‘Rosie! Peter!’ Donnie bellows. ‘Come back here right now!’ He reluctantly sets down his pint before going after them.

‘You know,’ I say, grabbing for my coat as I look at Bruce and then Will, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve just remembered I’ve got to get some things from the shop. Maybe we could do this another time.’

Because suddenly I don’t feel very equipped to sit through a weirdly cosy lunch, enduring frowns and uncomfortable questions, clutching at my own baseless suspicions. I should be taking advantage, I suppose, and asking questions of my own, but I’m too tired. And yesterday – last night – is enough to process for now. I need to be on my own. I need to think. Regroup. I need to phone Gordon Cameron.

I feel Will briefly touching me – it burns all the way up my arm – but I keep on going and, when the frigid air hits my face as I push open the pub door, the relief is nearly overwhelming. The main street is empty, and I take a few deep, slow breaths. When Will doesn’t come out after me, I’m both glad and disappointed. And then mad at myself.

Just go to the fucking shop.

But as soon as I start walking away from the pub, I feel a sudden chill against my skin, just like the moment I found those dead birds on the path or sensed that someone hiding in the dark. This time, though, they don’t creep, but rush towards me from behind. And so quickly that I barely have any time to spin round before someone shoves hard against me.

I don’t scream, but I do rear backwards, holding up my hands to my face and feeling the warm wetness of spit on my fingers.

‘Mum, stop! Stop!’

And it’s only when Will manages to pull her away from me that I realise my attacker is Cora. Her face is wild, streaked with tears and black mascara, and her hair – ordinarily so perfect – has escaped in frizzy handfuls that she pulls and twists even as Will tries to restrain her. Her eyes – still looking at me – are dark with fury.

Euan bursts out the pub door and starts fast-waddling towards us, face red.

‘I’m so sorry, Maggie. Will. I didn’t realise she was gone.’

‘It’s okay,’ Will says, out of breath. ‘It’s all right, Mum. You’re okay. Euan, can you—’

‘Of course, of course,’ Euan says, putting an arm around Cora’s shaking shoulders, stroking her ruined hair. ‘Come with me, my love. Let’s get you warm and home.’

At once, the anger goes out of her eyes, as if absorbed by Euan’s touch or words, and she blinks at me once, twice, in blank confusion before allowing Euan to turn her round and lead her away.

Will waits until they’ve disappeared into the small car park alongside the pub before turning back to me. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry. Are you okay?’ He puts out a hand to touch my face; takes it back when I step away from him.