‘Thank Christ for that,’ he murmurs. ‘I never want to see another boat ever again.’

David exits the cab and raises his hand in acknowledgement, then climbs down the ladder and jogs across the walkway towards a wooden boathouse. We watch as he gets into a specially adapted tractor, similar to the one that pushed us into the water on the mainland, and drives towards us. Once in position on the trailer, the tractor hauls the boat out of the water and up onto the island.

Standing at the bottom of the ladder, David calls for us to hand him our things. Tom steps forward and immediately sways to one side, glaring at his feet like he’s woken from a night of heavy drinking to find his shoelaces have been tied together.

David chuckles. ‘How are you holding up there?’

‘Tom’s not good with boats,’ I say, giving him a wry smile.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Tom replies. ‘It was very refreshing. I’m already looking forward to the return crossing.’ He runs a hand through his fringe then pats the side of the boat a little too enthusiastically. Something tells me he’d chop it up for firewood if he could.

I hand David our bags and he laughs. ‘Just as well. We were lucky with the weather today but the forecast isn’t looking so good. It might get a bit rough next time.’

Tom flashes me a look that says he doesn’t want to find out what a ‘rough’ crossing is like, and I know how he feels. Yanking up my shorts, I go down the ladder first, taking it slowly. We might be on land now but my legs don’t seem to know that. Tom follows me and stumbles down the metal steps, his arms flailing as his knees buckle beneath him.

I cover my mouth and try not to laugh, but thankfully he sees the funny side. As we walk behind the boatman, Tom staggers into me and throws his arm around my shoulder. ‘Why do I feel like we should be going to an all-night kebab shop?’ he whispers.

‘Is this what you’re like after a pint?’

‘I’m more of a tequila man.’ He laughs.

‘Very exotic. Is that the one with the worm inside the bottle?’

He rubs his stomach. ‘Actually, tequila is the devil’s work. I had a bad experience with the stuff once. Let’s not talk about it.’

I smile and he takes his arm from my shoulder, letting me go first up the narrow path. Ahead of us are almost a dozen cottages of various sizes, sitting in a line at the base of the mountain. The climb is steep, the ground rutted with stones and overgrown with knee-high spiky grass, and it isn’t long until both of us are breathing hard.

David stops before an imposing stone farmhouse with a crumbling wall at the front. ‘I’m staying here tonight, in case you need me.’ The same look as before flashes across his face – anxiety mixed with pity. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then seemingly changes his mind and walks to a muddy two-seater quad bike with a trailer on the back. While he puts our things inside, Tom and I glance around at the barns and outbuildings.