The island was wild; bleak in a rather beautiful way, as if humans and nature had tangled for a brief moment, and nature had gained the upper hand. The water drove itself at the cliffs in a fury of spittle and spume, but inland was the territory of the roving wind. It wrapped around the sparse scattering of neglected houses, many of them empty. We hovered hesitatingly at the threshold of Ruby’s homestead – two condemned, and delaying the inevitable. Then the doctor, resolved, struck off towards the door. He strode in determinedly, edged round a mountain of tinned catfood, and settled himself opposite her. I stalled round the corner, grappling with the torrent that was bombarding my senses. The stench was like a wall; the doorway an interface where water meets oil. Its thickness and rancour spread itself across the back of the throat and my stomach clenched in objection. I moved through the kitchen, a wasteland of domestic neglect, and into the low-ceilinged living room, where an electrical fire pulsed, heating the dense air. A diminutive, self-contained lady sat on the sofa, silver hair knotted back and a white handkerchief tied jauntily round her neck. She raised a hand and balanced her chin on an outstretched finger, leaning her small frame sideways as though already weary of the charade. Her voice had the soft musical timbre of the highlands, but a taughtness around the mouth disclosed a resentment simmering beneath. I could not easily make out the words, and as I struggled to ventilate my lungs, the consultation receded and my eyes wandered, a detached observer. I sat on her bed, I realised, which jostled for space against the sofa. The walls were plastered with unfamiliar memorabilia – pieces of fabric, postcards, newspaper cuttings; a whole existence mouldering within four walls. A strange energy was beginning to emanate from Ruby and I heard the doctor gently disagreeing with her diagnosis. She seemed to vibrate with contained irritation, her small legs crossed, and her foot bobbing like the measured flicking of a cat’s tail. Her sharp gaze burnt upon a man who clearly didn’t know his trade. Recognising an impasse, we left, gratefully staggering into the wholesome air, with the unspoken words hanging prominently in the air. . . that’s not what my doctor in Caithness said…