Marsaili lowered her eyes to the table. “I’m just not sure I can afford it. Fionnlagh going to university, I mean. And the cost of the baby. I’ve been surviving on Artair’s life policy, and was hoping it would see me through university, if I get in. I guess I’ll have to postpone my degree and get a job in the meantime.”

“That would be a shame,” Fin said.

She shrugged. “Not much alternative.”

“There could be.”

She turned inquisitive eyes on him. “Like what?”

“Like you and I share the burden of your half.” He smiled. “I am Eilidh’s grandfather, after all. Maybe we can’t stop our children making the same mistakes we did, but at least we can be around to pick up the pieces.”

Donald’s gaze alternated between them, discerning and interpreting everything that remained unspoken. He stood up then. “Well, I’ll leave you two to talk about it.” He hesitated before offering Fin his hand. Then, at length, held it out and they shook. He left without another word.

The kitchen was oddly silent in the wake of his departure, burned out, almost unreal in the flickering glare of the overhead fluorescent. Somewhere deep in the house they could hear the thump, thump of Fionnlagh’s music.

Finally Marsaili said, “How can you afford it?”

Fin shrugged. “I have a bit put by. And it’s not my intention to remain unemployed for ever.”

More silence hung heavy between them. A silence born of regret. Of all their failures, individually and together.

Fin said, “How did your exams go?”

“Don’t ask.”

He nodded. “I guess you weren’t exactly best prepared.”

“No.”

He drew a deep breath. “Marsaili, I have some news for you. About your dad.” Blue eyes fixed him in their gaze, filled with naked curiosity. “Why don’t we get out of here, get some fresh air. It’s a beautiful night out there, and there won’t be a soul on the beach.”

The night was filled with the whispering sound of the sea. It sighed, as if relieved by the removal of its obligation to maintain an angry demeanour. A three-quarters moon rose into the blackness above it and cast its light upon the water and the sand, a light that threw shadows and obscured truths in half-lit faces. The air was soft, and pregnant with the prospect of coming summer, a poetry in the night, carried in the shallow waves that burst like bubbling Hippocrene all along the beach.

Fin and Marsaili walked close enough to feel each other’s warmth, leaving tracks in virgin sand.

“There was a time,” Fin said, “when I would have held your hand when we walked along a beach like this.”

Marsaili turned a look of surprise towards him. “Can you read minds now?”