An old green jalopy is parked next to the ruined church. Charlie is dozing in its driving seat. When I open the door, he blinks and curses.

‘Sorry.’ I get in, dump my bag in the back seat. The car smells of paint thinner and coffee. ‘Thanks for doing this.’

He nods. Hands me a steaming thermos cup. ‘You okay?’

I nod back. ‘Let’s go.’

‘You don’t want to stop at the village?’ I can feel the weight of his scrutiny.

‘No.’

‘You don’t need to do this, Maggie. You don’t need to go. That’s not why I told you.’

I turn to face him, try to smile. ‘I think it was, Charlie. And you were right.’

He looks at me a little longer, and finally turns on the engine, which coughs into rumbling life. I stare up at the imposing slopes of Ben Wyvis as we round the corner southeast, and then Charlie makes a sound low in the back of his throat and I turn away from his window.

Everyone is waiting at the junction into Blairmore. Jaz and Euan. Isla and Jimmy. Bruce, Gillian, and Donnie. Fiona and Sheena. Even Alec. All standing side by side in a line. Charlie doesn’t stop driving, but he slows as we approach them, and I hear him swallow once, dry and loud.

‘You all knew,’ I say. ‘When Mum and I came with the film crew. You would have known then. The day I was born. The day Robert died. You would all have known it was true.’

‘We knew.’

‘But when I came back, you were kind to me.’ I watch them get closer, press my palm against the window. ‘And when I decided to stay, you welcomed me.’

Charlie’s voice is gruff. ‘We thought you’d come back home.’

My eyes blur as we pass the junction and that silent, solemn line. Jimmy nods and Isla smiles. Bruce raises a hand. And I know that they’re not there to see me go, to be sure I’ve gone. Instead, they’re like lights on top of a headland or bluff shining down onto the sea. They’re saying goodbye. They’re making sure I know that I haven’t been alone.

I turn round in my seat, watch them and Blairmore get smaller and smaller. ‘Like a fishing boat to port,’ I say.

‘Aye.’ Charlie looks at me and smiles. ‘Just like that.’

*

After Kilmeray, the lights and bustle of Stornoway feel almost claustrophobic. The terminal is bright with floodlights and car lights. The ferry sits low in the water, its wide ramp rattling and creaking as cars and vans roll off onto the tarmac. Seagulls shriek and swoop around the harbour and the road beyond. Something clenches tight inside me when I think about the mainland. The future. When I get out of the car, Charlie follows me, retrieves my bag from the back seat.

I can’t look at him. The silence between us that had been comfortable now feels strained and awkward. My heart hurts. Every breath hurts.