Because facing your fear doesn’t mean telling the truth. It means not running away. Not working in a fish-processing plant in Aberdeen, or pretending to be a farmer when you were born to be a fisherman. It’s coming back to where it all began. Where it all came to an end. Or as close as I can bear. Only on a clear day can I see the headland of Àrd Shiadair ten miles to the north, or the long, pointing finger of Àird Èinis beyond.

Today, though, I’m grateful for more than just that. Today I’m grateful for the light, the clean thin air. That feeling I get when I walk the land; the green of the grass, the brown and gold of the moors, the purple of the heather and the rose-pink of thrift. The big open sky and the wind that never tastes or feels the same anywhere else. The smells of peat smoke and seaweed and rain. The silence. It feels like Mary. Like Calum. I have never belonged anywhere but here.

And so today, despite all of it: the lies, the secrets, the guilt, the dread, and the fear, I am happy. My heart is light. My mind is quiet. I am here. And it will be worth it. This time it will be different.

CHAPTER 5

When I turn on my laptop and connect to the Wi-Fi, I’m distracted by at least a dozen unread emails. Some half-hearted Happy Birthdays from friends, mostly ex-colleagues to whom I am now, I suspect, only a brief obligation or a pinged calendar alert on their phone – I haven’t spoken to any of them in months. Some pdfs from the Maudsley: Learn How to Manage Your Recovery; Understand Your Warning Signs; Look After Your Body. A reminder from Grove Park Funeral Services that I still haven’t left a review on Feefo. And, last, a Happy Birthday, from Ravi; stilted and somehow disapproving even though it barely says anything at all. I think of his endless You don’t sound right. Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been taking your meds? Towards the end, less concerned than belligerent; enough to drive me to almost feverish weariness. I think of that last day in our kitchen just a few weeks before Mum died. The surprise on his face, and then the anger. Are you dumping me? Is that what this is, Maggie? And even though it had always been my job to placate, to back down, that day I didn’t. Because he wasn’t my doctor, and I wasn’t his patient. And we hadn’t been anything close to happy together for so long it was hard to remember when we ever had been. I’d been proud of myself until I realised it had worked. And he left.

I don’t reply to any of the emails. Instead, I sit at the dining table, thinking of Charlie’s tight-lipped frown, the quick blink of his eyes against the wind. Excitement still spins cool and dark inside me. I glance at the mood journal on my bedside table, try to imagine what the hell I’d write in it right this minute. I’m fine. To be excited about this is natural. It’s fine.