‘Only kidding,’ says Achilles, sitting down next to her and, quite to her astonishment, laying his head on her shoulder. She puts an arm around him, as she used to do when they were children, and only when he makes a joke about her trying to feel him up does she push him away.

‘So what’s the plan for today?’ he asks, looking around at them all. ‘Anyone got anything special in the diary?’

‘I intend to continue reading my book,’ says George. ‘And then to take a walk.’

‘Through the woods?’ asks Beverley.

‘Yes, I thought so.’

‘Hm,’ she says, reaching out and taking his hand. ‘Perhaps I’ll join you.’

‘Very good,’ he replies, smiling.

‘And I’m going into the village and taking a bus to Inverness,’ says Nelson. ‘I think I might look for a job.’

‘A job?’ they all say in unison.

‘Has it come to this?’ asks Elizabeth in horror.

‘Yes, I think I might go back to teaching. I have the qualifications, after all. And it seems a pity to let them go to waste. I might visit the council and see what’s on offer.’

‘They won’t have any London jobs listed,’ says Achilles.

‘No, but I might stay up here,’ he says. ‘A new environment. A fresh start. It might not work out but—’

‘I think that’s a very fine idea,’ says Beverley. ‘Good for you.’

‘And what about you?’ asks Achilles, turning to his sister. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she says, lying back and closing her eyes, allowing the sun to pour over her. ‘Probably nothing at all.’

‘A solid plan.’

‘I think so.’

‘I might join you,’ he says. ‘Although I’ll get a few more swims in too. It’s really helping my abs. Have you seen them?’

‘Zero interest,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Well, it is. You should swim with me, Nelson,’ he adds. ‘Lose some of that blubber.’

‘I don’t have any blubber,’ protests his brother. ‘I’m big-boned, that’s all.’

‘Children, behave,’ says George quietly and they all fall silent.

‘It’s so peaceful up here, isn’t it?’ remarks Beverley later that night when it’s just her and George seated together on the veranda. ‘Away from everyone and everything. Just us. Together. And happy again.’

‘It is,’ replies George, nodding his head.

‘If you ask me,’ she adds, pointing towards the book in her husband’s lap, the stern visage of its subject, Alexander Graham Bell, staring back at her, ‘that fucker has a lot to answer for.’

Acknowledgements

I am, as ever, indebted to Bill Scott-Kerr, Patsy Irwin, Larry Finlay, Eloisa Clegg, Aimée Johnston, Simon Trewin, Eric Simonoff, and to all my international publishers for their ongoing support.

Thank you, too, to all my readers.

Ironically, you can still find me on Twitter @john_boyne

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