She looks up. The man is large, but not overweight; her age, or a little older. He looks ruddy, as though he has recently showered. The hair at the back of his neck is damp.

“Your book?” He gestures towards it. “Is it good?”

She holds it up to him. “I’m on page one.”

“Ah,” he says.

“But I’ve read it before.”

“Right.”

“They all learn lessons. And live happily ever after.”

“Ah,” he says. “Good enough.”

She looks back down at the page, but the words are dancing now.

“You up here on holiday then?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?” He gestures to the chair in front of her. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I’m just waiting for my food. I’ll be gone soon.”

“Then you won’t get bored of me.” He lifts his pint and takes the seat opposite her, his back to the woman behind the bar.

“Cheers.” The man lifts his pint and drinks. His fingers are thick, the skin chapped and red. There is a wedding ring on his hand. His phone is beside him on the table. She sees a picture of a woman and a child on the screen. “So what is it then? If it’s not holiday? You here on work?”

“No,” she says. “Not work.”

“Mystery,” he says.

“Something like that.”

“I’m from here,” he says, as though in answer to a question she has not asked. “Grew up here. I work on the rigs. Off Aberdeen. Two weeks on, three weeks off. I stay up on Papa Westray when I come off. Work a farm up there.”

She has a vision of a cottage. A view of wind farms and the sea. A wife and child. The woman on his phone. Managing alone while he is gone.

“You?” he says to her. “Where are you from?”

“London. Manchester. London.”

“That’s a lot of places.”

“Manchester.”

He nods. “There’s some guys from Manchester on the rig.”

“Oh?”

“They don’t sound like you.”

“Well. I’ve lived in London for years.”

He leans towards her. “What’s that like?” he says. “London?” There is something about him, his energy, something untethered. Something hungry in his eyes.

She leans back. “Oh,” she says. “You know.”

“I don’t get along with cities,” he says.

“No.”

They fall silent. He turns his phone over on the table, so the blank face of the back faces upwards and the picture of the woman and the child has gone. “What have you seen, today?”

She shrugs. “I saw the main sights. Apart from that burial chamber. Maeshowe. I suppose I’ll go there tomorrow.”

“Did you like the main sights?”

“Not really. I thought Orkney was . . . something else. I thought it would be wilder. It’s all a bit . . . polite.”

“Polite!” He throws back his head and laughs.

The diners at the next table look up, then back down at their food.