Anna made her way along the path, murmuring to the baby as she went. The water lapped against the sea wall, white foam peeking over the edge before dropping away again with a whisper. Around her, the sounds of industry echoed from the houses as she passed. Faces smiled at her from replaced windows, along with the occasional shouted ‘hello’ and wave. She waved back at the neighbours who, since the storm, had become an even closer-knit community. No one wanted that night to cap the village’s long history with tragedy and desertion. Even the cottage owners who visited once a year had made a pact to ensure that Crovie was restored. It was happening, though progress was slow. Heavy work had been made even more difficult than usual with no road access and money was short without the income from the rental properties that needed repair.

At the Fishergirl’s Luck there was no sound at all, no hammering or banging, no echoing rasp of a saw. Anna saw why when she spied the two figures sitting at Liam’s bench. Robert MacKenzie had repaired the broken seat himself, though it would have been easier to simply buy a new one. It was important to the place’s history now, had been his reasoning. It deserved to be repaired alongside the tiny home of which it was part. Anna was glad. The place had seemed incomplete without it.

One of the figures glanced up at Anna and lifted his old chin in a kind of silent greeting as she approached. The other turned to see her coming and smiled as he got up. Robert came towards her, hair lifted by a sudden breeze.

‘Hello, you two,’ he said as he reached them, wrapping his arms around Anna and leaning down for a kiss, before planting one on the baby’s head, too. ‘How’s the cookbook going?’

‘Ugh,’ Anna said, making a face. ‘I can’t tell if it’s good or terrible. I go from thinking it’s one or the other minute to minute.’

Robert kissed her again. ‘It’s brilliant.’

‘How do you know?’ Anna laughed. ‘I haven’t let you read it yet!’

‘Stands to reason. Everything you do is brilliant.’

‘Flatterer.’

‘Saying it how I see it, that’s all.’

‘I don’t—’

There came the sound of a throat being cleared by the old man sitting behind them. Anna peered around Robert.

‘Afternoon, Dougie.’

He raised his chin again, but said nothing.

Robert grasped Anna’s hand and she let him pull her towards the bench, though Anna wasn’t sure she really wanted to sit down. She and Douglas McKean had silently agreed an uneasy kind of truce, but they weren’t really on chatting terms.