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‘Thank you.’
‘It’s been a shit few years,’ he says.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Shit.’
‘Anyway. The lads are waiting for me, so—’
‘Mungo, just one more question. When Lottie disappeared, was Harriet still on Brae?’
‘No. She left the island after we split up. She hasn’t been back since. I don’t know where she’s living now. Alex, I’m sorry, but I really have to go.’
I put down my phone and stare at the photograph of Harriet and me on Dad’s desk. It was taken seven years ago, at my wedding to Luca. My sister and I have our arms around each other’s waists, our heads tilted towards each other, almost touching.
Our smiles are wide and open.
She lied to me.
She wasn’t on the Shetland Islands, at home, in Brae.
So where was she?
