Candles and Roses by Alex Walters

that he was perhaps pushing things too far.
    But Scott responded without hesitation. ‘You tell me. It just happened one day. She was eighteen so there was nothing we could do. We’d both been at work—Megs worked part-time—and we got home to find her gone. Clothes and everything. Not to mention a few quid that Megs had got stashed away in the kitchen for housekeeping.’ He made it sound as if that was the real loss.
    ‘There was nothing that particularly prompted her to go? Just then, I mean.’
    ‘Not that I’m aware of. There was a boy. She went off to live with him.’
    ‘You don’t remember his name?’
    ‘Haven’t a clue.’ Scott looked across to his wife. ‘Megs is better at that sort of thing.’
    Mrs Scott frowned. ‘It’s a long time ago,’ she said. ‘Denny something. No, Danny. Danny Reynolds, I think.’ There was something about the way she said the name that made McKay suspect the hesitation had been feigned. Perhaps she’d kept in touch after the daughter had left home. McKay made a mental note that, when it came to taking formal statements, they should interview the Scotts separately.
    ‘Do you know where he lived?’
    There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before Mrs Scott responded. ‘Katy might have sent us an address for forwarding mail.’
    McKay could see from Scott’s expression that this was news to him. ‘Any information you do have would be useful to us.’ He shuffled forward on his chair. ‘And you’ve neither of you had any contact with her in the last few years? You’ve no knowledge of where she was living?’ He avoided catching Mrs Scott’s eye.
    Scott shook his head. ‘We’ve heard nothing from her since she left.’
    ‘I understand.’ McKay pushed himself to his feet. ‘Well, we won’t trouble you further for now. We appreciate this must be a dreadful shock. I don’t know if you’d like us to contact a neighbour—’
    ‘We’ll be fine,’ Scott said, brusquely. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘We’ll be in touch about the formal identification. And we’ll need to take formal statements from you both. Just for the record, you understand.’
    Scott looked as if he might object, but his wife intervened. ‘We understand. Mr McKay. We want to know what happened to Katy.’ McKay had the sense that she was only just keeping her emotions under control.
    ‘Thank you, Mrs Scott,’ he said. ‘I promise you, we’ll do our best to find out.’ This time, he realised, he was avoiding meeting her husband’s eyes.
     
    ***
     
    ‘I’ll get you another ice-cream later,’ Craig Fairlie said. ‘We’ll get some real food soon. It’s nearly lunchtime.’
    Fraser looked up. He was engaged in the creation of some highly extended sand edifice. Castle, Craig reflected, was too limited a word for what his son was building. Fraser never did anything by halves. He had already built an array of towers and battlements stretching over several square metres, and had now moved on to constructing a network of working moats. He was trying to deflect the flow of one of the streams that ran down the beach from the woodlands behind them. It was painstaking work, because the water had a habit of reverting to its preferred routes, but Fraser did seem to be making some progress.
    Craig could see it would be heartbreaking for the boy to leave all this behind, knowing the overnight tides would simply wash it all away. He also knew Fraser well enough to be confident the despair would be short-lived. By the time they’d sat down to fish fingers and ice-cream, he’d be ready to move on to the next thing, whatever that might be.
    ‘Anyway,’ Fraser said, not looking up from his work, ‘I’ve already had lunch.’
    ‘Oh, really?’ Craig said. ‘And what did you have?’
    Fraser was silent for a moment, digging away at a bank of sand. ‘Chicken nuggets. And beans.’
    ‘Right. So where did you have those?’
    ‘The cafe,’ Fraser said without hesitation.
    ‘Which cafe?’
    ‘The