I’m sorry,” Finn said. Amy was shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was crying or rage. Maybe both

Finn felt Ingrid rub his shoulder and he wanted to shake her off, wanted to run outside and leap off the cliff. Amy stared at him. He didn’t meet her gaze. “Finn, who is this woman?” she said. Finn sensed Ingrid heading for the kitchen, giving them space. “She’s no one.” “She doesn’t seem like no one.”

“I hardly even spoke to her.”

Amy got up and faced him, the television still on in the background. “I’m not an idiot, I can Google. I’ve read what the papers are saying.”

“They make up stories all the time, you know that.” “So you didn’t sit with her for hours drinking in the airport lounge?”

“I don’t know how long it was.” The sound of his whiny voice was pathetic.

“And you were sitting next to her on the plane.” “It was nothing.”

“I bet you were chatting her up when you didn’t answer my calls.”

“My phone was on silent, I didn’t hear it.” “Were you sitting next to her when I spoke to you?” “I was in the plane toilet.”

“Were you going to get cosy with her, was that it? Join the Mile High Club?”

“My God, the plane crashed...”

Pouting

“I know that,” Amy said, eyes wide. “I’m not asking about that. I don’t care about that. I’m asking about you and her.”

“There was no me and her.”

Finn looked at the television. A picture of Maddie grabbed from her Facebook page showed her in a Mediterranean club somewhere, tight dress, pouting at the camera, a sparkle in her eyes that Finn recognised.

Then it cut to another photograph of her in a bikini with Jackie O glasses and a sunhat.

“She’s beautiful,” Amy said.

“Amy, come on.”

“I can see why you found her attractive.” Amy turned back to Finn. “The stewardess said you punched this other guy who was chatting her up.”

“He was harassing her,” Finn said. “Really aggressive.”

“So you were her knight in shining armour?”

Her implication was clear. He’d never punched anyone for her.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Amy was shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was crying or rage. Maybe both. “I can’t even look at you right now,” she said. “I thought I knew you, Finn.”

“You do. You know me better than anyone.” For the rest of the day he expected a knock on the door or the phone to ring, either the police or the press. But there was nothing, which was worse in a way. He wanted the axe to fall.

The wait was excruciating. Amy kept her distance and he didn’t blame her.

In the living room he picked a battered paperback of Mackay Brown’s poetry from Ingrid’s shelves and tried to read it.

Normally Brown’s clarity soothed him, made him think of his mum, but now every line felt ominous. There was a poem actually called “Thorfinn” that seemed to be about someone drowning.

Another line somewhere else jumped out at him: “But we must die, fast in our web of lust”. Christ.

Overwhelming

He felt an overwhelming itch to walk out the door and up to the visitor centre. Or maybe go beyond the Lewis place to the tomb, commune with the dead, hear their stories, listen to their ancient wisdom.

Who was he kidding, they were just as stuck in their lives as he was now, searching for the next meal, hoping their nets would be full of fish, checking crops that could be frost-damaged or dried out or flooded.

Thousands of years of human life stuck in a rut. Finn was just the end point, the final link in a chain of existence.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked up to see if Amy or Ingrid were around. No sign.

He went to the bathroom, locked the door, put the toilet lid down and sat on it. Checked the screen. A text from Maddie.

Going mad here, need to see you. Where are you? Mx

He replied: Me too. It’s out about Kevin. Black box too. Looks bad. Can’t get away.

His life was over now. His relationship with Amy was over too. What did he imagine – that she would forgive all this? She would find out eventually and even if she did forgive him, he couldn’t live with himself. He had to finish it, he just had to find the right time. He heard footsteps outside the door and knew it was Amy. She had a lighter step than Ingrid.

His phone vibrated, the buzz echoing round the tiles.

I need you so bad. I want you to touch me. Mx She was playing him of course, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. Later, I promise.

Footsteps receded outside the door. Amy was checking up on him like he was a naughty little kid. But wasn’t that exactly how he was behaving? Can’t wait. Mx

He left the bathroom. Amy was waiting for him at the other end of the hall, at the door to the living room. A look on her face. This is it, he thought.

“Something’s happened,” she said, glancing back into the room.

“What?”

She waved at the television. He walked to the doorway and looked. The sound was down on the news, a reporter standing outside the Balfour Hospital.

Worry

The ticker-tape display along the bottom of the screen said that Sean Bayliss had died from a massive stroke as a result of his head injuries.

“That’s not right,” Finn said.

Amy stared at him. Ingrid came through from the kitchen.

“He woke up,” Finn said. “I spoke to him.” “You went to see him?” Ingrid said. “When?” “He was fine,” Finn said. “He was awake and talking.”

“When did you see him, Finn?” Amy said.

He shook his head. “He can’t be dead. It doesn’t make sense. He just can’t be.”

He caught a look between Amy and Ingrid, the two surrogate mothers in his life. A shared worry, a knowing purse of the lips. One of them, he didn’t know who, tried to stroke his arm, but he pulled away like the touch was poison.

He stood there looking at the floor, rubbing his hand. “He can’t be dead, he just can’t be.”

More tomorrow.