`Beautiful, isn't it?' said Sarah. 'At times like this I wonder whether we were right to bother with the Edinburgh house at all.'
`Sure,' said Bob, laughing, 'then you go for a run one morning, maybe in a couple of months, or even days, and the weather's turned full circle, and the hailstones are whistling at you with a gale behind them. What d'you wonder then?'
They trudged along the dune path, Bob walking more slowly than usual, because of his burden, three- month-old Jazz, secured in the carry-frame which was strapped to his chest.
The baby had been lively when they had left the cottage a quarter of an hour before, but the movement and the fresh air had soon taken effect. Now he was asleep, with Bob holding him steady and picking his steps carefully. Jazz was growing at an alarming rate. The dark birth hair had gone, to be replaced by blond, wispy strands which flicked down towards his forehead. His father smiled as he made a burbling sound in his sleep. 'Dreaming of his next feed already, the wee bugger!'
`Don't remind me,' said Sarah, with genuine feeling. That boy is going to be huge, I can tell it already!'
`Must be the Yank half. When're you going to try him with his first Big Mac?'
`Never! Our child will have a proper diet. Junk food will be banned! And you'll have to set him an example. Fruit, fibre, fish, some lean meat on occasion, but not to excess. Sarah's F-plan.'
`But I like Big Macs and Burger Kings… and I know what that 'F' stands for!'
`Skinner! I don't do that… not out loud anyway.'
`Not awake, maybe, but in your sleep, Christ!'
`Bob!'
`See when you were pregnant? When you were asleep you could raise the quilt three inches off the bed! It's difficult to make double-glazed window units rattle, but honey, you managed it!'
Her cheeks were flushed from more than the exertion of the walk. 'That's not true!'
Oh no? Well next time you get up the duff you can stay awake and listen!'
Enough,' she shouted, suppressing her laugh, 'of the police station talk!'
`Shh!' He held a finger to his lips. 'You'll wake the bairn. But here, how did you know we talked about you in the nick?'
`Bob!!' She gasped, and then the laughter exploded from them both, only to be silenced by an extra loud burble from Jazz.
They left the dune path and turned to walk along the beach, heading eastwards back towards Gullane. The tide was going out, so they chose to take the firm wet sand. The evening was still as well as clear. 'Can you hear that throbbing noise?' Sarah asked.
Bob pointed out across the Forth, towards a distant tanker which was making its way up the estuary, empty and riding high in the water. 'See that? You're hearing its engines.'
`From this far away?'
`Sure. The sound carries for ever across the water.'
Eventually they headed away from the sea, back through the dunes and up the steep path which led towards the tourists' car park. Sarah noticed that Bob had fallen silent. 'Hey, are you both asleep?'
`What? Oh sorry, love, I was miles away. Thinking about something I brought home. It may relate to the investigation. Andy phoned me about it.'
Andy! He called you?'
`Yes.'
He sensed her expectancy. 'Don't worry, it was OK. We're going to have a man-to-man session, sort things out.'
`That's great!' Then her tone changed. She sounded hurt. `You might have said earlier. You make me feel left out.'
He grinned awkwardly. 'Sorry, love. But you went on so strong about taking Rover here for a walk that I didn't have a chance. Anyway, I wondered whether you had talked him into finding an excuse to call me when you saw him yesterday.'
`Not me. Not consciously anyway. You really were OK, the two of you?'
He nodded. 'Yes. I feel such a prat about the whole thing now.'
She punched his arm gently as they walked along the tarmac road. 'I'll let you into a secret.
So does Andy.'
`Yeah,' said Bob, suddenly sombre. 'That just leaves Alex. I wonder how she feels?'
She took his hand. 'Time will tell, my love. Only, when it does, I think you'll both have to accept the answer… whatever it is. She may be your daughter, she may — or may not — be Andy's girl, but sure as hell, she's her own woman.'
Eventually they emerged from the narrow lane which led from the beach road to their cottage.
Jazz was snickering and smiling in his sleep, as if he knew that his bathtime and evening feed were imminent. As soon as Bob stepped through the front door he woke, bright and alert. He beamed as his father undid his fastenings, and lifted him out of the carry-frame, to hand him over to Sarah.
OK, young man, let's attend to your needs.'
While Sarah bathed and fed the cheerful child, Bob busied himself in the kitchen with drill, hammer and rawlplugs, fixing, securely at last, the shaky shelf which had been a talking point for years. Then he began to prepare their evening meal, slicing the vegetables and fresh white fish which were to be the ingredients of their stir-fry. As he worked, he heard a sound outside the back door; looking over his shoulder he saw a familiar visitor: a huge cat, with black coat, white chest and paw, and right ear torn by many territorial disputes. They had christened him Rag, although they knew from his sleek, healthy coat, and his red collar, with its green magnetic key attached, that somewhere he had another name, and another family.
Bob trimmed the skin from a piece of fish and put it on a plate with some scraps. He opened the door and laid it in front of the purring cat. 'There, fella. I'll bet you smelled that from the other side of the Green. That's your lot for tonight, though. Maybe there'll be fish at home as well.'
When he closed the door behind him Sarah was in the kitchen, at work with the wok.
They ate at the glass table in their conservatory, enjoying the last warmth of the evening sun, and washing down their stir-fry and noodles with a bottle of Frascati, complementary to the lemon grass which was an essential ingredient of the dish. Jazz was on the floor between them strapped, nappy-less, into a plastic chair, and gnawing happily on a teething ring. In the garden outside, the black-and-white cat watched them reproachfully through the glass. When they were finished, Bob cleared away the dishes and brought a steaming cafetiere. While Sarah depressed the plunger, Bob left the room once more, returning with the plastic enclosed letter to the editor of the Scotsman.
`This is Andy's note,' he said, handing it across the table. Sarah took it, and as she read, her forehead wrinkled and a puzzled look came into her eyes.
`Cranks,' she said, as Jazz began to signal his readiness for his last feed of the day. She handed the letter back across the table, then took the baby from his chair. Cradling him in her right arm, she pulled up her sweatshirt and presented him with the object of his earnest desire.
Bob looked again at the letter. 'You're probably right. It's just that there's something about it that won't go away.'
` By the blade…' said Sarah. 'Sounds sort of witchy, doesn't it?'
He stared out of the window at the red sunset sky. 'Wait a minute,' he said, but to himself.
When he turned back to face her, the look on his face was one that she had seen before, a look of recollection, but mixed with something else, something which, in anyone else, she would have taken for apprehension. `Back in a minute.'
When he emerged from the hall Sarah had carried Jazz into the living room. They were seated in a corner of the long sofa, the child still feeding, but cradled now in his mother's left arm. Bob sat down beside them. His expression had changed. It was wistful. Sarah glanced at the dusty folder which he carried and knew the reason at once.
The cover bore the title, hand-printed, 'East Lothian Project,' and the name, 'Myra Skinner, Primary VI, Longniddry Primary School.'
Not long before Myra was killed,' he said, softly, 'the school researched a history of East Lothian. It was a
