But then I am unable to sleep. For six dusty hours, next to snoring Angus, I lie there, eyes bright and fierce and upset, and I turn over her words in my mind.Who am I?What must that be like, to not know who you are, to not know which one of ‘me’ is dead?At seven a.m. I rise, urgent and desperate, from the tousled bed and I call Josh on the crackly phone and he yawningly agrees to give me a dawnlit boat-ride to our car, parked by the Selkie, as the tides are against us. Of course, Angus is all questions as he ambles sleepily into the dining room; as I put the phone down. Why are you phoning Josh? Where are you going so early? What is going on? Yawn.Words stop in my mouth even as I try to reply. I don’t want to tell him the truth, not yet; not unless I have to, it’s too bizarre and frightening – I’d much rather lie. Maybe I should have done more lying, in the past. Maybe I should have lied about that affair, all those years ago; perhaps the damage was done, by me, to our marriage, and we never quite recovered.
