A lot stays the same, however: the wind blows off the sea, Dad’s Clydesdale stallion wanders over, the sun travels its short southern arc. This time, I’m putting myself back together after the end of a relationship, but have been sober for almost five years rather than less than one and have a book about to be published. Then, as well as building a dyke, I was figuring out a life without alcohol. I realised I was in the same place I was in four years ago, at the time I began writing The Outrun – repairing a wall on the same field at midwinter. I was repairing a section of dyke (as we in Orkney call drystone walls), regularly stopping to watch gannets dive like arrows into the Atlantic, smoke roll-ups and glance at my phone. L ast month, I was back on the farm where I grew up in Orkney, out on a cliffside field.
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