Chapters (39)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Epilogue
- Author’s note
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
Anna exhaled, finally finding her way back to equilibrium and wondering whether she might have been the subject of some sort of elaborate local hazing ritual. ‘Since I got here everyone’s been calling you Old Robbie. And the first person I met was Douglas McKean, who is certifiably ancient, and then Pat and Frank said you two were friends, so I… I thought you were—’
‘Old,’ he finished for her, the smile back again. ‘Ah, well. Some people would say I am. My son’s also called Robert, and so around here, I’m Auld Robbie and he’s—’
‘Young Robbie.’
‘Exactly.’ Robert MacKenzie grinned again. ‘Sorry for the confusion.’
Anna grimaced. ‘Sorry for looking like a loon when I opened the door. So far this “getting to know your neighbours” thing is making me feel as if I should just become a recluse.’
He laughed, a deep booming sound that filled the hallway and tugged a smile at her lips. ‘Oh, you don’t want to do that around here,’ he said. ‘That really is a sure way to become a basket case.’
The noise from the other end of the hallway suddenly grew more distinct as Pat opened the living room door.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked. ‘Robbie, you’d better come and eat some of Anna’s food while there’s still some left. Another five minutes and you’d have missed it all.’
The evening progressed, meandering its way between those gathered with chat about friends and families, as well as a fair bit of village history, gossip and intrigue for Anna’s benefit. She laughed along with the tales of mischief accomplished by past residents still much missed, many of the stories tied to the time that the Crovie Inn had been a thriving business, and apt to sell its wares far past official closing time. There were stories of the Fishergirl’s Luck, too, which were told with such affection that Anna wished she were able to turn back the clock and visit when Bren had been alive.
‘Do you remember that storm we had about six months after we moved in?’ Pat said to Frank. ‘It rattled the tiles so fiercely we were sure it was going to take our roof right off, and we thought how much worse it must be for Bren?’