Rain brushed the slopes of Glencoe; clouds hid the top of the Buachaille Etive Mòr; white water crashed down at Watersmeet; but David hardly noticed. What attention he had left from driving was staring inside his own head.

Why?

Why was he doing this?

God knows, he’d barely looked at her before; oh sure, she was reasonably attractive, looked after herself, but she was a colleague, and not even a close one. Why was he taking a sickie to go driving through Scotland in February after a woman he hardly knew? And yesterday’s presentation – what Poulson must be saying about him God knows. Skimped wasn’t the word.

Why?

Had he really been lusting after her all along, and subconsciously recognised a chance? Was it guilt – did he blame himself and wanted to make up? Or was it genuine worry and concern?

Or…

Had he really seen an old friend in her eyes?

Aboard the Corran Ferry he got out of his car for some fresh air. The rain had stopped now, and the clouds were breaking up; he began to see the high mountains, and for once they lifted and relaxed him. He was close to home, here, and it had been a long time.

Andy’s display put Jenny past Strontian. David drove on – but how far? There was nothing obvious to stop for, he thought, until Salen.

Salen was a road junction – and a couple of tourist shops. The big one just before the junction was shut for the month, but the other had a light on. It was closing, but David tapped on the window.

“Sorry to trouble you,” he smiled anxiously, “but I’m looking for somewhere to spend a few days around here. You don’t rent out cottages yourself? Or know someone who does?”

“Well, goodness me!” she exclaimed, in a soft English accent. “Twice in a week; and in February!”

“Twice?”

“Yes! A young lady called here just two-three days ago, wanting a cottage. Alison put her in Aultantyre, so that’s out. I wonder if Pam’s got Camusvulich ready yet. That’s about six miles along – between Laga Bay and Glenborrodale. It’s only two bedrooms, but I dare say you’re not looking for a big place?”

“Oh no, no. It’s for me, just.”

She dialled a number. There was a short chat, and then she covered the receiver.

“It would have to be for the week. Can you afford it?”

“If she takes Visa.”

“Oh yes, my dear. It’s far too far to be carrying that sort of money around.” She spoke into the phone again.

“There, my dear. All settled.”

“Thanks very much. You’ve been very kind. Er – I don’t suppose you sell bread, do you?”

Next morning he breakfasted – late – on bread and jam, washed down with strong black tea. Of course he could have gone to find Aultantyre Cottage and Jenny straight away, but he decided he needed to stock up first; he drove back to Strontian for supplies.

He also bought a map and located Aultantyre.

He wandered around Strontian for a while, but it’s not the largest nor the prettiest town in Scotland, and he’d soon seen it all. He skipped lunch, and instead had tea and cakes at the shop in Salen. The lady asked if he was comfortable, of course, and they chatted on about wildlife and tourist roads and the local ferries until he suddenly realised how late it was. Too late to visit, he decided. He went back to Camusvulich to cook himself a supper.

Unfortunately the next day was a fine clear day, and looked set. He breakfasted late again, and washed up, and swept, and sorted his clothes, but however hard he tried he couldn’t find enough to do even to fill the morning. He really had no choice now; he had to go to Aultantyre.

Still, he said to himself, she might be out. And he tried to pretend this would be a bad thing.

It wasn’t his lucky day. She was sitting in the garden, drinking a cup of tea, and she heard him coming.

She glanced round, stood up – and then recognised him.

“Oh shit.” She stepped back. “David? What the fuck?”

He came no closer; he just flapped his hands about a bit. “I – well, I mean, after you – well, I was a bit worried. I just wanted to be sure – after all, anything could have –”

“So you’ve come to take me back?”

“No no! No, not at all. No. I just, just wanted to be sure you were all right. I mean, you took off in your car like a bat out of hell. I thought you must have crashed it; you must’ve been damn lucky.”

Her face made no response at all.

“But – but now I know you’re all right – I mean – I’ll leave you in peace.” He half turned.

“Oh, all right.” She gnashed her lips. “You’d better stop for a cup of tea at least.” She turned away. “In all the things I’d imagined would happen after – well, after, the last thing I’d’ve thought of was a fucking Sir Galahad. D’you take milk? If you take sugar, tough.”

He sat down, and she poured him a cup. There was plenty – it was a proper Scottish pot.

“Well, then?” she demanded. Her cup was gripped in two hands, both elbows firmly on the table.

“Er, well, nice cottage, isn’t it.”

She nodded, frowning. “Very. Good view.”

“Yes. You were lucky. Most of them are being redecorated in February. Mrs Caudle at the shop in Salen told me. But you must have been here before.”

“Oh yes. I’d been here when I was a kid. Was that the little shop that sells cakes? I booked it through her. Nice lady.”

She drank, and refilled her cup. But then she only put one arm on the table, and she picked her cup up normally.

“Yes,” she said, “I suppose I was lucky. Funny name, though. D’you know, I thought she said Alton Towers at first! Gaylic, I suppose.”

“Allt an t-Saoire? Yes, it is Gaelic. It means the carpenter’s stream.”

“You know Gay- Gaelic?”

“Oh yes. I was born in the Hebrides – on Barra.”

“But you’re – you’re a –”

“I’m an exhibition stand graphic designer. Yes? Just because you’re born in the Outer Hebrides it doesn’t mean you’re an ignorant peasant, you know. We do have schools, and cars, and televisions and computers, you know. We’re just like people, really.”

“Oops.” She winced. “No, I didn’t mean – it’s just that – no, you’re right, of course.” And all the strength seemed to slide out of her, and she crumpled, pressing her face into her hands. Her shoulders heaved.

David assumed she was crying, and put an arm round her shoulders, but when she lifted her head her eyes were dry.

She started to say something, stopped, and started again.

“How did you find me?”

“Bloke called Andy Preece – know him?”

She shook her head.

“Internet detective. Solves customers’ problems without ever leaving his office – well, it’s more like a laboratory. Traces hackers – those are his bread and butter, but he’s got a few sidelines. He followed you by the signals from your mobile.”

She looked at him open-mouthed. “Fucking hell! I never knew you could do that!”

“It’s not legal – unless you’re MI5. Anyway, we traced you to Àird nam Murchan, and here I am.”

She picked her cup up again. “Yes. Here you are. Why?”

His arm dropped.

“Why, David? Because you knew by then I hadn’t crashed. You knew I was safe. So why?”

He looked away. “I don’t know, Jenny. A Mhuire, I just don’t know. I suppose part of it was not knowing, I mean, why, Jenny? Was it – was it me?”

She shook her head. He breathed out.

“Well, then, I suppose – wanting to know that. And I was really worried about you; what was wrong. Just because you’d not crashed, that didn’t mean you were really safe.”

“You thought I might kill myself.”

“Well, it crossed my mind. Only as a remote possibility, of course, I never really thought ¬–”

“Oh, I did. I thought about it. But not till this morning.” She stared into her cup. “This would be a nice place to die, wouldn’t it, David. Here in the mountains, by the sea, where there’s real peace. This would be a nice place to sleep.” She looked out across the loch. “There was a thing we used to sing in Infants. ‘The purple headed mountain, the river flowing by, the sunset, and the morning that brightens up the sky.’ D’you know it?”

“Yes. Yes, this would be a nice place to die. Jenny, why?”

“I don’t know. It had been a bad day, and I suppose I was strung up a bit, but then I was sitting in that restaurant, and you walked in, and suddenly…”

Her voice trailed off. David waited.

“Suddenly – I can’t describe it – suddenly, everything was fake. The bar was polystyrene, the walls were painted cardboard, the chairs were cardboard, the drinks were coloured water, the olives and nibbles were plastic, and you weren’t David, you were an actor playing David. Nothing was real. It was all a trick, a trap, to hold me until whatever was to happen happened. My only chance was to make a run for it, then, while the door was still open, if I ran for it then I could just get away, and I ran and ran and ran. And now you’ve run after me and caught me and I haven’t got away after all.”

He reached out a hand. “No, Jenny, I’ve not caught you. I’m not here to catch you.”

She took no notice. “What could it be, David? What could bring on so – so vivid an illusion?”

“You think that’s what it was – illusion?”

“Well, of course! What d’you mean?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the truth? That you’d stretched yourself so far that you no longer had the resources to keep the illusion going, and suddenly you saw things as they really are? And you’ve spent the last few days recharging, so that you can put the illusion back, piece by piece, and hide in it again with the rest of us?”

“You can’t really mean that!” Her voice shook. “Look at the mountains! They’re real, they’re solid – aren’t they? Can you imagine them looking like painted cardboard?”

“Oh yes.” He looked across at the hills opposite. “Oh yes. I’ve seen them look as if the first shower would make the paint run. And so have you, Jenny, haven’t you? For the first couple of days, isn’t that how they looked?”

She hesitated, but then she nodded.

“But then – why did I have to run? If it was true, why did I have to run?”

“Once you knew the truth, you had to be free. Didn’t somebody once say that – the truth makes you free?”

“Wasn’t it written over the gate to Auschwitz?”

David thought. “No, I think that was ‘Work makes you free’ – yes, that’s right. Arbeit macht frei.”

They were silent for a long time.

“Was that why you came?” she asked suddenly. “Were you running away too? Was I just an excuse for running?”

“Oh,” he said. “Maybe. Or yes. No. No, Jenny, I’m not sure. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Is anything real?” she asked.

“I am,” he said. “Oh, and you probably are. But you’ll know that, not me. But nothing else is.”

There was another long silence.

“David, would you sleep here tonight? Oh,” she went on as David stared at her, “we can have sex as well. If you want. Or are you gay? But I just want someone with me in the night. Someone real. Will you?”

David smiled and nodded. “I know,” he said, “believe me, I know.”