She’s about to drop off, relaxed like she hasn’t been for such a long time. She moves her foot to turn on the hot tap and catches the bottle of bath oil which falls on to the floor with a thud, making her jump. Her drowsiness disappears with a jolt, also her calm. She should be relaxed, but now she can’t hush the thoughts in her head: what’s to come tomorrow, the mission that she needs to see through.
She hasn’t planned this properly.
She hasn’t planned this at all.
But she doesn’t want anyone else to die. With that thought, she hauls herself out of the water and washes her hair. Time for sleep.
First sitting for breakfast is at 7am, and she’s ready and dressed on the bell, starving now despite the sandwiches of the evening before. As soon as she’s scraped her plate clean of the fry-up, she picks up her belongings and makes her way back to the shop, ready to sit outside until it opens.
At 8.30am, a middle-aged man approaches the shop and unlocks the door. He looks over at her, but doesn’t seem overly interested in who she is, barely reacting as she approaches.
‘This is going to sound a bit strange,’ she begins. ‘But I’m here to ask about one of your customers. One you deliver to.’
‘I can’t give out any addresses,’ he says, half-heartedly.
‘You’ve been making a regular delivery to this isolated place. You’re emailed with instructions, and it’s paid for remotely. Groceries, most likely, enough for two people.’
He inclines his head, just a fraction, but enough so it could be interpreted as a nod.
‘Please can you tell me where it is?’
The man’s face twists. He doesn’t look confused, though. He knows what she’s talking about.
‘Who are you?’ he says.
‘My name is Anna. I’ve been sent to find someone. But I’m not sure where to look. Not unless you help me.’
‘Why do you want to find them?’
‘I don’t mean them any harm.’
He looks her up and down. ‘You don’t look harmful.’
‘Please,’ she says. ‘I’ve come a long way.’
He thinks, gives one firm nod, the movement very definite.
‘I’ll take you there,’ he says. ‘Or at least to where I deliver the boxes. The rest is up to you.’
Locking the shop door again, he leads her to the four-by-four in which he drove up. They get in the car and he starts to drive.
‘I’m Robert, by the way.’
Anna smiles politely.
‘For years I’ve been getting those emails,’ he says, his eyes focused on the road. ‘The woman – I’ve never actually spoken to her – she leaves a list in the box, what she needs for the next week. Sometimes they let her have it.’ He laughs to himself. ‘The fresh chillies, that was a pain. I had to make a trip to the big supermarket to get hold of them. It’s bizarre, what I’m asked to deliver. There’s no sense to it.’
‘In what way?’
‘Sometimes bottles of whisky, sometimes not. The amount of food fluctuates. Mostly alcohol, the last few weeks. The last emails I received, they asked for a bunch of white lilies to be delivered. That was the first time there’d been anything like that. And a magazine, a true crime one. Another time there was an envelope posted to me, and they asked me to put it in the box.’
‘Did you do it?’
‘I did. Then last week, the payment didn’t come. I tried calling the number I’ve got but the phone was switched off. It went straight through to voicemail. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be taking you now.’
Anna believes him. She thanks him for the information and settles back against the headrest for the remainder of the journey. The road is narrow, the hills rising above it steep and magnificent. She’s read somewhere that the area is known as the Great Wilderness, and she can see why. It’s empty of people, of other cars, even. Solitary, silent – the perfect place to hide people, if that’s what someone wanted to do.
Eventually, the truck pulls up in a lay-by beside a loch. They walk down wooden steps to a small jetty where a motorboat is moored.
