‘I’m fine.’

‘Mum has early-onset Alzheimer’s.’ He sighs, shakes his head. ‘I should have said something. But she’s seemed far more balanced lately.’

‘I’m sorry, Will.’ I notice that I’m twisting my fingers again, savagely pinching my skin. That bright, wild light in Cora’s eyes – reminding me somehow of Mum – has reopened the ugly fear inside me like a poisonous flower. You can’t hide from this, Maggie, Dr Abebe says. It will always be a part of you.

‘Let me take you home.’

I can’t stand the concern in Will’s eyes. The almost irresistible need to reach out and touch him. ‘I’m okay. You should go with your mum.’

Euan’s huge black Shogun reverses out of the car park and disappears off towards the main road.

‘I’ll come to the shop with you,’ Will says. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about the MacKenzies too. It—’

‘Will, I’m fine.’ I realise that I’m backing away from him, one small step at a time. ‘Really. I’d just kind of like to be alone.’

I know I’m being rude. And I know it’s hurting him. But my need to escape is far stronger. Perhaps he sees it, because he finally stops trying to follow me.

‘Okay. If that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

He catches my gaze, holds it for longer than is comfortable. ‘Come and see me,’ he says. ‘If that’s what you want too.’

*

When I enter the shop, it’s quiet with the kind of hush that has only just stopped being excited chatter, and I realise that everyone has probably seen what happened outside.

Fiona MacDonald, standing behind the counter, gives me an awkward glance before nodding towards the window. ‘That was … Cora isn’t well.’

I clear my throat. ‘I know.’

‘It’s a terrible thing.’ She sighs, shakes her head, and then turns back to the till and her customer. I belatedly realise it’s Isla; she gives me a quick nod before stooping to pick up two full canvas bags. Everyone else resumes their shopping, and the silence is replaced with a lower and better hum.

‘D’you want a hand?’ Fiona asks, touching Isla’s elbow.

‘Ach, away, I’m fine, Fiona. Tìoraidh. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She gives me another quick glance as she leaves, and I realise that she looks terrible. Her eyes are bloodshot and the skin beneath them is puffy with dark purple bags. The smile she gives me is thin. ‘Cheerio, Maggie.’

I pick up a basket and throw anything edible into it as quickly as I can. When I round the last aisle, I’m dismayed to see Sheena stocking a shelf with tins of soup. She stops as if startled to see me, and I suspect that she’s probably the only person in the shop who didn’t witness what happened outside. She frowns and squares her shoulders before setting the tins down and turning to face me.

And then she says nothing. I clear my throat, shifting my weight awkwardly from foot to foot as the handles of my basket dig into my palm, and still she says nothing. Just goes on looking at me. I feel vaguely resentful, but after Donnie and Cora I’ve no desire at all to get into another confrontation with someone else. Instead, I pick something off the nearest shelf without looking, and then turn to go.