‘Thom Stewart’s been pushing for a Land Fund application?’ I say, to change the subject.

‘Apparently fancies being a farmer instead of a publican.’ Charlie snorts again. ‘And there’s a reason him and Alec are closer than peas in a pod; they live for a good fight.’

He claps a hand against my shoulder. ‘Listen, I bumped into Mary yesterday morning, and she mentioned you’re having trouble with your ATV. I’m more used to inboard diesels, but an engine’s an engine, and I’m a pretty good mechanic. I could—’

‘I can fix it.’

‘Okay.’ Still smiling and nodding. Impervious. ‘Why don’t you come back in for just the one?’ he says. ‘It’s not often Kenny puts his hand in his pocket.’

‘Happy Birthday, Charlie,’ I say, giving him the smile he wants. And as I start heading for the road, I barely – just barely – resist turning back to tell him to stay away from my wife.

*

By the time the windows of the blackhouse throw gold across the grass, my heart is lighter. The wind is at my back, the autumn air thick with peat smoke and seaweed. I stop and stand inside the dusk, and listen to the fury of the ocean.

When I was a young boy, I would lie on my bed and listen to the same ocean. And then I would drown it out with ghosts and kelpies and gods. Tribes and clans, fortresses and watch towers. Neolithic pyres set above underground caves and chambered cairns; dun beacons warning of danger in relays of fire along headland and cliff. I’d stack books around me like guardians. I’d read them by the white-bright light that always flooded my room in long, slow sweeps. Tales of warring clansmen sailing across sounds in the dark and creeping ashore to massacre their neighbours. I wanted to be Ketill Flatnose, the first Norse king of the Hebrides. Or Magnus the Third, defeating all the local chiefs as flame spouted from the houses and the king dyed his sword red in blood. All the gods and spirits and warriors; the epic sagas of battle and magic, love and betrayal, triumph and ruin. They were my only comfort in a world in which I could not fit. And then, after I destroyed that world, they were my only protection against what I’d done.

Mary’s bright smile falters in its beginning when I push open the door. She gets up from the chair by the fire, mutes the TV.

‘Meeting went that well, huh?’

I watch her walk over to the sideboard. The graceful calmness of her, the straight spine. I remember the first day I saw her: coming out of the Aberdeen City Council building and heading for the Tollbooth, walking fast enough that I was out of breath by the time I managed to catch her. She moved like she’d never ever had to get out of someone’s way. That got me before anything else – more than how beautiful she was, alive in a way I had never been.