They sat around the big table in the kitchen and Agnes made them breakfast. It was as if she had wasted all her grief in her hysterics of the night before. Now she was calm, numb, and made breakfast as she always did at this time when the men came in from the croft or from fishing.

“Someone should phone to Baltasay,” George said tentatively. “Do you want me …?”

“No,” Jim said. “It should be one of us. I’ll go.”

He went into the living room to the telephone. Agnes laid the table, put plates of food in front of them, and the men began to eat. She sat in the straight-backed driftwood chair by the range. Absentmindedly she took up her knitting and strapped the horsehair belt around her waist. Island women always used the belt for knitting. It held one of the needles firm. The other began to move quickly as mindlessly she counted stitches and changed coloured wools.

Jim came back into the kitchen.

“It’s all sorted,” he said. “ Because of the way she died there’ll have to be formalities. They’ll be coming in on the plane, this afternoon.”

“Who will?” Alec asked.

“The police. It’s routine, they said. They’ll be taking the body away with them.”

Agnes looked up sharply.

“No,” she said. “She’s to stay here. She’s to be buried here.”

“She can be. They said that we could make our own arrangements for the funeral, once the … formalities are over.”

They were still sitting around the breakfast table when Sarah knocked at the door. Maggie had been friendly. They had drunk tea and talked about the children, Sarah’s honeymoon, general plans for the future.

“Do you think that you’ll like it here?” Maggie asked at the end, just as Sarah was preparing to go.

“Of course I will. It’s Jim’s home.”

“But you. Will you like it?”

Sarah hesitated. Yesterday she would have been certain, she would have answered immediately: “ Of course. Of course I’ll like it.”

But today she hesitated.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” she said. “But I want to make a go of it. I’m quite determined.”

As she walked up the road to Sandwick the wind blew against her, and she was hot and breathless when she reached the gate. It was an ugly house, big by Kinness standards, square and functional. The yard was ankle deep in mud and two mongrels barked at her as she approached the door. The effort of the walk, the remnant of the hangover and the dogs’ muddy footprints on her coat made her angry. It seemed inexcusable to her that Jim had left her alone on her first morning on the island.