‘Let me see what I can do,’ she said. ‘It’s worth a phone call or two, at least, isn’t it?’

Rhona gripped her hand hard. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. We’re so lucky to have you here, Anna.’

Anna looked down at her drink. ‘People keep saying that.’

‘That’s because it’s true! Look at what you’ve achieved already!’

Anna laughed. ‘You mean successfully serving lunch to a handful of people a couple of times a week?’

Rhona shook her head. ‘I think you’re going to find yourself in demand for far more than a couple of times a week from now on, hen.’

‘What do you mean?’

Rhona pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She handed it to Anna, who unfolded it to find a clipping from the Banffshire Journal. THE HOTTEST NEW EATERY ON THE COAST, screamed the headline. ‘Michelin-starred chef launches lunch club venture in Crovie,’ it went on, followed by a couple of paragraphs of almost-accurate information and a stock photograph of the village, with the Fishergirl’s Luck, as always, in the foreground.

Anna felt suddenly faint. ‘Oh God.’

‘Are you all right?’ Rhona said.

Anna put one hand over her eyes. ‘Yes… a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.’

‘Oh, bless you,’ said her friend, squeezing her shoulder. ‘You should be proud of yourself. The village is certainly proud of you – Gamrie is, too. It’s not often we’ve got something to crow about that the bigger places haven’t. You can bet that this clipping will be in every holiday home welcome pack for fifty miles! Which is why I think you’re going to find yourself pretty busy. I don’t think you’d find it difficult to fill the bench every day of the week from now on, if you wanted to.’

‘But I don’t take bookings, and to get to us people have to walk down the cliff,’ Anna pointed out. ‘Who’s going to risk coming along on the off chance when there are only six seats?’

Rhona tapped the side of her nose and raised her eyebrows. ‘Maybe this will put Crovie and Gardenstown on the map again, how about that? And hey – maybe that’s how you’re going to save me and my workshop.’

Oh my selkie lass,

Robbie was late home because of bloody dolphin patrol but I was out on a call so I didn’t know. Barbara didn’t want me to worry when she knew I couldn’t get back. Anything could have happened. Anything. Can you imagine? Of course you can’t.

Why isn’t it getting easier? Everyone says it will. It doesn’t. It just gets further away.

Love you. Like a stuck record, skipping, skipping.

PS: Beetroot. I’m sorry there hasn’t been any lately. I don’t know why.

Twenty-Three