When at last the gut-wrenching ceremony was over, there were solemn handshakes and hugs and commiserations and more tears before the assembly began to disperse. Poor Mrs Campbell had to be virtually carried away to the waiting car. Ewan had been hoping to say a few words of thanks to Grace Kirk, but when he turned away from the grave he saw she’d already gone. He shared a quiet moment with Rab Hunter, who clapped him on the arm and said, ‘Rough times, man. You okay?’ Once you got past the intimidating muscles and the piratical beard and earring, Rab was a big softy at heart. His eyes were full of tears and he kept blinking.

‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ Ewan lied.

Rab shook his head and blinked once more. ‘I still cannae get my head aroond it, you know? He was here with us, and now he’s gone.’

‘I can barely believe it either,’ Ewan replied, truthfully this time. He, too, was having a hard time adjusting to the reality of Ross’s death. They parted, and he walked slowly back across the cemetery grounds and past the old grey stone church to where he’d parked his van. It was a little white Peugeot with the company name on the door, identical to the one Ross had been driving. Ewan didn’t have a car of his own. His only personal vehicle was a rundown old camper, currently off the road and somewhat neglected. Maybe one day he’d get around to it.

As Ewan headed homewards he was asking himself the same question he’d been asking for days: What on earth was Ross doing down there at the lochside? He couldn’t have been lost; he knew the area as well as anyone. Ewan didn’t believe he was admiring the scenery, either. Ross couldn’t have given a damn about such things. Had he been drinking? A couple of times in the months since Katrina had left, Ewan had thought he could smell alcohol on Ross’s breath during work hours. Maybe he should have reached out to his friend, offered support, but he’d said nothing at the time. Now he feared that Ross’s emotional state might have been more serious than anyone had supposed.

At the back of Ewan’s mind was the unmentionable thought that wouldn’t go away.

Suicide. Was it possible?

Surely not. Ross wasn’t the type to top himself. But then, every man has his breaking point. What if Ross had simply reached his? What if the apparent uplift in his spirits during his last few days – and yes, Ewan had noticed it too – was really just a desperate man’s last-ditch attempt to disguise the bleak despair that was consuming his heart and soul?

If that was true, then Ewan had truly failed his friend.

‘Oh God, Ross. I’m so sorry.’