She went up to the house, again avoiding the kitchen, found her father’s old Krag rifle, took one of the rugs from her grandfather’s bed and settled into a prostrate position on the ground outside and aimed at the slate boat-house roof, which was black with birds, fired one shot after the other, reloaded and pointed the barrel at the white-headed giant sitting on one of the ridges. A black wing spun into the air and disappeared, a flock of seagulls and ravens and crows swirled into the grey sky, wheeled and dived back down. Ingrid reloaded and fired. Another wing spun into the air, one of a small eagle, two ravens, one black-backed gull; she realised the wind was a westerly, so the reports would be audible on the main island, now she had also shot to pieces the precious slate roof, she continued until she had run out of ammunition, got up and shook the snow off the rug.

When she went into the kitchen he was standing naked on thin, rickety legs, holding the edge of the table with the nail-less hand, and again he hid the other behind his back like a badge of shame – and stared at her in terror.

She showed him the gun, put it in the corner, and realised that she still had the scarves wrapped around her face, she peeled them off and told him to sit down and show her his burned hand.

He seemed not to understand.

She shoved him onto the bench and grabbed his hand, which wasn’t a hand but a black foot with five toes and no nails. She removed the charred fragments from the rug with a cloth and threw it in the stove, fetched some gauze bandaging and ointment, which she applied to his hand, then bound it as he wept soundlessly and stared at the window.

She told him that unless she was much mistaken, an easterly was on the way, so she could row over to the main island to see what had happened, fetch help . . . He repeated the foreign word, like an echo from the morning, and now she thought it sounded like mama.

She caught his eye, pointed to herself and said Ingrid. He nodded and looked down at his bandaged hand. She waited for him to look up, then pointed at him and asked him what his name was. He placed the white bundle against his chest and said Alexander. Ingrid nodded, said Alexander and smiled and repeated Ingrid, Ingrid and Alexander, as if to establish an incontrovertible fact, got up and mixed some redcurrant jelly and hot water and placed the cup in front of him and watched as he balanced the cup between the heels of his two hands and drank and wiped his mouth with the bandage and repeated “Ingrid” with great solemnity, as well as the word she thought must mean mother.

Alexander, Ingrid said.