Outside, Elle welcomed the cold blast of air against her flushed face.

‘Oh God, I’m so full,’ Elle moaned silently. ‘I wish I hadn’t eaten that damn burger. What was I thinking?’

You polished it off like a seasoned pro. I’m so proud of you, Gran chuckled. Who would have thought—an Ultimate Burger-eating champion in the family.

‘I’m pretty sure that’s not something to skite about, Gran.’

Of course it is! And you have a T-shirt to prove it, she added. You should wear it tomorrow.

‘I am not wearing a T-shirt with a cartoon burger on the front, Gran.’

I don’t know why not. That was quite an achievement.

Elle reached down and undid the button of her jeans and let out a sigh of relief before an unexpected, very unladylike burp erupted from her. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, looking around and hoping no one had been close enough to hear. It was time to find a taxi and get home before she managed to further humiliate herself.

Check the face book, Gran insisted much later, once Elle had pulled on her stretchy, comfy pyjama pants.

‘It’s just Facebook, Gran, not the face book,’ she explained again. She’d lost count of the number of times they’d had this discussion in the past.

Well, whatever it is, check it.

Reluctantly, Elle typed in the pub’s name and clicked on the page, then groaned out loud as a photo of a wild-haired, startled-looking tourist with tomato sauce smeared in the corner of her lip stared back at her. Congratulations! was written across the bottom of the photo, and Elle died a little inside. For the first time ever, she was grateful for the time difference back home.

‘No one must ever know of this, Gran,’ she said, clicking off her phone, mortified.

I’ll take it to my grave, Gran vowed solemnly, and Elle thought she detected muffled laughter, which she pointedly ignored.

As Elle approached the tour office early the next day, she saw a group of people—mainly older women—milling around a man holding a clipboard. Elle noted with amusement the handful of men who had clearly been dragged along by their wives and looked anything but thrilled.

‘Maybe we’ll find Jamie,’ one woman whispered excitedly to her friend as they waited to board the bright yellow bus.

‘Oh, the things I’d do if I found him,’ her friend sighed, and Elle hid her smile at the thought of these two rather round older women showing the fictional male lead of the Outlander series a thing or two in the romance department.

Silly women, Gran tsked.

Oh come on, Gran, you thought Jamie was a bit of all right too when we read the books, if I recall.

Yes, well, at least I have the good sense to remember he’s fictional, she sniffed.