The day is darker, the storm closer. It squats like a spreading bruise over the horizon, and for a moment, I’m almost paralysed as the wind whistles around my head, howls inside the fissures and caves in the rock under my feet.

I shake it off, hurry for the blackhouse’s welcoming light. As I get there, the door opens and Charlie steps out. Mary is smiling inside the doorway, and just like that, the spark of anger catches, goes up like kindling.

‘Came by to check on you all, Robert,’ Charlie says, although he has the good grace, at least, to look caught. ‘Going to be a bad one, they reckon. Already force ten and fifty-foot waves out in Bailey and Rockall.’

‘Maybe it’ll change direction,’ I say.

‘Aye, maybe so.’ He stops on the path. ‘We can hope.’

‘Thanks for coming, Charlie,’ Mary says. Her smile has gone.

I go inside, close the door behind me. A boy is sitting on the living room floor. Older and sullen-faced as he reluctantly helps Calum finish an oversized jigsaw. I realise it’s Euan Morrison’s son, Iain, just as Euan bangs open the bathroom door and marches into the mudroom.

‘Robert!’ he says, fat cheeks wobbling. ‘You’ve a full house, eh? Just popped round with some spare wood and peat.’ He glances out the window and frowns. ‘Going to be a bad one, looks like.’

When I say nothing, he clears his throat. ‘C’mon, Iain, best get back before the rain comes on.’

‘Thank you, Euan,’ Mary says before looking pointedly at me.

‘Aye, thanks,’ I say, opening the front door as he pulls on his coat.

‘Not a problem.’ He flashes a smile that reminds me of that meeting in the pub last year when I first asked about the Land Fund. ‘Just being a good landlord.’

‘He and Charlie only wanted to help,’ Mary says once they’re gone. ‘There’s no shame in accepting it. You said that’s what living in a place like this is like.’

I don’t reply because I don’t trust myself enough to know what I’ll say. My tiredness is gone now, burned completely away.

‘Daddy!’ Calum says, abandoning his jigsaw to run towards me in clumsy excitement, headbutting my legs.

‘Hey, wee man,’ I say, scooping him up, trying to smile. ‘Shall we go down to the cellar and turn on the stars?’

‘’Pecial light,’ he shouts, clapping.

‘Aye, we’ll turn on the special light too.’

‘Robert.’ Mary grabs me by the elbow, but I shake her off as I open the trapdoor and start heading down the cellar stairs carrying Calum.

She follows behind. Says nothing as I sit Calum down on the mattress and turn on the lighthouse’s lamp – a slow-moving arc of white-silver against the brick walls. She folds her arms when I turn off the main light to reveal all those hundreds of stars.

‘Night stars!’ Calum grins, clapping his hands again as he stares up in a wide-eyed wonder that’s never tired, never disappointed. It helps douse some of my anger, enough that when Mary pulls me back towards the stairs, I go without protest.