‘Got ourselves a wee drowned rat.’ Jimmy grins. Although he also looks fearsomely pissed off. As well he might, I suppose. Now that I’m no longer in any danger – if I ever was – I’ve the luxury of being more than a little mortified. When he inevitably asks why I was trying to flag down a passing fishing boat, I’m definitely not going to tell him it’s because I thought I was being stalked by either person or bòcain along the Old Glen Road.

My teeth are chattering. Jimmy pulls the lifejacket back over my head and replaces it with a barely warmer wax waterproof.

‘Why the hell were you waving a torch about on Hollow Beach?’ he says.

I don’t miss the tiny smirk at the corner of the other fisherman’s mouth as he turns back towards the wheelhouse window, one hand taking hold of what looks like a giant joystick, the other adjusting the small ship’s wheel between his knees.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I was hiking and I got lost, and then the weather … it got dark, and …’ I look up at him through wet noodles of hair. ‘I panicked.’

‘Hiking.’ If anything, Jimmy’s expression becomes even sterner, and then his whole face relaxes into a wide, delighted grin. ‘Hiking!’

His bellowed laughter makes me jump, but when the other fisherman joins in, I start feeling resentful.

‘Dear God, woman. If you want to go hiking around here, the very least you need is a weather forecast, a map, and,’ Jimmy looks my bedraggled state up and down, ‘some decent walking gear.’

‘Well, I know that now.’ What I want to say is that I hadn’t planned on hiking anywhere today, but then I’d have to explain about Jaz and Fiona and Ardshader and that seems like an infinitely worse prospect. Luckily, Jimmy seems to take pity on me, handing me a steaming black coffee before moving back out on deck and leaving me in peace. The other man says nothing to me at all, although I occasionally catch his reflection staring at me, and then quickly sliding away.

Jimmy comes back in to get me as the lights of Kilmeray get closer. I stand shivering on deck as we turn slowly towards what must be Sheltered Bay: a small and stony cove with a concrete slipway along one flank. I look up at the high lights of Blairmore on Longness, the comforting gold squares of the pub’s windows, the more muted glow from houses beyond.

‘This’ll do, Billy,’ Jimmy shouts, when we’re about fifty yards from shore.

It’s only when he and I are in the dinghy and heading back towards land that he turns to look at me again. This time, his smile is surprisingly warm. He has a deep dimple, I notice, in his left cheek.

‘That look on your face,’ he says. He glances towards the shore. ‘It’s how I feel every time I come back here too.’

I don’t know what kind of look is on my face, but I do know what I felt standing on Hollow Beach, looking across at those lights. How much I longed for their safety and familiarity – and badly enough that I almost walked straight into the sea.