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about it. I’ll tell Jason you’re going along too.’
    Jason was annoyingly positive about the idea. ‘Excellent!’ he told Zak. ‘You can keep track of Harriet’s pictures too. Make sure we know what’s what. I think you’ll enjoy the outing. Bit of fresh air – some history – couldn’t be better.’
    ‘Have you got a warm jacket with you?’ said Christopher to Zak.
    ‘You’re not my mother!’ snapped Zak. ‘Sorry, Mr Wilson. It’s just that she always makes such a fuss about everything. I come to work to get away from all that.’
    Knowing Penelope Johnstone, Christopher could well believe this.
    ‘Perhaps you should come along too, Mr Wilson,’ said Jason. His eyes actually twinkled. Christopher hadn’t believed people’s eyes could do this, despite having seen the phenomenon described in numerous stories. ‘The fresh air would do you good.’
    ‘No, thanks,’ said Christopher. ‘Lots of paperwork to get on with. But – have a good time.’
    He hoped the last few words didn’t sound too grudging.
    The people from FOOP had a selection of satchels and rucksacks with them, ranging from the patchwork effect bag wielded by Tamara, which clashed horribly with the ethnic print on her long skirt, to Bruce’s khaki knapsack that looked as if its original purpose might have been to carry a gas-mask around. The man had put his anorak back on. It looked ridiculous with the formal shirt and tie he always wore. Between them they almost made Jason Penrose appear sensibly dressed. There were two others with them this time: Karen, the mature student, and a young man whose name Christopher hadn’t yet memorised, mainly because he hadn’t been nearly as irritating as Bruce and Tamara.
    ‘Can I take a computer?’ said Zak.
    ‘How on earth are you going to lug a computer out to Pitkirtly Island?’ said Christopher.
    Jason Penrose took a slim thing that looked like a large mobile phone out of his pocket and waved it at them. ‘You can use my tablet, Zak. There’s a little app on there you might find useful.’
    Christopher hadn’t yet caught up with tablets and apps. He knew he would probably end up asking Jemima for a lesson at some point, but he had been putting off the evil moment for as long as possible. It was of course ludicrous that Jason Penrose should make him feel like some sort of prehistoric technophobe, not to mention casting doubt on his ideas on appropriate outfits to wear to work, a topic he had previously had no opinions on whatsoever.
    They left at last, after carrying out further equipment checks, borrowing a couple of woolly hats from the ‘lost and found’ box and humorously telling Christopher to send out a search party if they didn’t come back. He slumped into the chair behind his desk and put his head in his hands.
    Fortunately he hadn’t got as far as moaning out loud by the time Mollie, currently overseeing the Folk Museum as well as the library, came to find him. Apparently Maisie Sue had flown into a rage because Tamara, whiling away the time before going out, had criticised her latest creation and it was up to Christopher to adjudicate on whether it was genuinely Celtic or not.
    After that, but before he had time to settle down to some quiet cataloguing of the letters of a long-dead owner of Old Pitkirtlyhill House, somebody telephoned from West Fife Council to apologise for the delay in the annual inspection of the guttering, and after he had dealt with that Jemima and Dave arrived to ask about another family history event Jemima wanted to organise.
    ‘Not for my own family this time,’ she hastened to add, in case he thought the same sort of mayhem might ensue as had happened the last time. ‘It’s to do with the old mining families. I want to find out how many of their descendants still live around here.’
    ‘None, if they have any sense,’ guffawed Dave.
    ‘Now, now, David,’ she said primly. ‘Some people like to stay on in the places where their ancestors