The boat—the Ruth Isabella—belonged on Kinness and came to Baltasay once a week for mail, provisions, and passengers. Its base on Baltasay was a deep bay called Lutwick. There was a jetty there, but nothing more. Sarah had expected a village, more grey and white houses, perhaps a hotel where they could wait in comfort, but found only a corrugated iron shack, a telephone box, and a pebble beach. They were the first people to arrive at Lutwick. Later, when the boat appeared on the horizon, a mail van came down the road and parked by the hut, and then an old lady driving a delivery van with fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables. Inside the hut a tray of bread stood next to some of their furniture which had already been delivered. On the jetty there were drums of diesel and Calor Gas cylinders.

The boat seemed to approach very quickly and Sarah’s high spirits returned. Baltasay might be bleak and ugly, but Kinness would be different. Hadn’t the newspaper said that it was paradise? As the Ruth Isabella drew nearer the clouds parted and the sun came out. Sarah put her hand to her eyes to shield them from the reflected glare. Soon she could see every detail on the boat. Someone came out of the wheelhouse on to the deck and waved.

The old lady got out of the van and began to unload the goods inside it. The skin on her face was as tough and red as that of an old swede. The postman did not move and she began to complain to him about how heavy the boxes were, but he did not take the hint and get out to help her. He wound down the window of the van and looked out at the boat. The old woman nodded at Sarah, who was standing some distance away.

“That’ll be Sandy Stennet’s new daughter-in-law then,” she said to the postman.

He grunted in reply.

“I think it’s terrible sad for a young girl like that to be stuck on Kinness. Especially coming from the south, you’d think she’d want more from life than that.”

“I went there once.” The man spoke after a pause which gave the impression of considerable thought. “ I didn’t think a great deal of it.”

“They say that they’re terrible inbred,” she said, inviting gossip.

But the postman had made his contribution. He climbed slowly out of his van and swung two sacks of letters behind him, without bothering to answer.