Now it was.

He rapped on the glass panes, twisted the heavy handle and pushed it open, scraping the linoleum on the floor as he did so. It brought him straight into the kitchen. The silence was unnerving.

‘Hello,’ he called self-consciously.

A teapot sat on the stove. Intermittent dribbles pushed up the lid and sizzled on a hotplate heated by the fire directly below.

Cal went towards the glass-panelled door that separated the kitchen from the living room and as he did so he heard a floorboard creak and saw a shadow moving towards him. He stepped back and the door swung open. It was not his aunt. He had known from the speed of movement that it wouldn’t be. He was confronted by a woman he didn’t recognise, in her thirties with dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail. Her eyes were dark and warm. She wore a blue shirt over a white T-shirt, jeans and white trainers that gave her an air of athleticism.

‘Hallo,’ the woman said quietly. ‘You must be Calum.’

This must be the woman who had phoned him in Glasgow. ‘People know me as Cal,’ he replied.

There was an awkward pause. Cal realised he was the stranger here.

‘How is she?’

‘Asleep.’

‘Still with us then?’ It sounded callous even to him.

‘Your aunt is still breathing, yes.’ The woman looked at him steadily. ‘You’ve had a long journey. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘I’d really prefer to see Mary.’

‘She’s asleep. Perhaps it would be best to leave her for now.’

‘She will waken though? She’ll know I came?’

‘I hope so.’

She made her way to a cupboard and removed a bone china cup. She may be a stranger to him, but she clearly knew the house.

‘I’m Mairi. From in the road.’

‘Shouldn’t Mary be in hospital?’

‘She wanted to be in her own home. The doctors were happy enough when I said I would stay with her. They’ve been very good, a nurse has been calling daily. Palliative care is all that’s left, keeping the pain away.’

‘I didn’t even know,’ sighed Cal.

‘No, you wouldn’t.’ If it was a dig, it was subtly delivered.

She brought over a cup of tea and laid it on the kitchen table. He sat down and she offered him a selection of biscuits on one of his aunt’s decorative plates. He had no appetite.

‘Is there any hope?’ he asked weakly.

Mairi grimaced and shook her head.

Cal sipped the tea. It was the strong, strong, scalding tea favoured by the older island folk, made with loose leaves, a big spoonful for each cup and always ‘one for the pot’. It was too strong for his palate now, even the sugar left an aftertaste.

Mairi stood against the stainless steel towel rail on the stove, both hands wrapped around her cup. She waited for him to speak.

‘How long have you been staying here?’ he asked directly.

‘For the past two nights. There was no one else who could.’

‘Well, I’m grateful to you for that.’

‘Mary’s a wonderful woman. She’s been good to me.’

Cal stared hard at the rug on the worn linoleum. Outside the wind played with the grass and somewhere a clock chimed the hour.

‘Did she say why she wanted to see me?’

‘Maybe there are things she has to say.’ Mairi finished her tea.

‘Now that you’re here I’ll go back home to get some things done.’

Cal looked startled.

‘I’ll be back. My number is on the pad by the phone if you have to call me.’

‘Okay.