Caroline’s mood seemed to brighten as they drove towards the village. The trauma she’d exhibited in the kitchen at Beanach had almost disappeared. It appeared that Joanne’s decision to depart had lightened Caroline’s load considerably.

Joanne’s own thoughts still darted about, like moths courting a flame. She found herself measuring her trust in Greg against her trust in Caroline. Had what she’d said about Greg and the police even been true? Or had what just happened in the kitchen all been a ploy to get her to leave Beanach?

She was aware that living with Richard had changed her mindset from thoughtful to paranoid. That hadn’t eased even when she’d escaped his clutches and come to Blackrig. Although she’d been outwardly responsive to Greg, she’d internally analysed his every word, thought and move.

As they entered the village, she contemplated asking to be dropped at Kath’s house. After all, Kath had offered for her to stay there tonight, despite stating her belief that Greg would come home, but something stopped her.

As they drew up outside the stone-built two-storey house attached to the shop, Caroline said, ‘I feel much better for having confided in you. I feel we’re allies now and not enemies.’

Joanne said nothing to confirm or deny this. All she wanted to do was try and get some sleep, then have Caroline deposit her at the airport where she would catch any plane that might take her swiftly south.

Once inside, Caroline offered her tea. ‘Or even something stronger,’ she added with a smile.

‘Thanks, but I’m really tired.’

She looked a little disappointed at that, but then said, ‘You’re right. We’ll have to be up sharp. I’ll give you a call at six. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.’

Alone now, Joanne sank down on the bed, her head feeling suddenly light. She realized she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for what seemed like hours, and she should probably have accepted Caroline’s offer of tea at least.

Checking out the small bathroom, she filled the toothbrush holder with water and drank it down, noting the absence of the peaty flavour of Beanach’s supply. She recalled Greg explaining that he got his water from the hill.

‘The same water they use to make whisky,’ he’d told her with a grin.

That pleasant memory was swiftly followed by another and another as she replaced the black picture of Greg painted by Caroline with the shared moments of joy they’d had together.

She took out her mobile, intending to call Lucy to tell her she was coming back. It was then she noticed a text message. A babble of internal voices warned her not to read it. One solitary voice told her the opposite.

Am back at Beanach. Sad to find you gone. Can we talk? Please?