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  It turns out that Scout is not only unchipped but also something of a renegade hound. ‘All dogs are meant to be microchipped by law,’ the veterinary nurse explains, adding that, as there’s no animal sanctuary on the island, it would be so very, very helpful if I could drop him off at the nearest dog rescue centre on the mainland. I’d mentioned that I was in a hurry to catch the lunchtime ferry, and would therefore be passing through Oban. ‘You don’t mind taking him, do you?’ she adds with a hopeful smile. ‘It’s a lovely centre, run by a very kind couple. This poor little chap’s a bit underweight but they’ll soon nurture him back to good health. I’ll call so they’ll be expecting you.’

  Of course I don’t mind – and, anyway, what else can I do? So I say a brisk goodbye to the yellow jacket woman, and Scout and I speed-walk to my car. He leaps onto the back seat obligingly and I drive a little too quickly around to the port, causing another driver to gesticulate angrily.

  ‘Sorry!’ I call out. I park up with a jolt, just in time to see the ramp being pulled up and the ferry turning slowly, the solid hunk of black and red already chugging away.

  Chapter Ten

  Two hours, Scout and I have been mooching aimlessly around town. I know, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a major disaster. Don’t sweat the small stuff, et cetera (obviously the book’s author had never been saddled with a failing distillery, agitated creditors and a furious workforce). But right now, after the events of the past few days, it feels like the last thing we need.

  There is a later ferry, leaving at 7.30 p.m., and thankfully I’ve managed to book onto it. Scout and I have already watched the fishing boats chugging in and out of the harbour and the speckled seals, shifting position lazily on the rocks. I have called my friend Dee – lender of the businesslike outfit – to update her; whilst delighted to hear about my new canine companion, she sounded shocked that I’d missed the boat (I don’t think she has ever missed anything in her life).

  ‘Will you book a hotel on the mainland?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’ll drive straight home. I just want to get back.’

  ‘You’ll drive all night?’ I got to know Dee at the school gates and soon had her sussed as an extremely capable single mother to her two daughters, both of whom have already sailed through medical school.

  ‘I’ll be fine, honestly,’ I said, more to bolster myself than anything else. ‘It’ll be an adventure.’

  I have also called my mother, to let her know I’m still alive, and the dog and cat rescue centre at Oban to let them know of our later arrival (thankfully, someone will be there to welcome Scout). But how will we fill the rest of the hours? I sit on a bench, facing the calm sea, and ruffle the top of Scout’s head as I try to think of what to do next. He really seems to like me, but is that just because I’ve been taking care of him? Perhaps he’s this friendly with everyone. I have no idea because, of course, I don’t actually know him at all.

  We make our way along the main street, where most of the shops and cafés are clustered together, a jumble of brightly painted signs and not a chain store to be seen. There’s a tiny museum of Hebridean life and the old fashioned sweetshop with its jars of boiled sweets gleaming on shelves behind the counter. A customer comes out bringing with her a heady waft of liquorice and sugar.

  I buy a takeaway Americano and a cheese toastie at a café, and Scout and I wander onwards to the beach. Here on the wide sweep of silver sand, I let him off his lead. There seems to be little point in phoning anywhere to report him lost, as the vet’s receptionist took care of all of that – and anyway, he’ll be at the rescue centre soon. He bounds off in delight, stopping to look round every so often as if to check I’m still there. I perch on a rock and watch him whilst munching my toastie.

  As I take my last bite, a flash of buttercup yellow appears in the distance. It’s the chatty woman with bobbed black hair from the vet’s. Unaccompanied by her dog now, she trots lightly down the worn old stone steps to the beach. I send a silent plea for her to head off in the opposite direction. It’s not that I’m unfriendly by nature; just that I’d rather just have Scout for company right now. However, she raises a hand in greeting and makes her way towards me.

  ‘Weren’t you rushing off to catch the ferry?’ she asks as she approaches.

  ‘We missed it,’ I say with a grimace.

  ‘Oh, God, did you? That’s a shame.’

  I sip my coffee as she perches on the rock next to mine. Her blue-grey eyes look a little puffy, I realise now – as if she’s been crying. Perhaps they’d been that way at the vet’s, and I hadn’t noticed.

  ‘It’s not a disaster,’ I add. ‘I’ve called the animal rescue centre in Oban. The veterinary nurse asked if I could take him there …’

  ‘Yes, I heard her asking you. That’s really good of you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ I say briskly. ‘And anyway, they can still take him, even though we’ll be really late.’

  She nods. ‘That’s good news. So, whereabouts are you from?’

  ‘I live in York, so I have a pretty long drive tonight.’

  ‘God, that is a heck of a journey.’ She smiles sympathetically.

  ‘D’you live here on the island?’ I ask.

  ‘Uh, yeah, but I’m pretty new, still finding my feet around here.’ I glance at her, my interest piqued now. ‘After you’d left the vet’s,’ she adds, ‘someone said they thought you were connected to the distillery?’

  It happens again – that judder of dread that I’m going to have to explain it once more, and apologise as I did at the meeting. Despite her cheery attitude, her pleasant, smiley face and being ‘pretty new around here’, she’s probably close to someone who’s about to lose their livelihood – and that’s another life I’ve wrecked. ‘Er, yes, that’s right,’ I reply, turning to Scout, who’s wandered away to investigate a rock pool. ‘Scout, c’mon, boy!’ I call out. ‘Well, we’d better get on our walk,’ I add, as if it’s a matter of urgency.

  ‘D’you mind if I join you?’ She straightens up, and seems to catch herself. ‘Unless you’d rather enjoy a bit of peace and quiet? I know lots of dog walkers prefer that.’

  I catch a glimmer of something – of curiosity, maybe – in her eyes. ‘No, not at all,’ I reply, figuring now that she can’t possibly know about the distillery’s troubles; or at least, that I am partially responsible. If she did, she wouldn’t be this friendly and straightforward with me.

  ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ I say.

  ‘Great,’ she says brightly. ‘So, his name’s Scout?’

  ‘That’s just his temporary name,’ I reply with a smile. ‘It was the first one that popped into my head. And I’m Suzy …’

  ‘I’m Cara,’ she says with a wide, warm smile, ‘and I think his temporary name suits him perfectly.’

  Perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve spent so much time alone lately. Or maybe it’s Cara’s warmth and friendliness that makes my initial wariness dissipate into the salty air.

  ‘I’d always loved the idea of spending time in the Hebrides,’ she says, when I ask what brought her to the island. ‘I’m from Hexham in Northumberland and I’d lived there all my life. I’d been here on holidays – not to Sgadansay, but to other islands – so I thought, why not do something bold and see if I could actually make a life here?’

  ‘By yourself?’ I hope it’s not presumptuous to ask.

  She nods. ‘Yep, it’s just me. Well, me and Barney …’ She glances at me, perhaps registering my surprise. ‘It felt exciting,’ she adds.

  ‘Well, I think it’s brave,’ I say, wondering why some people have the ability to just go for it, without considering all the things that could possibly go wrong. Of course, Paul does that; he once took a job as a York ghost tour guide, without considering that it’d involve tramping about at night in all weathers with tourists firing questions at him (‘Why do I have to be working when everyone else is out having fun?’).

  As Cara throws a stick for Scout,
I wonder why she hasn’t brought Barney down to the beach. Maybe he’s already had his big walk for the day? Or perhaps he’s not well enough? Better not ask, I decide as Scout leaps over rock pools, retrieves the stick and drops it at our feet. ‘He’s so lovely,’ she adds. ‘Bet you don’t want to let him go really.’

  I smile, surprised to feel a small twinge of regret. ‘You’re right. My kids have already been on at me to keep him and they don’t even live with me anymore.’

  Cara chuckles. ‘I don’t blame them. How old are they?’

  ‘Frieda’s twenty-one and Isaac’s nineteen. D’you have any kids?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s just me and Barney.’

  There’s a pause, so I ask, quickly, ‘So, have you settled in? What’s it like living here?’

  ‘It’s stunning of course, but you know that.’ I nod, remembering how I’d felt, when Paul and I had first stepped off the ferry here. How I’d been thrilled that he’d chosen such a wild and beautiful island for our holiday.

  ‘What kind of work d’you do?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m an artist and an art educator. I have a house and studio in Hexham where I ran screen printing classes. But I’ve let it out now, and I’m renting a pretty bonkers place here. It’s a bit of a state but it’s just right for me really.’ Cara stops and smiles. ‘Sorry. I’m rambling on about myself. I’ve probably spent a bit too much time on my own lately.’

  ‘Oh, me too,’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘And you’re not rambling at all. So, what kind of bonkers is it?’

  ‘It was a tearoom with a little outdoor play area but it shut for business years ago. It was being offered to rent as a workshop or studio, and it just seemed perfect for me.’ She grins. ‘A wreck, but with potential. And there’s still a rusty old swing and a roundabout outside so I’m never bored.’

  I smile, impressed by her courage to come over here and set up a life on her own. She’s petite in stature but I detect an inner strength about her. ‘So you live there too?’ I ask. ‘In the old tearoom, I mean?’

  ‘Yeah, there are a couple of rooms at the back and that does me fine.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ I say.

  We both turn as Scout darts towards the sea and springs in and out of the shallow waves. ‘I wonder how he came to be lost?’ Cara muses.

  ‘No idea,’ I reply. ‘It’s baffling. If your dog was missing, wouldn’t you report it straight away?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she says vehemently.

  ‘So I’m thinking he might have been abandoned,’ I add.

  Cara nods. ‘Poor little thing.’ We fall into comfortable silence as we stop and look out to sea. The mainland is visible as a hazy strip on the horizon, the afternoon bright and sunny with a bite to the air. I’m thinking now that it wasn’t a disaster to miss our ferry after all. Scout is loving his walk, and it’s given us some extra time together. I’ve met Cara, too, and it strikes me now how much I’ve needed to talk, not about anything major but just to be normal with another human being, and not to be judged. And that’s when she says it, just as I knew she would at some point: ‘Anyway, that really is enough about me.’ She pushes back her windblown hair. ‘So, what’s your connection with the distillery?’

  I could brush her off. I could say sorry, we really must go now; we have things to do. But what the hell, I could do with talking, and something about her tells me that she won’t assume I’m an incompetent fool. ‘It’s a bit of a story,’ I tell her. ‘Would you like to come for a coffee with me?’

  In the cosy dog-friendly café I pour it all out. How Paul walked out, and I’d come to the island to meet the distillery team face to face and explain the true extent of the problems. ‘So he left you,’ Cara exclaims, ‘with all that to deal with?’

  ‘Yep, pretty much. He said he needed a bit of time …’ I break off. Deciding we needed more than coffee, we’re devouring platefuls of excellent fish and chips.

  ‘Time to do what?’ she prompts me.

  ‘To think, maybe? Or to drink himself stupid or assume a new identity? Honestly, I have no idea.’ It’s gratifying, how aghast she seems, although I’m still amazed that I’m telling a stranger all of this. ‘I’d been out visiting my parents,’ I explain. ‘I came home to find a note in the kitchen saying, “Sorry, Suze. Need to get away for a while”.’

  ‘My God, that’s terrible! But it sounded like he’d just gone temporarily?’

  ‘I thought so, yes. I assumed he’d just had a wobble or something. But then, when he wouldn’t answer his phone, I started to panic and badgered all his friends. Finally I messaged an old mate of his, who lives in London, and he said Paul was with him but he wasn’t around right now.’ I pause. ‘He’d gone out to lunch.’

  ‘Gone out to lunch?’ Cara splutters. ‘The nerve!’

  ‘Exactly. And of course, I pictured him feasting on seafood, a glass of chilled Chablis at his side …’

  ‘Picking over a langoustine platter at a riverside restaurant …’

  ‘Sunlight glimmering on the Thames,’ I add. ‘Yeah, exactly that. And I know this sounds awful but I started thinking about those pliers you get, you know the ones for crunching up crab?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ she exclaims.

  ‘I’d happily have set about him with those.’ I chuckle, immensely grateful now that she’s here. The whole time, Scout has been dozing at my feet. ‘But then,’ I continue, ‘I remembered I’d invented the seafood scenario, and for all I knew he’d just nipped out for a McDonald’s …’ We are both laughing now.

  ‘You don’t “go out to lunch” to McDonald’s,’ Cara observes.

  I nod. ‘No, you just go to McDonald’s.’

  As she pops her last chip into her mouth I find myself wishing we’d met in some other circumstances, and not at the end of a stressful trip. I check my phone, surprised by how the time has flown by. Dusk is falling as we leave the café, and the sea shimmers inky blue as we head towards my car.

  ‘How about I take a photo of Scout and print off some lost dog posters?’ she suggests. ‘I could put them up around town. I’d imagine people’d be good about that around here.’

  ‘Would you do that? That would be brilliant. Thank you so much.’

  ‘No problem at all,’ she says, whipping out her phone and taking an endearing close-up of his face. ‘Shall I put your phone number on them?’

  ‘Yes, that’s probably best. And if anyone gets in touch I can direct them to the rescue centre.’ As we exchange numbers it strikes me that it was always Paul who amassed the contact details of new friends we’d made on holiday. ‘This has been lovely,’ I add. ‘I feel so much better, thanks to you.’

  ‘It’s been great.’ She smiles but, startlingly, her eyes start to tear up. ‘I’d had a bit of a day, actually, and you’ve really helped to take my mind off things.’

  ‘Oh?’ I say, frowning. ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘It’s Barney,’ she says quickly, clearly trying to keep her emotions in check.

  I look at her, feeling terrible now for going on about my own predicament. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

  Cara shakes her head as she strides on determinedly. ‘Like I said, he’s an old boy and he’s had a lovely life. A brilliant life! So he’s been lucky really, and so have I.’ I open my mouth to speak but Cara charges on: ‘So he’s staying over at the vet’s tonight. He’s really unwell. He had surgery and that wasn’t successful and it’s probably best if he doesn’t hang on and on for months. So I’ll have to make … that decision soon. I’m sorry, I—’ She stops suddenly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmur, hugging her. ‘This must be terrible for you. I can’t imagine how you must feel.’

  She nods and wipes at her face. ‘A dog feels like family, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he does,’ I say, at a loss for how to comfort this woman who seems so capable and has been so kind to me today.

  ‘Look,’ she says quickly. ‘The ferry
’s almost in.’

  I glance around and see its lipstick-red funnel shining out against the darkening sky. We have reached my car, parked close to the jetty. ‘I feel terrible rushing off like this,’ I add.

  ‘I’ll be fine, honestly. Off you go!’ She smiles stoically, bobs down to cuddle Scout and plonks a noisy kiss on the top of his head. Then we are saying hasty goodbyes, and Scout hops into my car. There’s a great metallic clanking as we drive over the ramp and onto the ferry.

  I thought I’d be relieved to be heading home. But something twists in my heart as the boat turns slowly away from the harbour, and we leave Sgadansay behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ricky

  There was a horrible incident a couple of years ago when Arthur was eight and used to go to Cubs. ‘Your mum was a junkie,’ a little shitbag told him. I was horrified when he blurted out what had happened. And of course, I told the Cub leader I needed a word. He was mortified – and the kid was told to never speak to Arthur like that again.

  ‘Don’t listen to anyone who says stuff like that,’ I told him later that night.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ he said firmly. ‘He’s a wanker.’ It nearly broke me, how brave he was being, and when I picked him up from school today I was reminded a little of that moment.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he murmured after I’d told him that he wouldn’t be spending his Easter holiday in Spain after all.

  ‘Yeah. I know you were really looking forward to it.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean about Kai’s granny. D’you think she’s gonna die soon?’

  ‘Um, well, it’s not looking good.’ I paused. ‘It’s sad for him – for all of them. But we’ll have a great time, won’t we?’

  Arthur nodded and raked at his outgrown hair. ‘Yeah.’

  I cleared my throat as we climbed into my car. The back seat was piled with instruments I was taking home for minor repairs. It’s an unofficial part of being a music teacher; if we didn’t fix the instruments, eventually there’d be none left for our pupils to play. I glanced at Arthur, almost wishing I wasn’t going out tonight. It’s not that he ever seems to mind – he’s a huge fan of Jojo, his student babysitter – but I felt as if I should be home for him really, in case he wanted to chat about stuff.