‘I can’t, Ron,’ she said. ‘Some things just can’t be got over.’

Ron nodded as if he understood. Then he shocked her by saying, ‘He found out something about your past, didn’t he? We’ve all wondered, Rachel, but he looked and found something, the same way he did with Dora McCreedy.’

‘No,’ Rachel said, shocked. ‘I’m nothing like that woman!’

‘Sorry. Of course you’re not. All I meant was that it’s in his nature to uncover things. And I’m guessing that’s what he did with you. I’m sorry if he hurt you. I imagine he is, too.’

She glanced away and found herself looking at the boxes of Cullen’s wrapped belongings. Suddenly there seemed too few to encapsulate the life that was signified by the items within.

‘It’s too complicated to explain, Ron,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t ask me to.’

‘I’m not, lass.’ Ron touched her hand and she looked back to find him smiling sadly. ‘Just don’t make the same mistakes that I did. That Ezra and Edie nearly did. That’s all.’

Ron moved away and picked out another item from Cullen’s last drawer. It was a narrow, aged cardboard box, and he opened it to reveal an antique cake slice. Intricate furls of silver decoration curled around its handle. Rachel remembered the last time she’d seen it – back in summer, when Cullen had made an opulently layered sponge confection of strawberries and cream. She remembered the laughter, the way the lighthouse doors had been as wide open as the blue sky overhead. She remembered Ron standing in the doorway, throwing a stick for Bukowski as far as it could go, over and over. The afternoon had stretched on into evening, as had the laughter, until all the cake had gone and the daylight finally faded away, leaving only stars.

‘All I would say,’ Ron said quietly, ‘is that secrets are rarely good for anyone, in the end.’ He closed the box and held it up. ‘I gave Cullen this. Found it in an antiques place in Portsoy one summer. Do you think—’

‘Keep it,’ Rachel said immediately. ‘You must.’

Ron nodded and slid the box into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket.

‘Rachel.’

She looked up to see Toby Hollingwood standing at the bookshop counter, a slight frown on his face. Rachel turned away, looking for Gilly, whom she’d dispatched to reshelve True Crime.

‘Please,’ he said quietly. ‘I know you don’t want to talk to me. I’m not here to force a conversation. But there’s something I need to tell you before I leave Newton Dunbar.’

Rachel looked back at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping. His night terrors, perhaps, coming back with a vengeance. She didn’t want to care, but somehow there was part of her that did.

‘It’s about Eveline,’ he added, as if to make it clear that he knew the only other subject between them was off-limits. ‘About the fire.’

Rachel was surprised. She’d thought he’d left the lighthouse and its history behind. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Wait outside and I’ll get Gilly to cover the counter.’