Thanks as always to Jess!

Smithy woke to the morning light shining through the curtains. Not sunshine. Just light. He smiled to himself. It had been raining when they'd arrived in Glendarroch after dark the previous night and he could still hear it now. He looked down at Andrea's sleeping face. Her long hair was loose and ticking his chest. He gave her a light kiss, and she screwed her face up slightly but slept on. He'd leave her that way. He slipped out of the bed, immediately felt the chill and dressed warmly, glancing around Andrea's childhood bedroom. They'd arrived so late, he'd only gotten a glimpse before they went to bed. It was a nice size, a double bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a bookcase and chest of drawers took up most of the space, but there was also a rocking chair by the window. He cast an eye over the bookcase, looking at the many titles of books, at the various ornaments, the snow globes and the pictures. Some had Kirsty in them. Smithy's lips thinned. He was honest enough to admit he couldn't be entirely sorry for what happened to her; if she'd been honest, they could have protected her, protected Andrea. She might still be a snake in their eyes, but at least she would have been an honest one. Instead, she'd kept the lie going and going, sat on the secret for years that she'd just stood back and watched someone die. Even if Kit hadn't haunted her nightmares for all these years like he had Andrea's, surely that had to. If it hadn't – and it wasn't like he had any way of knowing – he'd think even less of her than he did now. At least it would have proved some level of remorse. He left the room, shutting the door quietly and made his way down the narrow corridor, past Lachlan and Ailsa's bedroom and the bathroom. The sitting room door was ajar and he pushed it wider tentatively. Andrea's parents were lovely, but he had only just met them, and was essentially a stranger in their house – and their daughter's bed.

The small, quaint sitting room was empty and he walked through to the kitchen, and looked out the window into the garden. Also empty. There was a small note propped by the kettle and he picked it up, glancing briefly in case it was meant for Andrea's eyes only.

We had to go out early to work. Breakfast is keeping warm in the oven for you .Help yourself to anything, make yourself at home!

He smiled to himself. What lovely people. He boiled the kettle and looked again into the garden. It was well-kept. Very green. And very wet. He opened the oven and the smell wafting out immediately made his mouth water. The two plates in there were piled with food and he took one gratefully. It looked like Ailsa had made him the haggis she promised. He'd always try something once, and maybe it was this fresh country air, but he was starving. He sat at the table to eat, thinking how lucky Andrea was to have a mother who could cook so well, not that his couldn't, but he certainly wasn't used to having a cooked breakfast as often as he had been. He was scraping the last of the beans juice from the plate when Andrea, finally emerged from her cocoon of tartan, came into the room. Maybe it was the fresh country air, but she looked brighter already. Or maybe that was just being home. He got up and put out his arms to her which she walked into.

"I can't believe I slept that long," she said, even though it wasn't even nine.

"You needed it," he said. "I haven't been up that long myself. Sit yourself down, your breakfast's in the oven, I'll get it for you."

She did so and heard him put the kettle on again. He came through with her plate which he set in front of her. She ate, like Smithy, finding she was suddenly ravenous.

"Did you like your haggis?" she asked, scraping her own into her beans.

"Well, I ate it," he said and she laughed.

"It's not to everyone's taste. Don't worry, mum won't be offended."

"Good," he said. "Your parents have been so good to me."

"Relax, Smithy, it'll take a lot more than you not liking haggis to make them not like you. Where are they, anyway?"

"Work," he said and gestured over his shoulder. "Your mum left a note. Where is work?"

"Dad works on the railways. He's a maintenance engineer," she shared a look with Smithy and grinned. "I know. Enemy number one when there are works. Mum's a nurse at Glasgow Children's."

"She's not enemy number one then," he said, resting his chin on his hand.

"No, not unless she's telling parents their child's surgery is cancelled. Happens a lot unfortunately. When I've finished this, want to go for a walk? I can show you around. I mean, you can see most of the village just by sticking your nose out of our front door, but it's something to do."

"Yeah," he said. "That'll be lovely. How's the head?"

"A few painkillers, it'll be fine," she said, finishing the last of her food. "Sitting around the house all day will do my head in."

"Point taken," he said and took her empty plate, going through to the kitchen to wash up.

Andrea stood, stretching her arms over her head and turned to survey the sitting room. Not much had changed. They'd replaced some furniture, gotten a new TV, but that was it. She went to the pictures on the wall. Most were of her. Some were of their extended family. Her eyes were glued to the one of her at Angel Falls. Ailsa had loved the picture and insisted on having a copy to put on the wall. Of course, she had no way of knowing it was taken by Kit and would bring terrible memories for her, so she'd learnt to ignore it. Smithy's arms snaked around her and he looked at the picture too.

"It's a beautiful picture," he said.

"Yeah. Just a shame who was behind the camera," she said and rested her head on his shoulder. "But I had such a great time travelling, Smithy. Even sometimes with him. I can't let him taint it entirely for me."

"No," he said. "Most of it was with Kirsty, and I'm sure you had good times."

He felt her go rigid and wished he hadn't said that. Then she sighed deeply.

"Yeah," she said. "But now I don't know if she ever actually liked me, Smithy. Someone who liked you wouldn't do all that to you. I thought I'd seen the worst when I caught her with Marc, but to find out the betrayal started years before…"

"Hey," he said. "I'm sure she did. I know she did. In her own twisted way, she tried to make up for it in the end. She wanted to walk out onto that roof. She wanted to get you away from him."

"Did she?"

"Yes. She offered herself in your place, when she could have walked away again. She felt remorse, I'm sure of that."

Andrea turned then and wrapped her arms around Smithy's waist, burrowing her head into his shoulder. He just held onto her, as he knew she needed, until she pulled away, her eyes shiny, but face dry.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get dressed and go. And remember, if we see Mrs Mack…"

"I know, I know, believe nothing," he said. "What was it you said again? Face like a bulldog sucking on a lemon?"

Andrea's eyes closed in mock horror. "She'll tattle to my parents if she hears you say that."

"Don't worry, if she swells, I'll tell her I heard it in the village."

The village was charming. Covered in snow, it might look like something from a timeless Christmas card. There were rows of cottages, like Andrea's house. As she left, she gestured over her shoulder and said the 'Big House' as she'd called it, was that way, but she led him down a gravel sloping path until their feet crunched under stones and they were standing before an enormous body of water. She stopped and leant into him, smiling.

"Welcome to Loch Lomond," she said.

"It's beautiful," he said, and meant it. "Can we walk around that little pier?"

She nodded and led him down the small wooden pier. It didn't go very far out, but it was a beautiful view.

"They do boat trips," she said, "but usually more in the summer, when the tourist season is a bit higher."

"I wouldn't have thought a place as isolated as this would get loads of tourists."

"It doesn't, really, but some of the hotels and B here are less expensive than central Glasgow and Edinburgh."

"Where are the hotels?"

"The Ardnacraig," she said and gestured, he assumed, in the general direction. "And Tom Kerr – he runs Inverdarroch, the farm, takes on interns. That's where I used to work. The Ardnacraig, I mean. Not the farm."

"Yeah, somehow I couldn't quite see you in a farm shovelling pig muck," he said. "So it's a bar as well? You mentioned that."

"Yeah, that's where I worked mostly," she said. "Sometimes I'd cover chambermaid duties if I needed to, but I knew it wasn't something I wanted to do forever."

"Small town girl, big town dreams?"

"Yeah, something like that," she said and looked up at him. "Want to go for a drink there?"

The Ardnacraig was like the rest of the little village; quaint and charming. Smithy stepped into the warmth of the bar and looked around; around fifteen or so tables were crammed in, surrounded by armchairs and a roaring fire blazed in the fireplace. A man with light receding hair stood behind the bar, leaning on it, in conversation with a customer. He glanced as they came in, then double-took, his face breaking into a smile of delight.

"Andrea Dunbar!" he said, coming out from behind the bar and pulling her into a big hug. "What a surprise, it's so good to see you!"

"Eric," she said warmly, and the man he'd been talking to slid off the bar stool, pulling her into a hug of his own when Eric let go.

"Hello beautiful girl," he said, his Irish brogue thick. "Your parents didn't say you were coming home!"

"It was a last minute kind of decision," she said and turned to Smithy. "Dale Smith, Eric Ross-Gifford, he runs the hotel with his wife and Mr Sneddon…"

"Davie, lass, I think we're a bit beyond the 'Mr'," said the Irish man, picking up his glass.

"Davie works at the Big House," she said.

"When I feel like it," said Davie cheekily.

"Hi, it's good to meet you," Smithy said, shaking hands with the men in turn.

"Sit yourselves down, over there by the fire," said Eric. "Now, what'll you have? On the house, call it a welcome home. Andrea, your usual?"

"Thanks Eric," she said. "That's kind. Smithy?"

"Just a pint," he said. "Thank you, that's really nice of you."

Eric waved a nonchalant hand and went back behind the bar. Smithy took a seat with Andrea by the fire, sliding off his coat.

"Is everyone here that friendly?" he asked and she shrugged.

"Mostly," she said. "They're all nice people, even Mrs Mack in her own way. Just a bit stuck in the olden times."

Shortly, Eric returned, the pint for Smithy and a generous measure of scotch in a glass for Andrea. He fiddled with his tray a little before speaking again.

"I can kind of guess why you're back," he said. "We've all heard the awful news about Kirsty."

Andrea suddenly felt cold, in spite of being a mere foot from a blazing fire and said; "yeah."

"Her parents are having the funeral here," he said. "In the local church. The wake is here. I know things weren't very easy with the two of you….well, you know what this place is like, word gets around. But it's really good of you to come."

"Well we were good friends once."

"If there's anything Jo or I can do, just say."

"Thanks Eric," she said and he left, tray under his arm, shoulders slumped. Andrea turned back to Smithy. "Kirsty worked with me here. She'd get into trouble with Eric and Jo more often than not for slacking off, but…like I said, small village. People get to know each other well."

She took a long drink from her glass. Smithy took a drink from his own, unsure of what to say. There was nothing he could say to make this any better. Just as Gina had said, all she'd want is him to be there, and that was what he'd do.

"He didn't seem to know," Smithy said nodding to Eric. "About the…circumstances. Not all of them anyway."

"No, but it'll only be a matter of time," she said. "When Kit goes to trial, it's all going to come out."

"Are you nervous? About the trial?"

"Of what? Kit, or my credibility being torn to shreds because of being undercover?"

Maybe the trauma of the past few weeks had left her devoid of any filter; he blinked, sipping his pint.

"Well, both."

"Honestly? I'm more worried about seeing him again. I'd be more worried about my credibility if there was no other proof. I just wish I knew what else they'd found in Kit's flat."

"Andrea, I think right now, it's better that you don't know. That they're not telling you – or me – It must be something bad."

"Except now it's just left up to my imagination," she said. "And that's taking me places that scare me."

"Even so," he said gently. "He can't hurt you now. He's going to jail and he's staying there. I know it can't be good, whatever it is, but try to remember that."

"Yeah," she said, remembering how she used to say the same sort of thing to victims of crime, and now knew it likely made them feel no better; it made her feel no better. "Of course."

"Andrea? Is that you?"

Andrea's head turned and she smiled widely as a man with wild, curly blonde hair came rushing up to her, arms outstretched. She got up, smiling and hugged the newcomer hard.

"Phin!" she said. "It's so good to see you!"

"And you!" he said. "I thought Eric was pulling my leg when he told me it was you, I had to come and see for myself."

Phin looked at Smithy and gave him a smile so friendly he instantly forgot to even feel jealous. This man took the tall, strapping, good looking athlete to another level.

"Hi, I'm Phineas North. Phin." He rolled his eyes. "I've heard all the jokes about my name. I don't know what my parents were thinking either."

Smithy laughed and offered the man his hand. "Dale Smith. Good to meet you."

"And you," Phin said and turned back to Andrea. "We have so much to catch up on. But it can wait. I heard about Kirsty. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah," Andrea said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Thanks Phin."

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it. Good to see you Andrea, whatever the circumstances."

"You too," Andrea said, and gave Phin's hand a squeeze, turning back to Smithy.

"He doesn't sound local," Smithy said watching him walk towards the bar, take a seat, and immediately engage in conversation with someone.

"No, he and his family moved here from London when we were kids," she said. "I told you Kit was my first relationship and he was – that is, my first intimate relationship, but when we were at school, Phin and I…"

She trailed off and Smithy's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"We were kids," Andrea said, shrugging. "It didn't amount to much, except holding hands in the playground and kissing behind the sheds in case busybodies like Mary Mack were about. Anyway. Even if it had gone on, it wouldn't have lasted."

Smithy's brow crinkled; Andrea pointedly looked towards Phin. He followed her gaze, saw him laugh loudly with the man he was sitting with, and the two shared a kiss. He looked back at Andrea, who laughed at his stunned expression.

"Things fizzled out, way before I even knew, before he came out. Before we even finished school. We were in college when he came out to me."

"What did you say?"

"Well I was supportive," she said. "What else could I be? It wasn't as if he led me on or anything. Not like Kerry and her husband."

"She told you about that?"

"Yeah, when I told her about me and Phin. She told me about Luke." Andrea lifted a careless shoulder and finished her drink. "I think a lot of her regretted rushing into things with him. That's the impression I got anyway."

Kerry had married Luke after knowing him a mere six months, so that wouldn't surprise Smithy, but that the man had courted her, married her, gotten her pregnant, knowing he was gay still made his blood boil. He glanced again at Phin and his partner.

"Phin's a good man, Smithy. I'm sure Luke was too, even though he was cowardly. It doesn't necessarily make you a bad person."

Smithy nodded grudgingly and finished his drink. Eric called over, asking if they wanted another; Andrea politely declined, getting to her feet.

"Another time, Eric, but thanks," she said as she and Smithy headed towards the door. "As nice as it is to see old faces, if anyone else mentions Kirsty…"

Smithy took her hand, giving it a squeeze. He got it. Everyone meant well with their condolences, but it could be wearing when there was so much more to it that they all knew. They walked on until they came to the small church he recognised from the picture of her she'd shown him. He wasn't usually one for churches, but had to admit it was beautiful. Andrea leant into his side, her arm around him.

"Almost peaceful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said and walked on with her, casting his eyes at the headstones as they walked through the cemetery. She stopped at one and stared. Smithy stopped and read the marble bearing the name Gary McDonald. He remembered, the story she'd told him about his murder.

"This is…"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Poor Gary. He didn't deserve that. Not that anyone ever does deserve to be killed."

"Even Kit?" he said, before he could stop himself.

"Yes. Even Kit. Not because he wouldn't deserve it. Because then he wouldn't pay for what he did. He deserves that more. If everything was as black and white as the evil dying, we'd still have the death penalty."

"True," Smithy muttered, though he only grudgingly agreed, having fantasised about what he'd like to happen to Kit. He particularly liked the one in which Kit was covered in honey and stuck in a nest full of angry red ants, though he kept that to himself. Some things were better enjoyed privately.

The day of Kirsty's funeral came three days after they'd arrived in Glendarroch. Elsie and Fergus, Kirsty's parents had paid a tentative visit to Andrea the night before, having arrived back in the village that day. Smithy sat quietly, wondering if he should have left them alone, but the tightening of Andrea's hand on his gave the incentive that she wanted him to stay. She'd cried when they left, Smithy holding her until there were no tears left. He woke the morning of the funeral to find her standing in front of the mirror, staring at herself critically. She was wearing a black dress that was notably hanging off her. She caught sight of him in the mirror and tried to smile.

"It was too tight before anyway."

He got out of bed and gave her a hug. It would be a heavy few days for her; Kirsty's funeral today and they were travelling to Glasgow the day after tomorrow for Bruce's funeral. There was a soft knock at the door and they broke apart as the door opened, Ailsa poking her head in. She was also wearing a black dress, her hair up in a sleek twist.

"Breakfast," she said, her usual cheeriness notably depleted.

"Thanks," Smithy said as Andrea made towards the door. "I'll be right out."

The two women left, Ailsa's arm around Andrea's shoulders. Smithy took the hanging bag from the wardrobe containing his best suit and he changed into the trousers and shirt. The jacket could wait. He went out to the living area, and sat at the table, relieved that nobody else seemed to be eating very much either. Ailsa, anticipating this, appeared to have not cooked as much as she had previously. Andrea didn't seem to be eating at all; she was lifting and dropping food with her fork. Lachlan nudged her gently.

"Try a bit of something, Tiggy. You don't want to be passing out in church. What about some toast?"

Andrea took a slice from the rack in the middle of the table, buttered it and began to eat, though it appeared to take her considerable energy to do so. She went back into the bedroom after breakfast and he found her straightening her hair. He offered to help her do the back and she accepted, handing him the brush and straightening iron.

"I don't know how I'm going to sit through the eulogy, Smithy," she said. "Aren't they supposed to be about giving the dead high praise?"

"Like you said, she wasn't always bad," he said, finishing her hair and turning the iron off, putting it down on the dressing table. "I'm sure her parents and her brothers and sisters are struggling with it as well. This was all news to them, too."

"What about Olly? What're they going to tell him when he gets older and wants to know more about the accident that killed his mother?"

Elsie and Fergus had explained that they'd told Olly that his mother had just…fallen asleep. Fallen asleep and not woken up. Of course they wouldn't want him to know the truth, and certainly not now when he was barely old enough to understand the finality of death, let alone what his mother had done and kept hidden for a decade.

"They'll deal with that when the time comes," he said and knelt down to her level, holding her face in his hands. "But Andrea…this is going to sound cold, it's not your problem. You've cleared up enough of Kirsty's messes. This one's out of your hands."

Andrea was silent, knowing he was right. She wouldn't be able to stand having further contact with Kirsty's family, even if they wanted her to. At least not now. She hadn't been sure there was any way back for her and Kirsty when she'd come back into her life, and was even less sure she could stay in her family's. They were sure to have questions for her, and she'd answer them, but other than that…she didn't think she'd see them again after today.

It was only a short walk to the church, and fellow mourners were already lining up, waiting for the service to start. Andrea nodded half-hearted hellos to others, some of whom he recognised; Phin, Eric, Davie, even the famous Mrs Mack, who he'd met a couple of days previously, when he and Andrea had gone for a walk along the front of the Loch. He had, then and now, had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing, as Andrea's description of her was spot-on; face like a bulldog sucking on a lemon. Andrea caught his eye after he glanced away from Mrs Mack and he could see she knew what he was thinking and they shared a knowing smile. Then the hearse turned into the churchyard and all signs of laughter died away instantly. Smithy slid his arms around Andrea's shoulders, feeling her go rigid as the car drew up level with them. The coffin was white, and there were an enormous bunch of flowers on top. On each side were the lettered flowers, one saying 'Kirsty' and the other 'mummy.'

Another car stopped behind the hearse, the traditional black car the family travelled in, and from the back emerged Elsie and Fergus, Elsie clutching the hand of a little boy, looking nervously around him. Kirsty's three brothers, their faces ashen joined their father at the back of the hearse, with Eric and Davie, to carry the coffin. As they did so, Kirsty's mother, her daughter on one side and Olly on the other, followed them into the church. On shaking legs, Andrea followed, grateful for Smithy's steady support, as her eyes filled on hearing the music playing as they walked into the church.

Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while
Heaven can wait we're only watching the skies
Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst
Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?

It had been one of her and Kirsty's favourite songs, they'd danced to it at their prom when they'd finished school, about to start their travelling journey, to what she'd thought at the time was the beginning of their lives. Now she wondered if, for Kirsty, it had been the beginning of the end. Here they were, ten years later and they were about to stick her in the ground forever. Ailsa handed her a hanky, which she held to her mouth, as if she hoped it would hold back the sob bursting to escape her. She blinked back the tears and focused instead on the people filing into the church. A familiar figure caught her eye and she jolted, surprised that he had the nerve. As if he knew someone was looking, Marc turned around and on seeing her, started, seemingly just as surprised to see her. But she was sure he knew little about what happened with Kirsty, he probably knew little more than Olly, apart from of course, how she really died. He made a move as if to come across to her, but Smithy, realising who he was, shot him a glare and he backed off immediately, scurrying to the other side of the church. Andrea shook her head. Marc was a lot of things, but brave definitely wasn't one of them.

She leant in closer to Smithy gratefully. She'd had no desire to talk to Marc since she'd caught him with Kirsty, and her death certainly didn't change that. Why he'd even come was a mystery to her, as she noticed more than one person giving him a dirty look, and they weren't just Kirsty's family. Even Olly seemed too sad and confused to pay much attention to his daddy, who, as Kirsty had said, he'd kept asking for. Andrea saw Marc give Olly a little wave which he didn't return. She didn't allow herself to feel too sorry for Marc, even though he looked genuinely stung at that. He had no right to get upset with the child he'd walked out on for a nineteen-year-old. At least he'd had the good grace not to bring her to the church. She realised that she had no feelings towards him whatsoever now, not even anger. There was just nothing there. They took their seats as the song finished.

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, and ever?
Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever young?

Forever young, I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever?

The rest of the funeral passed in a blur for Andrea, Fergus had delivered the eulogy; it had been honest and poignant, and reminded her a bit of Gina's at Kerry's funeral. He hadn't pretended his daughter had been perfect, that she could sometimes really mess things up, but he – and her family – had all loved her dearly all the same, and despite everything else, she had been a good mother and had adored her son. They would make sure he always remembered that. There were some other speeches, her sister read a poem in a shaky voice, one Andrea recognised as a favourite of Kirsty's. When she'd taken schoolwork seriously, she'd been quite the poet when she'd put her mind to it. It was about a woman, reciting about how, the idea that old age brought an end to the pleasures she enjoyed throughout life, was nonsense. The narrator enjoyed the things more as she got older, and could ignore the strictures, the gripes and the opinions of others, and do what she wanted. One of the pleasures was to wear purple. Kirsty always liked to wear purple.

When the coffin was lowered into the ground, the tears came for Andrea, falling onto the too big dress. Smithy held her close to his side, seeing from the corner of his eye, Marc looking over at him somewhat resentfully. He resisted the urge to glare at him again. He'd had his chance with Andrea, and he'd blown it. He could only guess that his relationship with the barely-out-of-school girl wasn't going so well. That or he couldn't stand seeing someone else happy, even if he had left that someone for her best friend. Either way, the man was a waste of space in Smithy's eyes.

Later, at the wake in the Ardnacraig, everyone stood or sat around the tables, eating small sandwiches and drinking wine, making small talk. Andrea looked over her own glass at the mourners, remembering what she'd told Smithy about things in small villages never being forgotten, as it wouldn't when they all found out what had happened, and they would. She had little doubt that Kit's case, when it made it to trial, would make the news. Even a village in the middle of nowhere got news channels and the papers. She could just hear the gossiping now; "we had a drug dealer in our midst and knew nothing about it! She could have been dealing to our innocent children! And that other one, terminating that pregnancy without a second thought! Shameful!"

Not everyone would judge, she knew that, and watched Phin talk with Smithy like they were old friends. Phin wouldn't, and Gary's father Jockie had known her for years, and was one of the least judgemental people she knew, and her parents would stick up for her, so maybe people wouldn't do it out loud, but they'd whisper behind their hands. Such was life in the small village. Andrea put her glass down and slipped outside, grateful for the cold air blowing on her face. In all honesty, it sickened her, sitting through the funeral. She was sad Kirsty was dead, of course she was, but she was angry too. Angry that someone she'd considered her best friend might not have even liked her at all, angry that she was dead and not Kit, even though she wanted him to face justice, angry that she would never have the chance to ask; why? The feelings were like a toxic stew, bubbling away inside her and she didn't know if she would ever escape it.

Andrea jumped when she felt a tug at her dress and turned sharply. Olly was standing by her side, his little face too serious and adult for a child. She wiped any visible emotion from her face and tried to smile.

"What're you doing out here, honey? It's freezing,"

"Have you seen my mummy?"

The childish words hit her harder than anything had so far. She bit back the sob she wanted to emit, more tears she wanted to cry. He'd probably seen more than enough of that lately, even though those around him had tried to hide it. She came down to his level, conscious that, to a child of Olly's size, an adult's size was intimidating, even though she wasn't that tall herself.

"No. Remember what nanny and granddad said? She fell asleep."

He just stared at her. "But she can wake up. I can wake her up."

Oh God. Her eyes stung and she dropped her head, not wanting to cry in front of Olly. He put a hand on her shoulder as if he was comforting her.

"Don't be sad. Everyone's been sad. Mummy won't want everyone to be sad when she comes back. Can you take me to my mummy?"

How Fergus and Elsie could stand it, she didn't know. They'd probably been asked these same questions nonstop.

"Olly…I can't. Sometimes when you go to sleep, you can't wake up."

"But Sleeping Beauty woke up. Maybe she'll wake up if I give her a kiss?"

This was all too much. She wanted to run, run away, far away, but that would mean leaving Olly alone and she wouldn't do that, not even in a village as sleepy as this. The door to the Ardnacraig burst open then, and Kirsty's sister, Margot, came outside, her expression frantic, then relieved, to see Olly.

"Olly!" she said. "You can't be wandering off like that, I've told you to stay by us at all times!"

"She's mummy's friend," he said, pointing to Andrea. "I just asked her to take me to mummy."

Margot caught Andrea's eyes, and they both saw the other's fill with tears. Margot came to Olly's level as Andrea stood up, turning away to collect herself and wipe away any trace of tears.

"Olly, mummy's gone to sleep. I've told you that."

"But everyone wakes up from sleeping. Why can't mummy?"

Margot pulled Olly close to her, closing her eyes tightly as the tears flowed down her face. Andrea watched on silently. Margot and Kirsty had argued frequently as kids, but she knew they'd loved each other regardless.

"She can't, darling. Sometimes, you just can't wake up. Come on, let's go into the warm, it's too cold out here," she said, picking him up. "Andrea?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I'll be okay. Just give me a minute."

Margot went back inside without another word. A minute later though, Smithy came out, his face a mask of concern.

"Are you okay? I was looking for you. Kirsty's sister said I should come out here."

She looked at him for a moment, then collapsed against him, letting the tears fall. He held onto her, being the tower of support she desperately needed.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you back home."

Andrea had been glad, in all honesty, to use her head injury – from which she was still recovering – as an excuse to be able to leave the wake early. Olly's words had affected her more than she ever thought possible. She'd had a long, hot bath, ran for her by her mother with some of her herbal bath salts creating a relaxing atmosphere; though it hadn't had the desired effect, she'd appreciated the effort all the same. After a dinner of Scottish broth, the sort she'd always enjoyed when she was younger, she'd retired to bed, with Smithy by her side. As if he knew she didn't want to speak, as if he knew without even asking what had happened with Olly, he just held her, until she'd fallen into an uneasy sleep.

It was the early hours of the morning when Smithy woke with a jolt, wondering if one of the wild foxes Andrea told him roamed the village had knocked something over in the garden, but the knocking kept on coming. Andrea stirred in his arms, looking up at him, bleary eyed and confused. They heard the footsteps leave Andrea's' parents' room, and hurry to the door as he and Andrea got out of bed, giving the other confused looks. They heard the sound of the front door opening, and Ailsa's voice.

"What on earth are you doing, its three o'clock in the morning!"

"Where's Andrea?"

It was the voice of Donny, Kirsty's eldest brother. Giving Smithy another confused look, she exited her room, with him close behind her.

"Donny, I know you've had a hard day, but Andrea is still very unwell…"

"Andrea!" Donny said, seeing Andrea coming over Ailsa's shoulder. "Have you seen him? Where is he?"

"Where's…who?" Andrea said blankly.

"Olly! Is he here?"

"Donny," Lachlan said, joining them in the hallway, resembling, Smithy thought, a mad professor in his slippers and dressing gown. "Why would Olly be here?"

"What did he say to you? What did you say to him?"

"Hey!" Smithy said, blocking his path to Andrea as he started towards her. "You heard Ailsa. She's not long had major brain surgery, now what's this all about?"

Donny huffed out a breath, but more of frustration than anger and said; "Margot got up during the night. She couldn't sleep. We were all restless, really. But she saw Olly's bed was empty. He's gone. We can't find him."