The wind had been westerly since he’d first landed on the island. Most rarities came in to Fair Isle on easterly winds, swept away from their usual migration routes through Scandinavia, Russia or Siberia. For the first few days he’d remained optimistic. Some of Fair Isle’s rarities had arrived in westerlies after all. He’d got up at first light, walked miles, taken out a packed lunch so he could spend the whole day in the south of the island where most of the migrants appeared. He’d accompanied Angela and Ben on the trap rounds in case a rarity appeared out of nowhere in the catching box. Sometimes miracles like that happened. But now the westerly gales had taken their toll on his mood. He heard the shipping forecast each evening with increasing depression. He would return to work at the end of the fortnight with nothing to show for his dedication. If he could get off the island at all. This late in the season most of his friends were on the Isles of Scilly. There’d already been a smattering of rare birds from the States and they were sending him jubilant texts.

Dougie found it easier to think about birds than the other parts of his life. He hadn’t slept well. These days, he didn’t sleep much. Turning on his side he heard Hugh’s breathing. Since the departure of the plane two days before, Hugh Shaw was the only other unmarried visiting birdwatcher left on the island and they shared the dormitory. Dougie lay awake, listening to the young man’s breathing, and his thoughts wandered again.

Hugh was ambitious, sharp, a brilliant birder for someone so young. Ornithology was all they had in common. Dougie had done the local comprehensive and worked in a factory before he got into sales. Hugh had been expelled from some smart boarding school, then gone travelling. Despite the disgrace of the expulsion, his parents had funded the worldwide trip. Talking about it, Hugh had given a wide, slow grin. ‘They hoped it would make me grow up. It just gave me a gigantic bird list.’ On the long dark evenings while they waited for the wind to change, Hugh had told stories of his journey: being mugged in Vientiane, being chased by an elephant in India. He spoke with a laconic, old-fashioned, public-school accent that made the tales seem unreal. His hair was long and floppy and he had a self-deprecating smile, so it was impossible to tell how much was true.

‘What will you do now?’ Dougie had been fascinated by the young man’s lifestyle. Dougie had always had to earn a living. He might throw the occasional sickie when a rare bird turned up, but he couldn’t afford to lose his job.

‘I was thinking I might get a job leading birding tours. How difficult can that be?’

There’d been the same grin. Dougie had thought of the responsibility of that work, the demanding customers in alien places, and had decided he was better off in the call centre. It would be weird to mix work and his passion for birds. Besides, he’d always been good at selling. He knew the gentle approach usually worked best, but he had a sense about when it was time to move in for the kill.