When we entered the pub, everybody was already there, waiting for us. Dean and Claire were sitting at a table by the window, close to each other, holding hands and listening to Will, who sat opposite of them. He seemed to be explaining something to Claire, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and excitement.

Lynn was setting the table as well as she could around them, bringing plates and cutlery from the kitchen. Finally, I got to see her. She hadn't aged one wrinkle since I met her the last time. Lynn looked as young and fit as I remembered her from a few years ago; her curly, dark brown hair was still unblemished by the first grey strands that my mum already had. Looking at her, I noticed that she actually resembled more Claire than Dean.

She hugged me, muttering something about how I have grown taller, then rushed off into the kitchen again, followed by Mum.

The pub was closed today, reserved to us. I got to sit next to Emma but didn't have a chance to talk to her. Our lunch was a noisy event. Everyone was talking at the same time, different people having different conversations over each other, across the table, creating chaos and confusion.

Dad was asking Dean about the otter islet we sailed by the day before. Mum and Lynn were comparing recipes of the dishes we were eating. Emma and Claire were chatting about something silently and giggling happily, shooting occasional glances at me and Dean. Will was interrogating me about the White Lady; he wanted to know everything.

Long after we finished eating, and Lynn refused our offers of helping her to clear the dishes after lunch, the four of us decided to leave the adults alone and go for a walk.

Dad asked me not to be too long, as we all had to pack tonight.

"So you are off otter watching tomorrow," Dean laughed as soon as the door of the pub closed behind us.

"I thought we would go to the library," Emma said, piercing me reproachfully with her heather eyes.

"So we will," I told her, "I'm not going with Dad, I just still have to tell him," I explained.

"I bet he won't be happy to leave you home alone," Dean said, looking from me to Emma. "If I were you, I would wait to tell him after your mum is gone," he advised.

That was exactly my plan. I needed to wait for the right moment.

After an hour of strolling around the harbour and the nearby cliffs, we took Emma home, and the rest of us made our way back to the pub. My parents were just exiting The White Lady's door, Dad carrying a big pack I hadn't seen before.

"What's that?" I asked when we said goodbye to Dean and Claire and started on our way home.

"A waterproof tent," Dad answered, "better and bigger one than what I've got. We won't get wet in this one."

You won't get wet, Dad, I thought, as I followed the two along the deserted road, our footfalls reverberating off the white walls of the age-old cottages. The lack of people in the streets of this island was still surprising to me. But I was getting used to it; the busy roads of Edinburgh, always noisy and crowded, were beginning to fade in my memory like old photographs.

It wasn't dark yet when we left the village behind us, but in no time, we had to search for the road using Dad's torch. The fog descended without any warning, like a thick cloud falling on us from the sky.

When we reached our house, the parts of our bodies that had not been covered by the rain jackets were soaking wet. My parents went inside, but I stopped in the doorway, looking around me in the fog.

Yet again, I could feel her watching me.

It took me a while to adjust my eyes to the foggy darkness, which seemed to be the only thing left in the world around me at the moment. Without the light of Dad's torch, I could see nothing beyond it. But soon, the long finger of light making its way to me from the Old Lighthouse through the curtain of wet, milky mist illuminated her momentarily.

Anne Byron's ghost was nearby, observing me from the shadows. She looked nearly corporeal tonight, standing very still in the spot where the road thinned into the lane, leading over the cliffs to the Byron's Lighthouse. The White Lady seemed to be waiting for me to join her, hiding from anyone else but me, her white dress making her look an inseparable part of the fog. I took a tentative step towards her, forgetting about everything else, and she moved, too, leading me on.

"Liam!" Mum's voice made me turn round towards the house, and when I looked back where the White Lady had stood moments before, she was gone. There was no trace of her anywhere.

Slowly, I walked inside, shutting the door behind me. As I wasn't hungry at all and wanted to be alone to process what had just happened, I refused Mum's offer of dinner and went straight to my room.

Dad reminded me to pack for our trip, and I promised I would; otherwise he wouldn't leave me alone.

Once in my room, I walked to the window. She was there again, back in the same place. Motionless, waiting for me to follow. But I couldn't. Not yet, not tonight.

Moving away from the window, I put the key on top of its little box, arranging the two broken parts to fit together. This way, it looked perfect, an old-fashioned skeleton key.
Was Emma right? Was this the key from the tower of the Byron's Lighthouse?

When I was ready for bed, I switched on my phone to text Emma.

'How about tomorrow at two by the library?' I typed, knowing that she was helping in the shop in the morning, as her mum was too busy in the museum.

'Perfect,' my phone buzzed with her response a few minutes later. 'Are you sure you are not going with your father?'

'Absolutely. See you tomorrow,' I typed back.

I fell asleep reading Will's notebook again, thinking where tomorrow's research would lead us, what would we discover in the library.

The following morning, we all got up early and left straight after breakfast. Mum was supposed to take the nine o'clock ferry.

The weather improved over the night, making us hope for another summer day.

We reached the harbour quite fast. Mum was one of just a handful of people boarding the morning ferry. There were not many tourists on the island at the moment, and not many locals used the ferries daily during the summer, when the schools were shut.

Dad and I stayed in the harbour for a while after the ferry had departed, waving to Mum, then watching the ship disappear beyond the cliffs.

"Our turn now," Dad said, leaning his arm on my shoulder as soon as the ferry was out of sight. "Let's get ready for our adventure."

This was the cue I had been waiting for. It was now or never.

"Dad, I'm not coming with you," I told him bravely. "I have too many things to do with Emma."

I bit my tongue as soon as the words left my mouth. It didn't sound like the right thing to say to one's father. I saw a hundred different thoughts, images, and questions pass behind his eyes.

"Well, I'm sure you do, young man," he said after a moment in his fatherly, serious voice he did not use often, "but don't you think it's a bit too... early?"

I blushed furiously when I realised what he was most likely thinking, forcing myself to suppress a laugh. I had never seen him trying to look so fatherly 'grown-up' and responsible before. He didn't really know what to say.

"Dad, we need to do some research in the library. It's about the ghost. Today," I blurted out, wishing to end this conversation fast.

He shifted his weight and slumped his shoulders, relaxing visibly, looking as if he had just started to breathe again. All that he said was a faint, "Oh, I see." It was more of a sigh than a sentence.

I was sure he was happy that he didn't say anything more before. He definitely wasn't that kind of a parent who would get into this sort of talk unless it was absolutely necessary.

"So," I asked him, "can I stay at home? Do you mind?"

"No. I mean, yes. I don't mind if you stay at home. You'll definitely have more fun with your friend than with me. But promise that whatever you two will do, you'll be careful."

Now, it was his turn to look embarrassed. This didn't sound quite right either.

"Enough, Dad. I promise. Whatever you want."

Observing his profile as we finally left the harbour, I realised he didn't look too upset because I refused to come with him. Maybe he had been expecting it all along.

We walked back home in silence, only interrupted occasionally by Dad's talk about the otters. Despite having agreed to leave me at home, he was trying to tempt me to change my mind and come with him. He only stopped after lunch when he was finally ready to go. Before he left, Dad reminded me, of course, to behave myself and be careful.

Then he was gone, and I was home alone.