Drunk. Drunkdrunkdrunk. I breathed in the whisky and wood smoke. Maybe I could spur things on a bit. ‘I think I need to – lie down.’

His smile disappeared. I could swear there was a blush in with the glow of the fire. He looked awkward, then matter-of-fact. ‘Aye.’ He swallowed. ‘You can sleep up there.’

‘What about you?’

He jerked his head back a little. ‘Chair.’

You don’t have to, said a tiny child’s voice in my head.

Jim drained his whisky in one gulp and got up. He moved to the corner of the kitchen, coming back with a pan, and stood with his head craned up at the ceiling. ‘Rain’s coming in.’

He held the pan up in mid-air, as if he was about to toss a pancake, and moved it slowly until it gave a click. He took my glass and picked up the plates, putting them in a new pile nearer the sink. I realised what he was doing. Making himself busy until I went up.

I stood, my face cool now it was out of the fire, and took a very long time moving my still-wet boots to a corner, picking up my bag, willing him to come back over. He kept finding things to do, turning the taps on, shaking a towel out.

‘Goodnight, then.’ I hovered.

He partly turned, but didn’t look at me. ‘’Night.’

A drop of rain fell into the pan every half a minute. I kept waiting for the next one. It sounded like the last corn popping, the pan already brimful of yellow clouds. The wind was going insane. A dull brown-orange glow on the walls from the shushing fire. I had listened to Jim changing his clothes before settling in the armchair, which gave off little crunches of static, and then – nothing.

I lay totally still for a while under the cold duvet, looking up at the ceiling, realising how much I wanted something to happen. He wasn’t like anyone else I knew. He was so quiet, but calm, too. Nothing fazed him. He was like the loch, just reflecting what was around him.

The more I lay there, the more the darkness grew heavy above me, stretching and pulling, something elastic. Maybe it was the whisky. The whisky wasn’t keeping me warm, though. I put my hands under my armpits and curled up into a ball. I rubbed one foot on the other. My nose had turned into an ice cube. I was never going to sleep.

I carefully let out a jagged exhalation, just loud enough, I thought, to be heard. I imagined it zigzagging outwards, minutely seesawing on all the draughts through the house, finding its way into the far corners. Jim didn’t make a sound.

More dramatic, then. I sat up suddenly, with an inrush of breath.

‘You all right?’ His voice in the darkness.

‘I’m just – it’s cold.’ I gave a shudder, only half put-on. ‘Do you have another blanket or something?’