The shiver that skates between my shoulder blades is fleeting, but it’s enough to dampen my mood, remind me of those afterdark walks.

‘Sonny,’ Charlie says, with a shrug and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s holding a long fishing rod in one hand and a bait box in the other. ‘He likes to know what’s what.’

‘Maybe I should try to talk to him?’ I ask before I remember that I’m here to make amends.

‘You’d be farting against thunder there.’ Charlie snorts. ‘Sonny’s not a great fan of visitors. Or talking.’

A wet and breathless Bonny runs towards me and pushes her head against my leg, licks my fingers.

‘She’ll only be a sook to you till she realises you’ve nothing tasty to offer,’ Charlie says. ‘We were off to Loch Dubh, but spring has definitely sprung. Bonny was in seventh heaven when she saw all the rabbits.’

‘How are you, Charlie?’

He squints in the sunshine. ‘All right. You?’

‘I’m sorry about that day in Isla’s cottage,’ I say, when I realise that the awkwardness between us isn’t going to thaw. ‘When I asked you about who went to the whisky festival. You had every right to be pissed off.’

He shakes his head, looks out at the horizon. ‘It was me I was angry with. I’m the one stirred everything up.’ He glances at me. ‘Stirred you up. I shouldn’t have arranged the meeting at Isla’s. I care about her, she’s been through a lot. I was just being a stupid old man with too much time on his hands. I should learn to let things lie. Just relax and enjoy life.’

‘I don’t think I ever have,’ I say. The breeze cools the sweat at my temples as I watch the waves. ‘I don’t think I’ve been happy before. I mean, even when I was a kid, I’d watch other kids playing, laughing, and I’d think, why are you happy? One day, your parents will die. One day, you’ll die. I’ve always been scared of being hurt or sick or alone, because I knew those things would happen. That they always happen. Everyone knows they always happen, but somehow they can make themselves forget. They can choose living in a moment instead of a whole life. And I don’t know if I can.’

I stop, appalled. Snap shut my mouth so hard that I bite my tongue.

‘But pleasures are like poppies spread / You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed,’ Charlie says.

‘What’s that?’

‘“Tam O’Shanter.” Rabbie Burns.’ Charlie runs his finger under his nose. ‘Now, there was a man knew how to enjoy life. Bit too much.’ He reaches into his pocket, brings out his battered hip flask, and hands it to me. ‘Heard you had dinner up at the Big Hoose?’

‘Lunch,’ I say, as relieved at being offered his awful rum again as the fact that he’s changed the subject.

He looks at me. ‘There’s nothing wrong with being happy, Maggie.’