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I wait for the internet to load—slow as ever—then search white-collar charity boxing, Inverness. This is my fourth year signing up, so I get through the registration quickly. Adding my two charities goes a little slower: Macmillan Cancer Support for Ma and the Royal National Lifeboat Institution for Da.

The air in the room grows heavy, and I stare at the screen, zoning out as I think about my parents. Just a few moments is all I allow before I shake my head, ignoring the tightness in my throat as I hit enter on the keyboard.

The weight over me lifts instantly. I switch the computer off, then reach up to untie my braids, groaning as I let my hair loose. As I massage my scalp, my thoughts ebb from the past and flow straight back to Noah. I pick my phone up from the desk and tap it a few times, debating whether I should give in to my curiosity.

The last time I saw him, we ended things in an argument. Well—more of a telling-off than an argument. He was a nightmare at eighteen, and I was there when Richard made himself ill worrying about his little brother. He’s older now, though. Things aren’t completely fixed between him and Rich—considering Noah’s never bothered to come to the Isle of Skye before now—but he’s calmed down a lot.

At least I think he has. Richard hasn’t had to rush down to Cumbria for him in a long while.

Or Noah just stopped telling Richard about all the fucked-up shit he’s been doing …

I put my phone down. There’s nothing on Noah’s socials that will tell me anything about the man he’s turned into. I know first-hand how fake people can be on the internet, smiling and highlighting the good parts of their lives, conveniently leaving out the mess. There’s no substance to any of it.

I think back to the first time I met Noah. He was a quiet, shy fifteen-year-old, but the fire in him that exploded when he was eighteen was smoking below the surface even then. I wonder if it’s gone completely now, or if it’s still there⁠—

Why the hell am I obsessing over this? I do not wonder about people. I have enough going on in my life; I don’t need to be worrying about a man who’s practically a stranger to me. Richard told me to stay away, so I should do just that.

Pushing back from the desk, I make my way to bed. I strip off, slide under the duvet, and close my eyes. As soon as I do, Noah’s pretty face and cupid’s-bow lips fills my mind. I roll over, groaning to myself.

He’s going to be trouble. I just know it.

ROBBIE - TWENTY YEARS OLD

I’m wound up too tight.

The hour-long lecture on the effects of bottom trawling and dredging finally finishes, and I stand and pack away my things, wanting to get out of the stuffy room as quickly as possible. Most of the other students are still in their seats as I push the doors open and walk out, desperately sucking in air.

I can’t stop thinking about my da. Memories I usually try to push down spring up like weeds, and I have to put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

“Robbie, your da’s here to take you home!” Ellen shouts up the stairs.

Ignoring her, I push a little sword into the barrel of the Pop-Up Pirate game me, Theo, and Isla are playing. The pirate stays where he is, and I grin. “Ha. Your turn.”

Theo frowns deeply as he studies the barrel, and after what feels like a lifetime, he reaches for a sword.

“Not that one!” I shout. My voice breaks, but there’s no time to be embarrassed. Theo jumps at the same time the pirate shoots into the air.

“You cheated!” Theo shouts, launching himself at me.

I’m too busy wiping tears of laughter from my eyes to defend myself. There’s no force behind our hits as we roll around the floor, fighting for dominance.

“Oh God, here we go again,” Isla mutters. She tries to move away, but I grab her ankle, pulling until she falls over. “Robbie, I’m thirteen now! You can’t treat a lady this way!”

“I see no lady. Do you, Theo?”

“Nah, can’t say I do.” He stops trying to pin me, and instead we team up against Isla, making her scream as we tickle her.

“Rob, come on, lad.”

We all freeze, and I look up to see my da in the doorway. He looks serious, so I clamber off Theo and Isla and grab my school bag.

“Isla, you want a lift home?” Da asks.

“Yes, please, Mr Sinclair.”

“How many times …” he mutters. “It’s Nathan, not Mr Sinclair. Christ, I’m only thirty-eight.”

Once we’re in the car, it doesn’t take long to figure out why Da came home early. Isla and I sit in silence as he rants for the whole drive.