The shop was larger than the other dwellings. A sign, rusted at the edges, announced it belonged to Reid Paterson. The interior was crammed with all manner of goods – from fishing, farm and household equipment to every variety of domestic fare. Nets and rods hung from the ceiling and I could smell the thickness of oil. Mary made her way straight to a counter, behind which stood a row of jars.

I picked up the bell and rang. A banging came from somewhere beyond and a man entered, stopping in his stride at the door to regard us. His skin was weathered but he was handsome in a rough kind of way, with dark hair and eyes. His coat was smart and his collar starched white. His eyes flicked over Mary with dislike or animosity.

‘So, you’re the new nanny at the big house.’ He swept me from head to toe in a gaze that set me flushing and then he smiled with rude over-familiarity. I stood taller, pulling my coat tighter, and only nodded in reply.

Mary pointed to one of the jars and I bought the sweets, which he first weighed in a pair of filthy scales before pouring them into a cone of paper. As he worked, he tried to engage me in conversation, his eyes too intimate on my face and body. His manner put me ill at ease. I said little in return and soon he stopped trying.

I was relieved to be outside once again. We climbed the hill, my hair in its pins being tugged by the wind, and I had a desire to loosen my hat, release the clasps and feel it blowing around my face. The further we grew from Iskar, the lighter Mary’s steps became, and she ran ahead to study a patch of gorse or to rest on a drystone wall and observe the cattle. And then she fell in beside me, and a tightness in my chest I had not been aware of loosened a little.

We reached the ridge and I had to lean forwards, hands on knees, to give my straining lungs time to ease. Turning, the whole valley lay before me, captured in the sun, a lucid green with cloud shadows chasing across the fields and racing up to the cliffs. It was beautiful. Far away, beyond the eye, lay the mainland.

Mary stood beside me, her dress blowing and the wind snapping at her boots, Bobbity in one fist. Tentatively, I reached down and took her other hand in mine. The warmth of her skin bled through my glove and, for a moment, I was back in Edinburgh, pushing through the crowds with the smell of burnt sugar and tobacco smoke, the sounds of the circus already clamouring in the air and Clara’s palm clasped tightly in mine lest we become separated. A boy had passed by with a monkey on each arm and Clara had turned and laughed with delight.