Evan found his father lounging on the stone wall surrounding the empty beer garden, puffing on a cigar. He looked like a blazer advert in an upmarket men’s magazine with the slogan Be who you are, wherever you are. Upon seeing Evan, he reached inside his suit jacket and withdrew another cigar.

They smoked in silence. Half of Evan’s mind wondered what to say, while the other half wondered whether Ben would fancy the taste of tobacco on his tongue.

“Seductive, isn’t it?” His father gestured to the bar window, through which they could see people laughing and drinking. “The outside world, I mean. It’s fun to pretend—for a short while, at least—that you’re part of something simple and ordinary, yes? That you live in the same world as everyone else?”

All at once Evan knew why a small part of his heart had ached today. Orkney felt so solid, so substantial. He’d barely noticed this fact when he’d come home at Christmas, smothered by dread of Fergus’s wedding and worry over Jordan’s plots. But today, Ben had made Orkney feel real again.

His father’s rhetorical question had reminded Evan how work could distract from personal angst. So he uttered the phrase he knew every parent longed to hear:

“I need your advice.”

“Oh?” His dad’s eyebrows popped up, and his posture changed from hunched and bitter to open and magnanimous. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s an operation. Something’s not quite right.”

His father hesitated, perhaps preparing to point out that no one—not even other MI5 officers—should know the specifics of an op unless absolutely necessary.

Instead he said, “Go on.”

Evan sat beside him on the wall and offered a detail-free overview of Operation Caps Lock. “It feels like we’ve followed a trail of neatly laid bread crumbs to nowhere,” he said in conclusion. “Like we’re being baited into suspecting ISIS, but not as a group of flesh-and-blood individual terrorists. More like ISIS the cartoon.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to frame Muslims for a terrorist attack.” His father took a pensive puff, then examined the lit end of his cigar as if the answer lay there. “Follow your instincts, Evan, but be careful. Be very careful.”

A chill skittered over Evan’s shoulders. His dad had never told him to be careful in his job, not even when Evan had been shipped off to Northern Ireland. “What do you mean?”

“There may be forces at work much bigger than any terrorist network.” His father tapped the ashes from his cigar into a puddle at their feet. “Can you show me exactly what you found?”

Evan wavered. Though he’d not mentioned same-sex weddings or the British Values Party, he’d probably already said too much. Orkney had a way of making secrets seem pointless. Everyone here knew everything eventually, so why hide anything? Who needed national security in this safe, serene harbor from the world?

“You can trust me,” his dad said, “and not because I’m your father.” He straightened up, shifting his weight on the stone slab. “I may have resources that can shed light on the mystery.”

Evan was tempted. He could follow protocol and suggest his dad request the information within the agency. But the approval process could take weeks, and the answer might be no. Plus, his dad’s inquiries might alert Evan’s supervisors that he’d been illicitly sharing information. So by following procedure, Evan could get royally screwed, and the operation could suffer.

Still, protocols were in place for a reason. Perhaps this was a test of Evan’s ability to follow them. He wouldn’t put it past his father.

The door to the restaurant creaked open, releasing the hum of the pub crowd. “Hiya, sorry to interrupt.”

“No bother,” Evan told Ben, relieved at being freed from his dilemma. “How is it in there?”

“Darren’s parents have arrived for after-dinner drinks.” Ben stepped out of the shadows into the pale light of the beer garden’s lamppost. “Justine stopped crying and said, quote, ‘I’ll rescind the wedding restraining order if both my dads promise to play nice.’”

“An offer I can’t refuse.” His father doused his cigar in the puddle. “Evan, I’ll be in touch next week about what we discussed. For now, let’s focus on your sister.”

Evan averted his eyes as his dad went back inside the bar.

“I think we’re released from further socializing.” Ben hopped up to sit beside Evan on the wall. “You okay?”

“Aye, fine.” Evan examined his face, which was tight with tension. “You?”

“Erm…” Ben scratched the back of his neck. “Tell me again why your parents divorced?”

Evan cocked his head, confused by the question. “Like I said, his job was demanding. Mum realized it would always come first. Dad said as much himself.”

“Did that make you angry at him?”

“Sure. When a parent’s got bigger priorities, it kinda ruins that whole childhood illusion of the universe revolving around you. But whatever. I don’t blame him.” Evan took a long puff of cigar so he could turn his face away from Ben, who wouldn’t be fooled by such transparent bravado.

“Why don’t you blame him?”

“Because his job was—is vital. Some things are more urgent than bruised feelings. Would it be wrong for a brain surgeon to miss their kid’s football match to save a patient’s life?”

“Is your dad a brain surgeon?”

“No, it’s just a metaphor, or an analogy, or something.” Evan waved the smoke into the gathering wind. The nicotine was accentuating his buzz from the wine he’d drunk at dinner.

“Okay.” Ben fell silent, apart from the bounce of his heels off the stone wall.

“So what’s wrong?”

“I was talking to Magnus,” Ben said immediately, as though he’d been waiting for a prompt. “Trying to cheer him up after the big row at dinner. Asked him how he and your mum met and fell in love. Typical wedding small talk, the sort I’ve had a million times with clients’ families. In my line of work, you think you’ve heard it all, but then—”

“What did he say?”

“Just that they knew each other at school.”

“So? Everyone here kens everybody, even more so back in the day.”

“But they were…I guess sort of teenage sweethearts? Magnus wanted her to marry him when they finished school, but she wanted to go to uni down south, be a ‘woman of the world,’ he said. But Magnus was patient, and when the time was right, he got her back.”

Evan had barely heard a word after “Magnus wanted her to marry him.” His mind was busy replaying every story he’d been told growing up, how Mum had let Dad take the blame for their disintegration.

“It didn’t match your version of events,” Ben continued, “so I had him clarify. Magnus claims he ‘wooed’ your mum back to Orkney. I think they were in contact while she and your dad were still—”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Ben jerked back as if Evan had taken a swing at him. “Because it’s the truth.”

“It’s Magnus’s wishful thinking.” Evan stood and began to pace. “My dad said the divorce was his own fault. Why would he fall on his sword, let his kids grow up resenting him, if she was the one responsible?”

“Maybe he was too proud to admit his wife left him for another man. Or maybe it was for your sake—maybe he didn’t want you to hate the guy whose house you had to grow up in. If you’d known the truth then, would it have made life easier or harder?”

“Harder, obviously. But it’s not exactly easy hearing it tonight.” Evan clenched his fist, wishing he could go back two minutes in time and stop Ben from telling him. “What do I do now? Pretend I don’t know? How do I look my mum in the eye tomorrow at the wedding? And Magnus…he was the only father I’d see for months at a time. He saw to that, didn’t he? Bringing us up here to the end of the world, a place my real father couldn’t just nip off to every other weekend.” Evan stopped short. “He changed our lives forever. Magnus didn’t just steal my mum. He stole me and my sister, too.”

“He didn’t steal your mother. It was her choice. And maybe Magnus wasn’t the only thing drawing her back here. Maybe she just wanted to come home. Also, if she’d stayed with your dad when they weren’t right for each other, she would’ve been miserable, which means you and Justine would’ve been miserable too.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know—” Evan started coughing, his throat dry from the cigar. You don’t know anything. Your parents are together.

As he struggled for breath, Evan thought about how he’d always sorted his feelings when it came to family. Loving one father didn’t mean he loved the other any less. Despite their rivalry, he’d never seen them as opposing forces.

But if what Ben said was true, and one of them had willfully harmed the other, then this had been a war all along. Which meant Evan had to choose a side.

“You can handle this,” Ben said. “You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever met, not to mention one of the kindest.”

Evan scoffed. “I’m not kind.”

“You are, and so is your dad. You both confessed to being heartbreakers to hide the fact it was your hearts broken.”

“I did hurt Fergus,” Evan rasped. “It killed me to do it, but my feelings don’t matter.”

“They matter to me.”

“Ugh.” Evan turned away. He couldn’t stand to see the sympathy in Ben’s eyes. “Why do you always think you know what’s best for people? Why do you need to fix everyone?”

“I’m not trying to fix you. I just want you to be happy. I thought you’d want to know the truth.”

“The truth fucking hurts, Ben! Just once in your life remember that before you inflict it on people.”

Ben drew in a soft gasp, a noise that sliced through Evan’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. Then he turned and walked back into the hotel, faster than Evan had ever seen him move.

“Wait,” Evan tried to say, but his voice was gone and so was Ben.

He dropped his cigar and pulverized it with his heel long after it had stopped burning, until it was nothing but a brown smear on the wet bricks.

At least he’d proved his own point: He wasn’t kind at all.

Thanks to the howling wind and Ben’s fear he’d ruined everything, he was still awake when Evan staggered into their room at half past one, whispering a harsh curse as he banged a bony body part against the chair. Then came a groan of discomfort as the bathroom door shut.

Assuming Evan was drunk, Ben braced himself for the sound of vomit. But the only noises from the bathroom were soft moans of misery, and the intermittent running of the tap. Finally, there was silence.

He was about to check whether Evan was still conscious when the door opened.

“All right?” Ben asked.

“Oh. Sorry, I tried not to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping yet. I’d only just turned off the light. Phoned my mum to wish her a happy Naw-Rúz, then did some, erm, reading.” He didn’t want to admit he’d been praying, mostly for forgiveness for his reckless gossiping.

Evan sat on the bed to remove his shoes. “Is she missing you?”

“She’s happy for me that I’m here. She wanted to know all about my day. It took almost an hour to tell her everything. Well, not everything.”

“It was eventful.” Evan stripped off his dress shirt and trousers, then draped his clothes over the back of the chair.

As he turned to face the bed, they said, “I’m sorry” simultaneously, then “For what?” also simultaneously.

“I’ll start,” Ben said. “I shouldn’t have run to you telling tales about your parents. I didn’t think how it would make you feel.”

“I should never have blamed the messenger.” Evan pulled back the covers and slumped into bed facing Ben. “It’s unforgivable the way I spoke to you.”

“It’s not. I forgive you.” Still, he was afraid to reach out and touch Evan.

“Justine says Magnus told you the truth. I was only two when our parents split up, but she was seven, so she remembers the fights.” He rubbed his face. “Not really fights. Mostly Dad begging Mum to stay.”

Ben’s heart twisted. His own boyfriend/best mate at school had left Scotland to attend university in America. How much worse would it feel to lose an entire family? “I’m sorry.”

“My sister said we moved in with Magnus as soon as we came to Orkney. I said, ‘But I remember living with Gran,’ and she said, ‘No, Gran just looked after us sometimes on a weekend so Mum and Magnus could be proper newlyweds.’ Then she bought me a few sympathy Skull Splitters. Justine did, not Gran. Gran’s dead. We miss her.”

“A few Skull Splitters?” Ben had seen the local ale’s Viking-adorned label and knew it to be 8.5% alcohol by volume. “Are you very hammered?”

Evan gave a loose laugh. “Apparently drinking’s not like riding a bike. If you more or less stop for nine months, your liver turns back into an amateur.” He wiped his face again, half rolling onto his back. “I boaked into the harbor. Justine stopped me falling in.”

“I guess that’s what big sisters are for.”

“Did you know Skull Splitter was the nickname of Thorfinn Einarsson, the seventh Earl of Orkney? That’s who my brother’s called after. My brother Thorfinn.”

“Fascinating. How do you feel now?”

“Worst has passed. That tile in our bathroom is fair cold.” He turned to face Ben again. “So I was lying there with my head on the floor, staring at the wall behind the toilet—which is surprisingly clean, by the way—and I had a massive epiphany.”

“Oh?” Ben wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this.

“All my life, see, I thought it was my dad’s job that ruined everything. I thought a spook could never have a real relationship.”

So Hugh Hollister was a spy. Ben felt uneasy—he probably wasn’t meant to know for sure.

Evan sniffed. “I thought I would always hurt the people I cared about. I thought the job did something that made us…unlovable.”

“You’re not unlov—”

“And I made it true. I hurt Fergus. I hurt him. Told myself it was worth it cos I was trying to save lives, but it’s still eating away at me. And then…” He covered his face with both hands. “Then someone else got hurt even worse, and at work they told me, ‘Sorry, it’s unfortunate, but he’s collateral damage, he shouldn’t have been palling about with terrorists.’ As if he had a choice.”

Wait, what?

“I mean, you canna choose your family, right?” Evan continued. “But you can choose not to fall into bed with an undercover MI5 officer.”

Ben’s stomach went cold. Had Evan been some sort of honey trap infiltrating a terrorist cell? And the man he’d tricked…collateral damage.

Whatever Evan had done, it had to be highly classified. And here he was with his loose lips and amateur liver, spilling details of an operation.

“Not that he could’ve known,” Evan said. “Too innocent and too desperate for—”

“Hang on.” Ben reached out to touch him at last. “You were saying something about an epiphany?”

Evan paused. “Right. So I’m lying there beside the toilet just noo when I realize that what you telt me about Mum and Magnus, it fucking obliterates everything I always thought about this life I chose.” He grasped Ben’s hand. “We can be happy. I know it’s not easy and it never will be, but we’re not fucking doomed.”

“You thought we were doomed?” Ben’s mouth went dry with alarm. “Yet you were still with me?”

“I couldn’t not be.” Evan’s voice grew hoarse. “I brought you into my life even though I thought myself a time bomb. And I’m not sorry. Ben, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me by a million miles, and I’m so lucky, I’m so…” He pressed his forehead to Ben’s. “Fuck, I’m so drunk. I think I need that tile floor again.”

Still dazed by Evan’s confession, Ben helped him into the bathroom and soaked a cloth in cold water for his face. “Want one of your motion-sickness ginger sweets?”

“God, yes,” Evan murmured beneath the cloth as he settled onto the floor. “You’re my hero.”

Ben fetched the sweet for him. “Shall I stay?”

“No, you go and sleep in peace.” He gave Ben’s ankle a quick squeeze. “Thank you.”

Ben left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, then returned to bed. But sleep was further away than ever, and peace seemed lost for good.