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seemed surprised. ‘What will you do?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    She smiled, that old sardonic smile that he had known so well. ‘Here lies Fin Macleod,’ she said. ‘He didn’t know.’
    He returned her smile. ‘I have my degree in computer studies.’
    She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? That’ll get you far in Crobost.’
    This time he laughed. ‘Yes.’ She had always been able to make him laugh. ‘Well, we’ll see. Maybe I’ll end up working at Arnish, like my dad, or Artair.’
    At the mention of Artair her face clouded. ‘You’ll never do that, Fin.’ Somehow it had always been the last resort of island men who couldn’t get a job on a fishing boat, or escape to university on the mainland. Even although it paid well.
    ‘No.’
    ‘So don’t talk shit. You did enough of that to last a lifetime when we were young.’
    He grinned. ‘I guess I did.’ He nodded towards the Vauxhall. ‘Who’s in the car?’
    ‘My dad.’ Her voice sounded brittle.
    ‘Oh. How is he?’ It was an innocent enough question, but when he looked back at her he saw that it had provoked a disturbing response. Her eyes had filled. He was shocked. ‘What’s wrong?’
    But she kept her lips pressed firmly together, as if not trusting herself to speak. Before finally she said, ‘My mum’s kicked him out. Says she can’t take it any more. That he’s my responsibility now.’
    Fin frowned his confusion. ‘Why?’
    ‘It’s his dementia, Fin. He wasn’t so bad last time you saw him. But he’s gone downhill rapidly. There’s almost a daily deterioration.’ She glanced back towards the car, and her tears flowed freely now. ‘But I can’t look after him. I can’t ! I just got my life back after twenty years of Artair. And his mother. I have more exams coming up, Fionnlagh’s future to think about …’ She turned desperate eyes back on Fin. ‘That sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Selfish.’
    He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but it had been too long. ‘Of course not,’ was all he could say.
    ‘He’s my dad !’ Her pain and her guilt were all too clear.
    ‘I’m sure the social services will be able to find something for him, at least temporarily. What about a nursing home?’
    ‘We can’t afford that. The farm wasn’t ours. Just rented.’ She wiped her cheeks with the flats of her hands and made a determined effort to take back control. ‘I phoned the social from my mum’s. I explained it all, but they said I had to come in and talk to them. I’m just going to drop him off at daycare to give myself time to think.’ She shook her head, on the verge of losing it again. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’
    Fin said, ‘I’ll get changed and come into town with you. We’ll take your dad for a pub lunch then drop him at daycare while we go and talk to the social work.’
    She looked at him with searching, watery blue eyes. ‘Why would you do that, Fin?’
    Fin grinned. ‘Cos I need a break, and I could do with a pint.’
    The Crown Hotel sat up on the spit of land called South Beach that separated the inner and outer harbours of Stornoway. The lounge bar was on the first floor, and from up here there were views of both. The fishing fleet was in, at anchor in the inner harbour, rising and falling gently on the incoming tide, rusting trawlers and raddled crabbers, painted over in primary colours like elderly ladies vainly trying to hide the ravages of time.
    Tormod was confused. At first he didn’t appear to know Fin at all. Until Fin spoke to him about his childhood, when he had visited Marsaili at the farm, already smitten, as if future pain had been predestined. Tormod’s face had lit up with recognition then. He had a clear recollection, it seemed, of the young Fin.
    ‘You’ve grown fast, boy,’ he said, and ruffled his hair as if he were still a five-year-old. ‘How are your folks?’
    Marsaili glanced, embarrassed, at Fin, and said in a low voice, ‘Dad, Fin’s folks were killed in a car