It had been disconcerting. ‘Hi, whereare you? Doing anything nice? I wondered ifyou’d do me a favour and collect some more stuff from my house? Kirstin now stood in Morag’s hallway, bulging holdall in hand. She was hovering at the front door when the phone rang. Morag again, with more orders? ‘Hello.’ ‘Is that Morag Ramsay?’ It was a young, male voice. Strong, Glaswegian accent. ‘Eh…it’s Kirstin. I’m sort of looking after Morag. Who’s calling?’ ‘I’m Jules Moncrieff. A friend of Bonnie’s. She said you were looking after Morag. Bonnie talked to me the day she died. After she saw you. Gave me Morag’s number. I…wondered if she’d like to see me?’ Kirstin couldn’t answer immediately. This was a surprise. Given all that had happened, she had quite forgotten about Jules. ‘Oh…eh, yes. I’m sure Morag would like to see you.’ Kirstin felt wrong-footed.
