Elle took a deep breath of the cool, clean air and closed her eyes as she savoured the moment. It was nice to soak up the tranquillity of the forest around her. This time last week she was still in Jessup’s Creek. She felt a ripple of the strange mix of disappointment and guilt she had carried the last few days before her departure. Part of her was angry that her parents thought of her trip as unnecessary and wasteful, which made her doubt her decision and also feel a little guilty. It had dampened her excitement in the lead-up to leaving. But damn it, she had a right to make her own choices even if no one else thought they were the right ones. The phone call to tell them she had arrived safely, though, had gone smoothly enough. She’d kept it short, and they had ended the call with, ‘Have fun,’ so she supposed they had finally come around to accepting her need to fulfil Gran’s wishes.

Elle pushed away the seed of doubt that had tried to return. She was here. She was excited and she was going to enjoy this trip no matter what.

Dunkeld looked like it had jumped out of the pages of a fairy tale. As Elle drove across the narrow stone bridge that led into the main street of the town, she sighed with delight at the white-painted stone buildings and shops lining the road, and the overflowing baskets of brightly coloured flowers hanging from window frames and walls.

The pub she’d booked was just as she’d imagined a Scottish pub would look. The blurb on the booking app said that the Royal Dunkeld was built in 1810 and had once been a coach inn. The grand staircase—another bloody staircase—took her to her room, which looked out onto the main street, where the box of flowers outside the window brightened up the overcast sky.

The late-afternoon air chilled Elle’s face as she headed out to explore the village. She reached the end of the main street and came to the beautiful old stone bridge that connected one side of the town to the other across the fast-flowing River Tay. As she headed back she looked for a place to have dinner, and settled on the Atholl Arms Hotel, a pretty, whitewashed building that overlooked the river.

In just about every place she’d eaten so far she had noticed the same dish featured on the menu and had never been game to ask about it, but tonight as her waiter came to take her order, she decided to get adventurous. ‘Cullen Skink,’ she said, looking up at the young man. ‘What is it?