With only a nod, Effie turned on her heel and began to run along the faint track of worn grass. She had the snares in one hand, the rope and her bag slung over the opposite shoulder. She was grateful they got to run downhill and not up; no emergency could help a man climb these slopes any quicker than the islanders already did.

She was aware of Sholto running behind her, panting hard, trying to grip in his leather boots, but they didn’t speak. A man was injured or sick, possibly dying, and every second counted. They rounded the neck of Connachair and ran the ridge back to the Gap, then down the grassy straights back to the An Lag plateau. Jayne Ferguson was still at the lazybeds, working some manure over them, and she looked up in surprise as they sprinted past. ‘Two cuts,’ was all Effie could manage to say. It was all she needed to. Jayne dropped her rake and began running behind them too.

They ran through the gap in the dyke, past the cleits, down to the back of the crescent of cottages. Effie darted down the nearest alley and swung left, heading for Archie MacQueen’s house. He’d skippered back after dropping the men the other day. He had strong arms, but an accident years back had left him lame in one leg and not much help for running after sheep.

‘Archie!’ she yelled. ‘Two cuts! Two cuts!’

At her cry, heads emerged from cottage doors, above the Street wall, around spinning wheels and washing lines. Archie, who was repairing a section of wall for Ma Peg, looked up as the words carried and the villagers were rustled into the same frenzied panic as the puffins on the ledge. He saw Effie running towards him, her arms like pistons and the whites of her eyes on show, and he knew the words had come from her. He dropped the rock he was lifting and began running with his distinctive limp, down the plot towards the beach. There was no point in asking ‘What?’ or ‘Who?’. None yet knew.

The boat had been pulled just past the high tide line. In the winter it had to be weighted down with stones and sod to stop the winds from lifting it or the storm surges from grabbing it, but now it sat ready for a return trip they were still a day or two due from making.

Together with the women who got there first – Rachel McKinnon, Mhairi’s mother and Effie’s own Aunt Mary – they began to push the boat down the beach. Effie, Sholto and Jayne arrived moments later, all of them putting their weight behind the effort.

‘Where’s Lorna?’ Effie asked, looking about for the nurse.

The women looked at one another. Everyone in earshot had heard the shouts, they’d all been brought forth by the commotion.