Jim took my bag from me. I tried not to look at his hands, his wrists.

We were both quiet as he drove out of Fort William, its loch a slab of breeze block. A thousand blind butterflies were headbutting each other in my throat.

I didn’t know how long he’d been in hospital for. Finn had messaged me, mostly in skull and alien emojis, to say that Gran-gran had dropped in on him after a week. That he was still on suicide watch.

Jim stopped in a garage before the ferry and slightly turned to me, his hands on the steering wheel. I could just see the tapered end of a scar, diagonal, straying onto the pad of his palm.

‘I wasn’t sure if … Were you wanting to stay with me?’ he said. ‘I could sort you a B & B somewhere.’ Each word sounded like it was blinking into the light after a long hibernation.

Fuck. I had probably got this all wrong. A couple of butterflies escaped. ‘No, I – if that’s cool.’ I glanced at him. ‘To stay.’

‘Aye. Of course.’ His voice drifted, like he was half asleep. He swallowed and shifted abruptly, leaning towards me to pull out his wallet. ‘Do you fancy getting some food? I didn’t know – get whatever you like.’ He handed me two twenties.

I folded them lengthways. ‘I can feed us for two weeks on that.’ A line appeared in his forehead. I held up the notes and made eye contact for the first time since we’d been in the jeep. ‘Student.’

It was dark by the time we took the turning to his. Those late, light nights – somehow, I’d thought it would always be that way up here, the clouds rolling on to their backs way past ten.

When we got inside, he made himself busy – starting a fire, unloading the shopping, not commenting on the fact that I’d totally lied about my frugal skills and spent almost all of his money on black olives, red wine and steak. I sat cross-legged on his armchair and watched the flames begin to take.

Eventually, when he couldn’t find anything else to do, he stood in front of me. ‘Polly, I’m …’ he looked at the fire as if it might be able to spit up the rest of the sentence for him. ‘I’m sorry you found me like that.’

‘I’m not,’ I said.

Jim took a breath in and his chin dropped to his chest.

‘But, I mean—’ It was my turn to look into the fire. ‘A lot of me’s been thinking. Worrying that—’ I’d hardly thought of anything else this whole time. My voice went salty. ‘Do you mind that I did? Find you?’ I was practically whispering. ‘You did that for a reason.’ I could feel a tiny lochan tear forming.

Jim squatted down in front of me, his fingers clasped. ‘I don’t mind. That you did.’ He bent his neck to try and catch my eye. I looked as far as his earlobe. ‘I’m glad you did.’