Louisa’s parents had retired to Yell when they sold their grocery shop in Lerwick’s Commercial Street. Sandy seemed to remember that Louisa’s mother, Mavis Laurence, had been born and brought up there, and that was why they made the move. The house had probably been specially built for them at the time, and he imagined it would have been the couple’s pride and joy. It was a neat square bungalow with white render and a grey-tiled roof. The front door was locked.

‘Sometimes she wanders,’ Louisa said. ‘It’s a worry.’

Sandy followed her in, the pile of books in his arms.

The woman sat in an armchair looking out of the window over a tidy little garden and towards Unst in the distance. She’d been strong and fierce when Sandy had known her, running the business and acting as host in one of the halls at Up Helly Aa. Her husband had been a fine singer, Sandy remembered, and religious, but not in a strict or a hard way. Mavis Laurence had lost weight. She must have been middle-aged when Louisa had arrived, but now she looked very old and frail. Older, surely, than her years. A walking frame stood in front of her. She turned towards Louisa and gave a wonderful smile. ‘Where have you been? I was just about to send your father out to look for you.’

‘Father’s not here any more, Mum. And I’ve just come back from work. This is Sandy. Do you remember him? Sandy, one of the Wilson boys from Whalsay.’

The woman turned towards him, her eyes kind of smeared and vague. ‘Is this the young rascal that broke your heart? Your father threatened to beat his arse.’

Louisa blushed suddenly and deeply, and Sandy felt a stab of guilt and pain. He hadn’t realized. He’d been so careless with his girlfriends when he’d been a young man, and now he was single and it served him right.

‘You’re confused, Mum,’ Louisa said, giving a little laugh to hide her awkwardness. ‘You’re thinking of someone else. I was going to make Sandy a cup of tea. Would you like some? And maybe a piece of that ginger cake that we made together last night.’

Mavis clapped her hands as if she were a very young girl. Sandy sat with her while Louisa went into the kitchen to make tea. A sort of penance, and because he knew that Louisa would want him to.

‘Your grandmother was Mima Wilson,’ Mavis said. ‘My mother knew her. She was wild too in her time.’ Then she lapsed into silence. There was a bird table in the garden and feeders hung from it. She seemed to take great delight in watching the small birds come to take the seed.