It was then she caught a glimpse of the lochan, the fire on the far side turning the green water a russet red.

She tried to up her speed, staggering like a drunk across the rough ground. Now on her knees. Now up again. Feeling his presence close on her heels. Dreading his hand suddenly grabbing for her, as he’d done so often before.

Then she was free of the trees and tottering onto the rocky shoreline. So what now? Try to hide somewhere along the shore? Or in the water?

Greg had laughed at her when she’d found the waters of the loch too cold. Now the thought of walking into them seemed like a godsend. If she could submerge herself, even briefly, he might not see her, think perhaps she’d gone along the shore.

Despite longing for it, the shock of the cold water hit her like a sharp slap, causing her to gasp. Taking a breath, she forced herself to walk on out, tripping over hidden roots and boulders.

But she was already too late.

‘Joanna, stop. Please. I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry. So sorry. Please come back to the shore.’

She turned, despite herself. Time had slowed again in his presence. Her movements with it.

‘I don’t want to hurt you. Think of the baby.’

She saw that he was coming for her, yet she couldn’t move. It was as though he’d frozen her in time.

He reached out a hand. ‘We must get away from the fire. We’ll walk along the shore to the big house. We’ll get help there.’

Her voice suddenly broke free from her paralysed body.

‘It’s not yours,’ she said. ‘The baby isn’t yours.’

‘What?’ he said, his expression quickly transforming from pleading concern to simmering hate. ‘You bitch.’ His lips curled round the words. ‘You fucking bitch in heat. You’ll die for that.’

Greg

‘That looked like Joanne,’ Josh shouted above the scream of the siren. ‘She crossed between us and ran into the woods.’

Greg had made note of the black car suddenly appearing in front of them. He’d even cursed the driver’s stupidity for not drawing into the passing place and briefly wondered if he was fleeing Ard Choille, whether, in fact, it might be Stratton behind the wheel. It would be just like Stratton to assume that he, and not the fire engine, should have right of way.

‘Joanne?’ he repeated stupidly.

Josh was behind him on the passenger side with a view to the woods.

‘A bloke’s just got out of the car and is following her,’ he said, sounding bewildered and worried at the same time.

Who the bloke might be suddenly hit Greg with the force of a fist.

‘It’s that bastard,’ he said, reaching for the door handle.