It’s always irrational. The anger. Or perhaps not the anger – it comes, after all, from not wanting to feel anything else. The fear. Shame. Guilt. They are what is absurd. To hate fishermen because you hate the sea. Because you hate what the sea does to them. And their endless, pointless, stubborn resilience.

‘I’ve a question for Euan.’

Everyone turns to look at me.

‘Last month, I asked if you’d consider selling back some of the croftland under the community right-to-buy.’ I try very hard not to react when Euan lets out a long-suffering sigh. ‘The Land Fund will be reopening to full applications in a few months. I just want—’

‘We’ve always looked after our tenants,’ Euan says. ‘We’ve always been fair. In fact, just last week I called in on you, and Mary said you were both very satisfied with your tenancy, no complaints at all.’

I stand up. ‘You were at the blackhouse?’

‘You were out at West Point,’ Euan says. He squares his shoulders, but doesn’t meet my gaze. ‘If you’ve any concerns about rent or the upkeep of either the land or its buildings, make an appointment with me to discuss it.’

‘You’re not my laird, Euan. And what I’m asking for isn’t unreasonable. The folk on Eigg have applied to buy the whole island, for Christ’s sake! In case you’ve forgotten what the stone cairns all over the islands are for, we’ve a long history of rising up against greedy landlords.’ I promised Mary I wouldn’t do this, that I wouldn’t allow my anger to ruin our new beginning. But the want to own my own land is rooted, quite literally, in my need to have solid ground under my feet. Something that is mine. Something that I can rely on. That I can trust. The islands are a part of me, and I came back to be a part of them. And to give Calum something that I never had. A home. Land can never be smashed against rocks and scattered out to sea.

‘There were never any riots on this island. You haven’t been here five minutes, and already you think you’re starting a crofters’ war? Jesus, man, this isn’t the nineteenth century!’

Kenny, always the shark scenting blood, moves forwards. ‘Aye, well, Thom’s brought it up before too, hasn’t he? More than once.’

Surprise makes me glance back at Thom still leaning against the bar, cleaning his ashtrays. He gives Kenny a sidelong look before nodding at Euan.

‘And Robert’s been renting the blackhouse and Àrd Chreag land now for more than eight months, so he’s a right to ask.’ Kenny glances towards Bruce. ‘Your family’s always leased more land from the Morrisons than anyone. What d’you reckon to it?’

‘Could be it’s time to revisit the idea, Euan,’ Bruce says.

He’s a few years younger than me; told me not long after I arrived that he took over his father’s farm in addition to his own just five years ago, and I’ve some insight into how hard that must be. At five-eight and lean enough that nosy folk think he’s always sickening for something, he nonetheless makes sure he’s heard and never has to shout to do it. Never has to get angry. I’ve admiration for that too. And that he made no comment at all about the price I paid for the flock of Hebrideans before I knew what they were really worth. When he offered to help me with the tupping at the end of October, I didn’t even have to swallow my pride to say yes – a sheep farmer’s first breeding season has to go well if he’s going to survive to a second.