Robbie nodded, his face a mask of utter concentration, and Anna was filled with a rush of affection for this little boy. She was glad she’d said yes to this evening, in fact, because when Robert had called and asked her if she could watch Robbie at his place, Anna had almost said no.

‘Me?’

‘I know it’s an imposition,’ said Robert. ‘I wouldn’t usually ask, but I’ve had a call out on the lifeboat and Barbara’s away in Inverness for the night. I wasn’t supposed to be on the roster, but Mikey’s gone down sick with some stomach bug and Robbie’s begged me to ask you. He says there’s a bake sale for charity at the school tomorrow and he wants you to help him make something for it. Don’t worry if you’d rather not – I can ask someone else. He’ll be all right for an hour or so until I can round someone up. I just don’t want to leave him all evening.’

‘No,’ Anna said. ‘It’s fine, of course it is. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

‘Thank you, Anna,’ he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

So it was that Anna found herself in the MacKenzie family home, a stone-built two-storey house tucked away right at the top of Gamrie’s tangle of sloping streets. Robert had gone by the time she’d arrived. Young Robbie had opened the door with a beaming smile on his face, and the frank happiness of the greeting settled the uncomfortable niggle in Anna’s stomach. The boy offered her tea and biscuits in a large kitchen made comfortable by clutter, and by the time she held the mug in her hand, any trace of awkwardness Anna felt had melted away, perhaps because the place was so comfortably a home. Photographs and notes peppered the fridge door, a cobweb lurked in the corner of one window, a stack of correspondence was piled untidily on the kitchen table beside some half-done homework. Anna couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a place that felt so clearly shaped by the natural forces of family life.

‘So, what are we going to put in the pastry?’ the boy asked, as he neatly smoothed the last fluted circle into the tart tin.

‘Have you got some jam?’ she asked, crossing to the oven and flicking it on. ‘You can’t go wrong with a jam tart.’

Young Robbie wrinkled his nose. ‘Can we make something a bit fancier? Otherwise Queen Victoria will win again and nobody wants that.’

‘Queen Victoria?’

‘A girl in my class. She’s good at everything. Likes everyone to know it, too. I’d like to beat her at something for once.’

‘It’s not a competition though, is it?’