I’m bone tired. It’s barely five o’clock and it’s already twilight. In a week it’ll be December, and I’ll have to start thinking about bringing the sheep into the barn or at least the in-bye land. And with little to no bere barley or fodder oats, more savings will have to go for winter feed.

Charlie beams at me as if we’re lifelong mates. ‘Saw you passing. I’m just having a wee get-together at mine, thought maybe now you’d fancy that dram?’

It’s been weeks since the meeting in Am Blàr Mòr when I last rejected his offer of a drink. For no other reason than his smile, his bloody resilience. I don’t think Charlie’s a bad guy, but I can’t understand him; I’m absolutely nothing like him. And I don’t want Mary realising it. What kind of man she could choose instead cheerful, impervious, easy.

‘Aye,’ I say. ‘Maybe I do.’

He looks surprised, but quickly recovers, turning back towards his gate with a grin. Charlie’s get-togethers don’t happen in the house, but in a large black shed at the edge of his croftland. Many’s the time I’ve passed it lit up gold and loud with laughter. Tonight, it’s quiet, most likely due to the early hour, although as we get closer, I hear voices and regret saying yes.

‘Look who I found on the road,’ Charlie says, as he opens the door. Over its lintel is a wood-carved sign: Charlie’s Bothan.

‘Shut the door, man,’ Thom Stewart says. ‘It’s bloody Baltic.’

The shed is surprisingly spacious. A fuel-burner crackles and glows in one corner, giving out waves of heat. Cushioned wicker chairs are set in a circle around a big wood table covered in pint glasses, cards, and chips. Thom, Jimmy, Alec, and Bruce are sitting around it.

‘Hey, Robert,’ Jimmy says, turning to shake my hand.

‘Pull up a pew,’ Bruce says. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Don’t scare him off,’ Charlie laughs, and then turns it into an unconvincing cough.

‘What’s the game?’ I nod towards the table.

‘Texas Hold’em,’ Thom says, his sleeves rolled up past his skinny elbows, exposing homemade tattoos. READY and RFC in already fading blue. ‘But Jimmy here’s a born fuckin’ cheat.’

‘It was a misdeal!’ Jimmy shouts, but he’s grinning. ‘Christ, everyone saw it. A misdeal’s a burn card.’ He leans back in his seat. ‘They’re your rules, man.’

‘Chancer.’

‘Here.’ Charlie hands me a pint of red-gold beer. ‘Homebrew, but after the first five it doesn’t taste too bad.’

‘Thanks.’ I go to sit down in the empty chair, but Jimmy raises his palm and stands up.

‘Here, take my hand. I’m off.’ He thrusts his cards at me. ‘I’ll split the winnings with you.’

‘Aye, in your dreams,’ Alec says.

‘It’s only gone five,’ Charlie protests. ‘Bad enough Kenny’s cried off with nothing but a wee cold. What’s your excuse?’

Jimmy grins. ‘Got a hot date with a lassie in Brèibhig.’ He pulls on his waterproofs and claps a hand on my shoulder as he leans in close to my ear. ‘Raise more than once in a row and most of them start folding like cheap tents.’ And then he disappears out the door in a gust of dark wind.