‘You know the place is haunted?’

‘What?’ I ask, laughing nervously. He’s obviously pulling my leg. Yet he isn’t smiling; his expression remains sullen.

The landlord looks up from his paper. ‘Aye,’ he says, glancing at the man before looking at me. ‘He’s not wrong. Shura’s haunted as they come.’

I look between the two men, wondering if they’re messing around with me, teasing the newcomer, or if it’s some kind of inside joke between them; but the younger man still isn’t smiling, and the landlord’s expression is completely earnest. He nods again. ‘There was a terrible murder there.’ He glances at the younger man and then adds, ‘I mean, there’ve been lots of murders there.’

My mouth must have fallen open because he continues in a softer tone: ‘The Vikings used to raid all around these parts.’

‘Oh,’ I manage to say.

‘There used to be a monastery out there on Shura. Easy pickings. A lot of monks got killed. Nowhere to run, you see. Or hide.’

‘Right …’ I say, unsure how to react.

‘You’ll see some ancient burial sites on the island too if you look carefully. Celtic ruins from way, way back.’

I smile politely and nod. Liam will at least like that.

The landlord moves to clear the man’s empty beer glass. ‘Another?’ he asks him.

‘Aye,’ the man replies with a scowl, before twisting around to face me with a scowl. ‘Shura’s cursed. You shouldn’t be going there.’

I swallow drily, feeling my stomach drop away.

‘Come on now, let’s not scare the lass,’ the landlord admonishes, obviously seeing the anxiety on my face. ‘The island’s beautiful. You’ll have a lovely time,’ he reassures me.

The younger man twists back around in his seat to face the bar, shoulders hunched, and the landlord goes back to his newspaper. And I’m left with my imagination, which lurches into overtime. The idea that the place is haunted is unsettling, casting a dark cloud over what’s meant to be a romantic getaway. And what does the younger man mean about the island being cursed?

Liam walks out the bathroom just then. Immediately he reads the atmosphere in the room; the undercurrent of tension. ‘You OK?’ he asks, sitting down and throwing a suspicious look at the other two men.

I nod, still feeling unsettled. ‘Fine. They were just telling me about the island.’

‘A little bit of history,’ the landlord pipes up with a smile.

‘Oh, anything interesting?’ Liam asks, glancing between them.

‘They were saying it’s haunted,’ I tell him, glancing his way to gauge his reaction.

‘Right,’ he says, rolling his eyes and smirking. Being a detective means that Liam deals with all sorts of horrible crimes – murders, robberies, assault – so nothing much fazes him, and definitely not the idea of ghosts.