He recalled the morning he’d picked her up at the station and driven her west. How entranced she’d been by the journey and her arrival at Blackrig and then Beanach. He remembered how he’d begun to doubt the reason for her presence, how he’d thought she’d come here for a story, and not him.

Maybe he’d been right all along. Maybe she didn’t feel about him the way he now discovered he felt about her.

As for Blackrig and Beanach. He would have to leave them behind too, even should they find the real killer. He was tainted by what he had and hadn’t done. Caroline would make certain of that and who could blame her?

Plus he couldn’t and wouldn’t work for Stratton any longer.

Stepping under the shower brought back those moments he’d spent there with Joanne. Tender, exhilarating, she’d made him come alive again. After the virus. After Ailsa, after losing Mac. After destroying whatever Caroline and he had had together.

The shower definitely hadn’t changed his mood; in fact, it had probably made it worse. He got out and towelled himself dry. As he swept up his bundle of dirty clothing, he inadvertently knocked over the wastebasket, sending Joanne’s discards to scatter across the floor.

He bent to pick them up, assailed by the scent of Joanne they left behind, and his eye caught sight of an open package, which looked as though it had arrived by post. Examining it, he saw the label had her name and the Beanach address.

Intrigued, he looked inside and knew immediately what she’d had delivered, and why she hadn’t mentioned it.

Staring at the result of the pregnancy test, he felt himself transported back in time to when Caroline had handed him a similar test. Back then he’d been more stunned than pleased, since things were already rocky between them.

Was this the reason she’d left? Had she gone to have an abortion, without even telling him about it? Her body. Her choice. Wasn’t that the rule? Of course, it might not be his. Might she have returned to London to tell the real father?

He took the item that had changed his world yet again and laid it on the bed beside the other remnants of his past.

She hadn’t wanted him to know she was pregnant. That much was obvious. So what should or could he do, if anything? The one thing he couldn’t do, he realized, was to leave her to deal with it alone. If she didn’t want his help, she could tell him that to his face.

He fetched his mobile and brought up her number. Noting how late it was, he sent a text instead. Then he lay down on the bed to wait out the remainder of the night without end.

Joanne