It’s making some din! When you were out on the moor you never heard it, of course. You heard nothing above the wind. But you felt it all right. Stinging your face when a force ten drove it at you. Horizontal sometimes. I loved that feeling. Out there in the wild, just me and that great big sky, and the rain burning my face. But they keep me cooped up inside these days. Not to be trusted outdoors, bad Mary says. Like now, sitting here in this big empty lounge, chairs drawn up. Everyone looking at me. I don’t know what they expect. Have they come to take me home? I recognize Marsaili, of course. And the young man with the fair curly hair looks familiar. The name’ll come to me. It usually does. But the other gille. I don’t know him at all, with his round red face and his shiny black hair. Marsaili leans towards me and says, ‘Dad, what happened to your folks? Did you have any uncles or cousins that you never told us about?’ I don’t know what she means.
