“I know, I know, I’ve not forgotten.” I change the subject quickly before I get a long lecture on the proper care, storage and transportation of oil paintings. “Anyway, tell me what you’ve been up to.” And he does. He tells me lots of things, and I read in each of them the message he’s trying to give me: he’s keeping busy and there’s nothing to worry about. But I will, and so will he.

It was easier, when I was away. No hooks to catch me, no bonds to tie me. Stories to tell, but none of them of people I love, none of them mine. Easier, certainly.

•   •   •

I’m back at the farmhouse, in the yard, having popped out to rather inelegantly retrieve my phone charger from under the driver’s seat of my car—head down, bottom in the air—when I hear something from the direction of Jamie’s flat. Raised voices, perhaps? Though more likely he has that enormous television on particularly loudly. But when I emerge triumphant with charger in hand, I spot a familiar figure descending the stairs down from Jamie’s rooms.

“Ben,” I call.

He looked like he was about to head off across the fields, but he turns. “Oh, uh, hi. I . . . uh, I didn’t quite expect to see you here.” He visibly regroups, and strives for his trademark affable charm, but it’s a far cry from his usual effort. “Which is silly of me since Fiona said you were staying.”

“Yes, she and Glen have been very kind.” I look at him more closely. “Are you okay?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

I find a smile. “I’m okay. Have you been out for a constitutional?”

“What?” I gesture at his muddy shoes. “Oh, yeah. Right. Getting some fresh air. Then I thought I’d come and see if Fiona is around.”

“She’s in the house, but she’s about to take Callum to his football match, I think.” Why was he looking for her in Jamie’s digs? I wonder.

We turn for the farmhouse together, then he puts a hand on my arm to draw me to a halt. “You know, I wanted to ask you: did you tell the police about the animals?”

“No, I couldn’t think of a way to do it without sounding nuts. But Ali told them anyway.”

“That’s good, right? It’s part of the overall picture, surely? That someone is targeting you?”

“That seems to be the conclusion.”

He falls quiet and we move toward the farmhouse again. “If it is your father . . . I’m so sorry, this would be no way to find that out. Though I suppose it might offer some kind of closure . . .”

“To be honest, I think it would offer more questions.” We’re just outside the farmhouse door now.