Page 45 of A Scottish Island Summer

We had started to make our way back up the lane at the side of Rock God, when there was an odd noise from the other side of the old gate.

We exchanged glances.

‘You heard that as well?’ whispered Logan out of the corner of his mouth.

I nodded, my eyes wide in my face.

We both turned and crept as if in slow motion back down towards the bins and the gate. There it was again. It sounded like a ragged breath.

Logan put one finger to his lips in a ‘Sssh!’ gesture.

With his other hand, he slid it onto the wrought iron gate and mouthed, ‘Three, two…’ and jerked it open.

Logan shot out into the next street. I could hear a scuffle and cursing.

Oh God! What was going on? Was Logan being hurt? What if there was someone there and they were carrying a weapon?

I stared wildly around myself, before snatching one of the steel dustbin lids and gripping it in one hand. If anyone was hurting Logan, I could give them a whack over the head with it.

Without deliberating what might be happening a moment longer, I burst out through the open gate.

The sight that greeted me was Logan struggling with a scruffy, older gent.

‘Would you kindly take your hands off me, young man!’

The stranger was dressed in a shabby, herringbone winter coat and his features were obscured by a bushy black beard and long unkempt hair. His accent surprised me. It was cultivated, Scottish but with a hint of English pronunciation.

Logan glowered down at the struggling man as he gripped him by the arm. ‘What the hell are you doing, creeping about my shop?’

The man tried to straighten his coat, as though it were a designer Burberry affair. ‘I was admiring your window display.’

Logan blinked at him in the early morning light. A lone gull screeched into the air, as it flapped overhead. ‘What, at this time in the morning?’

The mystery man shuffled in his black, scuffed boots. ‘I suffer with insomnia and I’ve nothing better to do.’

Logan looked over at me, incredulous.

‘I wasn’t trying to break in,’ insisted the man, wrapping himself deeper in his coat.

‘So, what were you going to do then?’ pushed Logan.

I pulled an exasperated expression. This was all very fascinating, but I just wanted to get going. We had a lot to do today to accumulate more material for the travel guide.

The man squinted out at both of us from under frowning, black and grey tinged brows. ‘I’m interested in geology.’

Logan folded his arms. ‘Oh aye?’

The stranger flicked him an indignant look out of his intense, hazel eyes. ‘Yes. Really, young man. There’s no need to look at me like that. I’m not in the habit of lying.’ He thrust out his beard. ‘I understand Moonen Bay is a good place for the pale green, clear apophyllite.’

Bloody hell. Was it just me or was this situation and my time on this island becoming more surreal by the day? Here I was, at not even eight o’ clock in the morning, on the Isle of Skye, witnessing a weird conversation about rocks.

I gave my confused eyes a rub. Nope. I wasn’t imagining it.

Logan was shooting the man a series of curious glances. ‘Aye. That’s right. Can be up to about twenty millimetres in length, some of it.’

The man nodded his mop of messy, black hair. It had shards of grey in it.

The morning was breaking now, like a delicately cracked egg in the sky.