I sag against him, my breath ragged, heart still thundering. And he looks up at me, just as breathless. A dazed smile on his lips. ‘Jesus, Maggie.’

CHAPTER 14

I should feel guilty. At failing so spectacularly to stick to what I’d thought would be the easiest of Dr Abebe’s rules: no new relationships and no sex. But I only feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty. Although as we go back over the sound onto Kilmeray, I do start to feel anxious. And it only gets worse when Will pulls up onto the grass verge beyond the road into Blairmore.

‘D’you fancy some lunch?’

‘What?’ I imagine walking into Am Blàr Mòr together. ‘No.’

‘Maggie, listen.’ He turns off the engine, looks down at my lap where I’m fidgeting, twisting my fingers together. Rain patters against the windscreen. ‘I won’t say anything. And I want you to know I don’t expect anything. If you want, I’ll drive you back to Ardcraig right now. But I’d rather go to the pub and have some lunch.’ He smiles, warm and careful. ‘They’ll talk about us anyway.’

I stare at the blurry windscreen. ‘I’m not always the best judge of what’s good for me.’

Will reaches for my still fidgeting fingers, his thumb stroking the back of my hand once, twice, three times. And I only watch him. I don’t pull away.

‘I’ll be good for you.’

Despite myself, I smile.

He laughs. ‘Too cheesy?’

Finally I take back my hand under the pretence of checking my phone. As usual, it registers no signal at all, but a text must have come through on the road back from Stornoway.

Gordon Cameron asked us to pass on his number to you.

It’s a mobile number. I save it to my contacts.

‘Okay,’ I say to Will.

‘Okay?’

I nod. ‘I’ll have lunch with you.’

Because I’m going to keep going, I realise. Despite everything I found out yesterday – the dates, the clown, Mum perhaps having made the whole thing up – I’m going to keep investigating what happened to Robert. I’m not ready to leave. To give up. And maybe that’s because I still can’t bring myself to believe it’s not true – that it really is only coincidence that Robert was once called Andrew and that I am living in the very same house that he did. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to go back to London, back to my life, back to me. And maybe – probably – neither of those reasons are good reasons. But I’m staying anyway. I look at Will again. I’ll be careful. I can be careful. I’ve had years of practice.

*

When we walk into the bar lounge, I realise, with dismay, that the pub is busy. And very interested in our arrival. There are two tables crowded with people I don’t recognise, who greet Will with shouted hellos. Two more are full of loud and muddy archaeologists. Euan and Cora are sitting at a small table in one of the dark alcoves, and when Will waves at them, they wave back.