the bar. The stories had turned to the army, and the guy who’d rudely interjected on his personal life had taken an interest. He was seated next to a pilot who Johnny recognised from helping on the mountain today. He was regaling those who’d listen on the mechanics of helicopters. There were plenty of ex-army people in the MRTs across the Lakes, and Johnny was well known. So, it seemed, was his personal life.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked. The air turned prickly.

Glynn watched and listened with interest. The pilot next to him stood up, ready for trouble.

‘Pal, it’s maybe time to go to ye’ bed,’ the landlord said to the hiker, who was wasted. The pilot agreed. But Johnny wasn’t ready to let it go.

‘I meant nothing by it. I just thought, you know, you and Kelly Porter were a thing,’ the man said.

‘What do you know about Kelly Porter?’ Johnny said. Groups of drinkers around them fell silent. Everybody waited for the answer.

‘Well, she’s famous around here, and you’re on the opposite side of the fence in the Burton murders. I meant nothing by it.’ The man was back-pedalling and trying to appease Johnny. But the damage had been done. Glynn watched him, and Johnny felt foolish. His head spun.

‘I reckon that accident wasn’t all it seemed,’ said a man’s voice.

The words made everyone change their focus away from Johnny towards the man who’d spoken: the pilot who’d been talking about helicopters. It distracted everyone. Attention was turned to the pilot, the same one who’d been a legend on the mountain.