Page 53 of A Scottish Island Summer

He squeezed the brake and slowed down even more.

The Coral Beach was sliding parallel to us now in one long vanilla stretch.

‘That guy,’ murmured Logan. ‘Did you see him?’

‘What guy?’

Logan eased us into the car park and drew to a stop. ‘I’m sure I just saw that bearded guy from this morning.’

Logan peered around over his shoulder, to look out of the back window of his truck.

‘Where?’ I asked. ‘I can’t see anyone.’

But Logan was already pulling his car keys from the ignition and tugging open his door. ‘I’m sure it was him.’ He flashed me a look. ‘Like I said to you before, there was something about him that was familiar.’

I jumped out and slammed my door shut behind me. ‘Hey. Hold on. Wait for me, please, Mo Farah.’

Logan marched on with determination and I followed up the rear. ‘What’s the hurry?’ My curiosity rose. ‘Who do you think he is?’

Logan thrust both his hands into the pockets of his canvas trousers. ‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’ he ground out, his walking boots trampling the fronds of grass. ‘I’m sure I saw him.’

‘Well, even if it was him, he’s allowed to enjoy the scenery.’

‘Yes, he is, but that didn’t look like what he was doing.’

‘What was he doing then?’

Logan studied the landscape again. Then he jabbed an excited finger. ‘There, Darcie. Over there!’

I followed Logan’s pointing finger and spotted a figure wrapped up in a red waterproof jacket who seemed to be surveying the ground around him.

We exchanged glances. Logan was right. It was the man with the dark, privet hedge beard from this morning.

It looked like he was oblivious to our presence, although he soon wouldn’t be, if Logan’s sprinting pace was anything to go by.

Underneath the golden March sky, the man was pacing backwards and forwards in his pair of navy waterproof trousers and boots. He appeared lost in his own world.

I noted something glinting in his right hand. I realised it was a trowel.

As we trampled on, I spotted an old bucket close to him, which appeared to contain shovels, spades, a couple of brushes and a sieve.

The man looked like he was struggling to contain his frustration. With one muddy hand, he scratched at his beard and let out a sigh.

‘Excuse me!’ called out Logan.

The man almost gave himself a nasty crick in the neck as he jerked his hand up to his eyes and squinted through the light, to see where the voice was coming from.

‘You’re the gent who was hanging about outside my shop.’

The bearded man’s eyes widened with sudden realisation. He snatched up his bucket and took off at an impressive speed across the wild grasses, with his clanking tools.

Logan’s mouth dropped open. ‘What the…?’

We watched as the panicked figure made a hasty retreat towards a dark Nissan Frontier truck, threw his tools into the rear of it with a decisive rattle, and roared off.

I turned to Logan and half-laughed. ‘That’s the second time today you’ve chased that guy off. What’s all this about?’

The man’s vehicle was now a dark dot in the distance.