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
Robert nodded. ‘My problem is that I don’t know how to be without her,’ he said. ‘We’d known each other since we were children. We grew up together, we shared all our friends…’ He shook his head. ‘There is still so much around here that reminds me of her. Every place I go, I remember her being there. It sometimes makes me forget that she’s… not still here. Robbie, too. Sometimes I look at him and all I can see is her. Without Robbie I might have sunk completely. Having him meant I had a reason to get up every day. If it had just been me… I’m not sure I would have bothered. It must have been the same for your dad.’
They lapsed into silence, finishing their coffee.
‘I’m also sorry about this morning,’ Robert said, a few minutes later, in a tone that suggested he’d been trying to work out how to bring it up for a while. ‘About Douglas McKean, I mean. That was unforgivable.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘No, but…’ He shrugged, uncomfortable again. ‘What he was suggesting… that’s not why I said I’d bring you out here. I don’t want you to think I’m sniffing around looking for… Well. You know. That’s not – me.’
‘I know.’
He tipped up his coffee cup, letting the dregs drip onto the sand. ‘McKean’s a cantankerous, misogynistic old bastard. There’s no excuse for how he spoke. But he’s got troubles that aren’t of his own making.’
‘Right.’ Anna did not feel inclined to care about Douglas McKean’s troubles, whatever they were. This must have been clear in her voice, because Robert MacKenzie smiled slightly and gave a nod. His words did make Anna think about the Fishergirl’s Luck, though, and what Pat had said about its ownership. ‘Is it because of the Fishergirl’s Luck?’ she asked. ‘Pat said something about him always complaining that it should have belonged to him.’
‘Ach, that old chestnut,’ Robert laughed. ‘That’s what he’d have everyone believe if he could, but there’s no truth in it. Bren owned that place fair and square. She had no brothers, you see. Only a sister, and she died young. Bren’s father was a fisherman. To hear Barbara – that’s Cassie’s mum – tell the story, they were herring lassies together as young girls, but Bren always wanted to be out in the boats with the men, doing the fishing instead of the gutting.’
Anna wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t say I blame her.’