Charlie exhales in a long, low rush. Closes his eyes. ‘You know.’

‘I talked to Sonny. Kenny Campbell.’ I make myself look at him. ‘He said you killed Robert.’ And then I have to look away. ‘All of you.’

Charlie lets out another breath, shakier, and when he sways on his feet, I have to fight the urge to go to him. When he looks at me again, his eyes are shining wet. ‘You’re safe here. I promise.’

But I don’t believe him. ‘I died, Charlie.’

‘Christ.’ He rubs his forehead. ‘What a fucking mess.’

‘You lied to me. About everything.’

Charlie drops his hands to his sides. Squares his shoulders. Eventually looks at me. ‘We found them out at Loch Dubh. Robert and Lorne. It was late. The storm was blowing itself out, the moon was bright. And … there they were. We thought they were both dead at first. But Robert had just passed out. The drink, the cold.’ He rubs his hands over his face again. ‘The shock of what he’d done.’ He shrugs. ‘Christ knows. Probably all three.’

‘He’d killed Lorne.’

‘Suffocated him.’

‘Why?’

‘He – it … Robert …’ Charlie makes a frustrated sound. ‘It was our fault. We knew, all of us, that something was wrong, and we did nothing.’ He pauses. ‘Or maybe we should have done nothing. Instead, we made a bad situation worse, and—’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘We stole his sheep. Just before it happened. Rounded them up, hid them in Bruce’s barn.’ He shakes his head. ‘That was it. That was the tipping point, I’ve always been sure of it. If we hadn’t—’

‘Why the hell did you steal his sheep?’

Charlie presses his palms together as if he’s about to pray. But when he looks at me, his gaze is unwavering. ‘Because he was killing them.’

*

Robert

I wake up in bed and know immediately that something is wrong. I don’t move, but I can tell that I’m still wearing my clothes. And there is pain. In so many places it’s hard to name one. Sharp and dull; deep and shallow. Cold and hot. Light burns my eyelids gold, but I don’t open them. I’m too afraid to; they throb and ache. There are two men in the room. Discussing me in hissed whispers.

‘This is insane and you know it. When the lines are back up tomorrow, we’re phoning the police.’

‘We have to wait.’

‘What for?’

‘We need to think.’

‘What the fuck is there to think about?’

It’s Kenny and Charlie. And the more I lie here listening to them talking about me, the longer I pretend I’m still asleep and not vibrating with pain, that sense of dread in my belly gets bigger. The real pain that I know is waiting for me to move gets louder. A flash of water. Great towering stones and eyes like bright shining marbles. The warm weight of a ewe’s head in my lap, her breath puffing shallow and fast as I stroke her flat-down ears. It’s all right. Except it isn’t.