She guides me off the road and up onto the grass alongside it. The wind picks up, and I can smell the sea again, see the faint shadow of another building up ahead. ‘This is Ardcraig. Means “high cliff”, but it’s actually pretty sheltered for a headland this far west. Most of it’s grazing land, but Will tends to take the sheep in on cold nights. And …’ She turns onto a narrow paved path. ‘Here we are! I can’t wait for you to see it in daylight. I mean, I know there were photos on the website, but they don’t really do it justice. Jaz took them, and he’s no David Bailey. When Mum and Dad moved to North Uist they sold the land back to Euan and then pretty much left this place to rot. Folk do that a lot around here, but it’s madness – these days, holiday homes are like gold dust.’ Her light stutters over a large wooden door with a small inset window. ‘They weren’t keen on me coming here at first, but when I offered to do the work and Airbnb it, they eventually caved.’

She turns the handle, pushes the door open with a creak. ‘There are keys on the kitchen counter, although the lock’s a bit iffy, I keep meaning to get it fixed. But don’t worry, no one locks their doors around here anyway.’ She steps over the threshold. ‘Welcome to An Taigh-dubh.’

Inside is a small mudroom and three closed doors.

‘Bathroom, box room, and …’ She pushes opens the left-hand door, flooding the big room beyond with light. ‘Everything else.’

On one side of the room is a living-dining-kitchenette panelled entirely in pine, even the ceiling. On each wall are tiny quarter-barred windows with tartan curtains. Facing an open, tiled fireplace and long mantelpiece made of driftwood sits a large brown leather sofa covered with Harris tweed cushions. A double bed dominates the opposite wall, alongside a pine wardrobe and chest of drawers.

I set down my suitcase. ‘Kelly, it’s amazing.’

Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, flush pinker. ‘It’s a replica of a traditional blackhouse. That’s what An Taigh-dubh means. The Blackhouse. Before I forget, the Wi-Fi password’s on the router. Four-G hasn’t quite reached this far west yet, and the HebNet’s data allowance is abysmal, so no downloading porn, or you won’t be able to check your email for a month. There’s no mobile signal out here, no landline either, but there’s the phone box in Blairmore and a payphone in the pub.’ She nods towards the fireplace. ‘No peat, just coal and logs. And there’s no mains gas supply. Although the walls are like over two feet thick, so it doesn’t get too cold. The bathroom has underfloor heating. And you’ve no idea how much that bloody cost. I ran out of cash after about two months. Have debts coming out of my eyeballs.’

‘What’s down there?’ I say, pointing to a large trapdoor in the floor towards the corner of the room.