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"Honestly, Angela, wake up! You're so terrified to admit you're getting over it. I saw you with Gordon - you were having a wonderful time. What are you avoiding him for? Of course you loved Robert, but you don't have to be a slave to his memory forever. It's been nearly two years, for goodness sake!"

"Gordon has nothing to do with this," Angela lied. "I can't spend the rest of my life in your spare room. It's high time I got back to writing. I sold the London flat when Robert died, so the cottage is my home now. It'll be perfect no distractions."

"Who in their right mind would live in a cottage on the west coast of Scotland in the middle of autumn? You'll freeze! I don't know how you can even think of burying yourself up there."

Angela climbed the stairs, sad to be arguing with a friend who had been her rock since her husband died. But she should have known she could rely on Mary. By the time she came back downstairs with her suitcase packed, Mary had two bags full of groceries ready for her.

"Who knows what shops will be open up there, this time of year."

Toby and Marmalade didn't want her to go either. The dog bounced along the hall, hampering her progress, while the cat tried to twine itself around her legs. She bent to give Toby a hug then shooed him, gently but firmly, towards the living room. Marmalade gave her a last walk-by rub before stalking away as if it was his idea.
If only people were more like animals - unconditionally loving, no matter how you felt.

When she reached the back door, she heard the doorbell, and Mary's voice calling a cheery welcome from the upstairs window. Gordon. She made for her car as fast as her bags would allow.

Edinburgh was soon far behind and Angela's mind was fully occupied negotiating the narrow roads, avoiding potholes and wayward sheep. It was not until she stood gazing up at the hills behind the house, frowning under their grey cloud-caps, that she wondered if she had been wise to come. Splendid isolation was one thing with your loved one by your side: alone it was another thing altogether. But what did it matter? If she was going to be kidnapped and murdered by some madman, it would at least solve the problem of how to cope with the rest of her life.

By the time she had dumped her bags in the tiny attic bedroom and stacked the groceries in the kitchen, the air was damp again, more than a mist but not quite rain. Undaunted, she pulled her old parka and boots from the car and set off to say hello to the ocean. She and Robert

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