‘Some mornings,’ he says, undeterred and leaning closer, ‘when the first shift arrives, it looks like someone’s been poking around in the night. Muddy footprints or tarps moved. Two days ago, earth looked like it had been disturbed around the most recently excavated part of the main barrow.’ He looks at me. ‘Now, what I was thinking—’

Miko nudges his elbow hard enough to make him wince. ‘I thought we decided that what you were thinking wasn’t worth talking about?’

I belatedly realise that Jaz is sitting at the overcrowded archaeologists’ table behind us. He sees me looking, and gives an awkward nod.

Femi shrugs. ‘I’m just saying, because, you know, the bunkhouses at Long Stride, they’re too far away to see anything going on at the dig at night, right?’ He turns to me. ‘But you said you were up on Ardcraig, right? I’m just thinking maybe you could keep an eye open, see if anyone—’

‘Oh my God, ignore him,’ Miko says. She hits his arm again, rolls her eyes.

‘I’m telling you.’ He tuts loudly, shakes his head. ‘It’s some freaky shit, mate.’

‘Well, I’m probably not close enough to see anything.’ I think of the impenetrable darkness that falls over the island every night like a curtain. And then of someone running on fast tiptoe around the blackhouse, tapping on its windows. ‘But, obviously, if I do, I’ll let you know.’

When I head reluctantly over to the MacKenzies, Will, sitting next to Donnie, looks up and gives me another pained smile. Gillian and Bruce are sitting on the only bench; he pulls out a stool from under the table.

‘Thank you.’

‘No worries,’ Bruce says with a smile, one far more genuine than two days ago at Isla’s house. ‘Good weather for fishes, eh?’

‘Not farmers, I’m guessing.’

‘Why d’you think we’re in the pub?’

Gillian looks at me, expression impassive but shoulders a little too square. ‘So, how goes the story? We heard you were busy doing some research in Stornoway yesterday?’

Donnie snorts as he lifts his pint. ‘That what they’re calling it now?’

Will shoots him a glare so furious that even I flinch, and Donnie puts down his pint without drinking, clears his throat.

‘That’s enough of that,’ Gillian says, although her own disapproval is as clear as a bell.

‘Maggie, will you be taking a break from your …’ Bruce momentarily flails ‘… research, to come to our Friday-night pub quiz?’

‘I’m not much good at quizzes.’

‘Well, you’re welcome to join us,’ Gillian says. ‘It’s our night off, and all this lot know anything about is sheep and football.’

Jimmy comes over to the table, a towel slung over his shoulder. He gives me a fleeting glance. ‘Guinness is off, Gillian,’ he says. ‘And we’ve got our hands full at the bar.’

‘So much for a lunch break,’ she says, heaving a long sigh before standing up.

‘We want nuggets!’ the little boy shouts, before trying to push the girl off her stool and then running full pelt towards the pool table. The girl gives an indignant scream and races after him.