“What do we do when we feel time is passing too fast?” she asked.
“Do ye feel that already?” her father asked, looking mildly surprised.
“Never mind,” Carrie said. But they had stopped.
“It’s not what I mind,” her father said. “It’s what ye mind. And maybe we haven’t been that much together the last 20 years but I know my daughter. What’s wrong?”
Carrie breathed deeply. They were both standing on the side of a hill overlooking the Bay of Portree. It was crisscrossed with small paths that were barely visible but her father knew them all and she had followed him this far, and he had allowed her to set her own pace.
“Megan died,” Carrie then said. “She was my age – a year younger actually. 37 … ”
Her father nodded gravely: “That’s sad.”
“Yeah … ” Carrie shook her head as if she had been hit by a sudden nausea. “Yeah, it is. She worked at that organisation I told you about. Didn’t know her that well, but … “
“But enough,” her father concluded.