The noise of the fire becomes uncomfortably loud when no one answers me. Instead, Bruce and Gillian exchange looks I can’t interpret and Jimmy’s expression grows even more thunderous.

‘We’ll speak to you here, today, because now that Charlie has told you about the whole Andrew thing, we can hardly say no,’ Bruce says finally, turning to look at me with those dark eyes. His expression isn’t exactly unfriendly, but it’s a lot less friendly than in the pub. ‘And we’ll answer your questions, because Isla is convinced that your coming here now and twenty years ago is for a reason – and perhaps ours is not to reason why.’

‘To be clear,’ Gillian says with a tight smile. ‘We do not think that you’re the reincarnated soul of Robert Reid. Nor do we think he was murdered. But, for the sake of peace and you going away for good this time, we’ll tell you what we know about him.’

I clear my throat again. ‘I found an Andrew MacNeil, born in Ardshader in 1967. It might not be the Robert Reid who lived here, but the age fits, the place fits.’

And regardless of anything else, I do believe that they were one and the same person. I glance at Charlie, who says nothing. The room becomes silent again.

‘But it doesn’t matter.’ I take a deep breath and offer up the one thing that is not a lie. ‘I’m not going to write a story about Andrew MacNeil.’

‘Isn’t that the whole point of this?’ Jimmy growls.

‘What about your boss?’ Charlie says, his expression inscrutable.

‘I’ll give him something else. I don’t want to become a sideshow again either.’ And I absolutely mean that too. ‘I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just going to write a story about Robert. About his life. What it’s like to live in a place like this, so remote, so wild; the challenges, the rewards. The mystery of his death – what you were telling me, Charlie, about the sea, all the people it’s taken over the years. People will be interested enough in that.’

None of it sounds remotely convincing. But telling them I wanted to write a story about me, about Andrew MacNeil, was a mistake, I can see that now – it’s too confrontational. I can picture Mum sitting beside me at her dressing table in a red silk kimono, showing me how to smile at boys. You catch more flies with honey, remember that.

No one speaks for a long moment, and then Isla gets up from her seat. ‘I’ll get the tea.’

*

‘Robert could be … hard work,’ Jimmy says, brushing scone crumbs onto Isla’s carpet.

‘He’s not the only one,’ Gillian says.

‘He had troubles.’ Charlie shakes his head. ‘Like I said, he was—’

‘He was a slow puncture of a man,’ Isla says.

‘Isla!’ Gillian says. ‘You can’t speak ill—’

‘Aye, and you can’t canonise them either.’ Isla folds her arms. ‘He complained about absolutely everything. The weather, the sea, the land, the sheep, the rent—’