“Not really. I don’t remember much.” She’s watching my face as I answer; I fight the urge to turn away. If I was at work, I’d have my professional persona firmly in place: tough, capable Ailsa, ready for anything, nary a chink in the armor to be found. I can’t be that person with Carrie—it wouldn’t be fair—but I don’t know what to be instead. “I suppose it’s strange how normal everything is inside. Very IKEA. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I guess it wasn’t flat-packed furniture and magnolia-colored walls.”

She’s nodding. “It should be all oak panels and stags’ heads, like a hunting lodge. But I suppose Mum just wanted to make it rentable for as little outlay as possible.” I tense at the mention of our mother: we haven’t really spoken about her death yet, except in practical terms. And that one, brutal, phone call about the funeral, when Carrie made it quite clear she was at the adult table now:

It’s on Friday.

Friday? But there aren’t any flights, I don’t know if I can make it back—

It’s all fixed. Dad wants it then.

Pete does? But—why?

He wasn’t sure you’d come. This way, if you don’t, he doesn’t have to explain.

But the Carrie that’s here with me now is forging on. She has an energy I haven’t seen all day. In the car from London she mostly slept. “What does Manse mean, anyway? Is it just a Scottish version of Manor?”

“Yes—no, wait.” That’s not quite right; something is nagging at my brain. “No, it’s a house for the minister. I think.”

“Bloody inconvenient for the minister, seeing as the church is in the village.” I glance at my watch: just after six. Perhaps she’s an evening person. I suppose that would make sense given all her evening performances. “I meant to ask—is there a bedroom you’d prefer me to take?” she says.

“Whichever. I don’t mind.” When I take a sip from my mug, the tea is only lukewarm and far too strong for my liking. The time nags at me: just after six, the news will be on. I could turn on the somewhat outdated television I spied in the lounge and see Jonathan reporting from Louisiana on the Deepwater Horizon oil rig disaster. But I know if I do that then Carrie will see me watching Jonathan.

Another half thing. Half a house, half a sister, half a boyfriend. A sly whisper tells me that boyfriends are just like houses: if you don’t have the whole of one, you might as well not have one at all.