‘Well, this is me.’

Adam’s heart sank. They’d only walked a couple of minutes; he wanted more time with her. They stood outside a small brownstone terraced house on the Back Road behind the bay, Gillespie nameplate on the door. The others had gone back to the B&B where Roddy had more coke and three bottles of Ardbeg single cask stashed. Adam grimaced as he fingered the two Viagra that Roddy had slipped into his pocket.

Molly smiled. ‘How’s the nose?’

‘Just a scratch,’ he said, raising a hand to it.

‘It’s still bleeding,’ she said. ‘Christ, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Yes it is, I married the arsehole.’

Adam laughed and a bubble of snotty blood popped from his nose. ‘Aw, shit.’

‘You’d better come in till that stops bleeding.’

‘It’s fine.’

Molly fished keys out of her bag and opened the door.

‘Come on,’ she nodded inside. ‘I’ve got a thirty-year-old sherry-butt Laphroaig needs drinking.’

‘Ninety-seven bottling?’

‘The very same.’

‘Well, in that case.’

He followed her to the living room and she fetched the whisky. The decor was old-fashioned, patterned wallpaper, saggy sofas, mahogany display cabinets. There were framed pictures of Molly and Ash as kids, then as young women smiling with an old couple.

‘Mum and Dad,’ said Molly, handing him a glass of dark amber.

‘This their house?’

‘It was,’ said Molly, touching the picture. ‘They’re dead.’

‘Shit, sorry.’

Molly shrugged. ‘Mum got cancer two years ago. At least it was quick. Six weeks after diagnosis she was gone.’

Adam shifted awkwardly.

‘Dad drank himself to death not long after,’ said Molly. ‘Easy to do on this island. They found him on the beach one morning after a skinful.’

‘Christ, Molly, I’m so sorry.’

‘You’ve nothing to feel sorry about.’ She looked at him. ‘Your folks still alive, then?’

‘My dad is, my mum died from a stroke ten years ago.’

He felt a tingle as she touched his arm, and thought about the last time he’d seen his dad. Christmas lunch just the two of them, his wee sister unable to make it back from whatever glamorous shit she was up to in Los Angeles. Without his mum there, Christmas was just silence and sadness, a reminder of what was missing as well as a glimpse into his own future, a string of lonely meals into old age.

Molly sat on one of the sofas and motioned for him to join her.

‘Still, at least my folks dying gave me the kick up the arse to leave Joe,’ she said. ‘Ash was still living here with them and she lost the plot. I had to look after her. I had an excuse to get out.’

She sipped and Adam did likewise.

‘What do you think?’ she said, nodding at his glass.

‘Very fresh,’ he said. ‘I get lemon, rosewater and almonds amongst the seaweed and smoke.’ He paused. ‘The finish has great balance.’

‘Doesn’t it? I’m sure I get some heather and coffee in there too.’

Adam took another sip. ‘Yeah, I can see that. Like coffee-flavoured chocolates or something.’

‘Exactly.’ Molly smiled and looked at her glass. ‘You realise this whisky is older than we are? That’s kind of incredible to think about, isn’t it?’

‘It is.’

She looked at the picture of her parents then got up and opened a door on the cabinet to reveal an old turntable. She lifted an album from alongside and put it on, lazy jazz emerging.

‘My dad’s records,’ she said. ‘This is Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. I’m sure half the reason he liked Dizzy was because we had the same surname. He used to call me “Little Dizzy” when I was wee.’

‘You must miss them a lot.’

Molly sat down. ‘I’ve had plenty of other shit on my plate. The divorce, looking after Ash. Sometimes it feels like I’ve never really had time to mourn.’

There was silence between them, washed by flowing trumpet lines.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said after a while. ‘How the hell did I get hooked up with a bastard like Joe?’

Adam shook his head.

‘I wonder myself, every day,’ she said. ‘But he wasn’t always like he is now. He was sweet and caring in the beginning, full of ideas and energy. All that stuff Ash said in the pub about his dad was true, but he never seemed affected by it initially, never let it get him down. We used to stay up all night making plans. This sounds stupid now, but we used to have this crazy idea about starting up our own distillery, fixing up one of the old disused places and running it as a small family business.’

Adam felt his pulse race as his hand came up to check the papers in his jacket pocket.

‘That doesn’t sound stupid at all,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level.

‘But somehow all those dreams faded.’ Molly sighed and looked up. ‘You don’t want to hear all this.’

Adam wanted to keep her talking so that he could keep looking in her beautiful eyes. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘When he joined the police, that was the start of it.’ Molly was whispering now. ‘He didn’t want to follow his dad originally, but he couldn’t get decent work anywhere else, and the force was great pay and conditions. I tried to talk him out of it, but he joined anyway. Somehow he gradually became hard, like his dad, as if it was a competition. Eventually we got to the stage where we never talked about plans or dreams any more. When his mum died, he shut me out, this big macho thing about taking the pain on his own.’

Adam swallowed heavily. ‘What did Ash mean about the way he treated you?’

Molly hesitated and looked away.

‘Forget I asked,’ said Adam.

‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘We tried to have kids, but it didn’t go well. I had three miscarriages.’

‘Christ, Molly.’

She shrugged. ‘Happens all the time, it’s much more common than you think. But Joe didn’t take it well, he blamed me. He drank a lot and started getting abusive. Shouting and screaming at first, then …’

Adam reached for her hand but she pulled it away. He didn’t know what to say or do, so he just raised his glass and sipped.

‘Anyway, it’s all in the past now,’ she said, looking round and taking a deep breath. She waved an arm. ‘So this is where me and Ash live.’

‘You don’t seem to have much in common with her.’

‘She’s changed a lot since Mum and Dad died.’

‘You lost your parents too.’

‘It’s harder for her, she’s eight years younger than me. I have to look out for her. She used to make jewellery, you know, beautiful silverware. She was going to set up her own company. Now she just works in the pub, drinks herself stupid every night and fucks whoever’s in front of her.’

‘And what about you?’

‘You mean who do I fuck?’

‘Shit, that’s not what I meant at all,’ he said, flustered.

‘I’m winding you up.’

‘Thanks. I meant what do you want to do with your life?’

‘As opposed to being a shitty little tour guide?’

‘No, no, working at Laphroaig is great, I just mean …’

‘You’re quite easy to wind up.’

Adam pressed the button on his watch and sneaked a look.

‘You leaving?’ said Molly.

‘I wasn’t looking at the time.’

‘Then what?’

He sighed. ‘My watch has a heart-rate monitor on it.’

‘Really?’ she said, holding his wrist for a better look. ‘What’s the damage?’

‘105 bpm.’

‘Holy shit, are you an alien or something?’

‘Very funny.’

‘I mean it,’ she laughed, placing a hand on his chest. ‘Are you running the hundred metres in there?’

He liked the feel of her touch, could smell her perfume mingling with the fumes from his whisky glass. She let go of him and sipped her dram.

‘Actually, I’m taking night classes at Bowmore High,’ she said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Chemistry and maths. Never did much school first time round. Working at the distillery, though, I realised I’ve got a pretty good palate. I figured maybe in the long run I could do chemistry at uni and try for a job with one of the big drinks guys, or even better as a stillman or master distiller.’

‘That would be amazing.’

‘It’s a pipedream.’

‘I think you’d be fantastic at it. Like you say, you’ve got a beautiful palate.’

‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ She smiled then shrugged. ‘My dad worked in the warehouse at Lagavulin his whole life, had to retire when he knackered his hip. He would be so proud if I managed to make something of myself.’

‘I’m sure he’d be proud of you no matter what you do.’

‘Maybe.’ She sipped her whisky. ‘You know in the old days they used to hand out several drams a day to all distillery staff, to stop them stealing bigger amounts of the stuff? Cask strength, too. My dad got pissed every day at work for thirty years.’

Adam nodded. He’d heard the stories, but never really believed them.

‘They basically created an island full of alcoholics,’ said Molly, shaking her head.

There was silence for a moment.

‘So what about you?’ she said.

‘You mean, am I an alcoholic?’

Molly smiled. ‘No, I mean do you want to work in a whisky shop your whole life?’

Adam felt his heart thud against his ribs. ‘Actually, I have big plans.’

‘Do tell.’

‘You’ll laugh.’

‘Try me.’

‘It’s quite a coincidence, really, considering what you were just talking about.’

‘You’re going to become an alcoholic?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Come on, out with it.’

He took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out creased papers, plans and photos and began to unfold them in front of her.

‘I want to open a distillery here on Islay.’