Rosy-fingered dawn massaged my senses back to life. From my window I could tell the morning was a different proposition from the previous. High silver clouds with somewhere to go skittered across the sky and the sea was speckled with white foals of foam.

I needed more fresh air in my lungs, and shouldered myself into my running gear as I promised myself no hangover the next time I woke. I thought a different route would be an idea. If I cut across, behind the town, straight to the school, then up the same path between the perimeter fence and the Mountain, I could fork right rather than all the way around it, to explore the north-eastern part of the island, which I believed to be mostly grazing land.

From my kitchen window, through the base of a glass of lukewarm orange juice, I could make out a small path coming off the main one I had taken uphill from the town the day before, and it appeared to head straight for the school. Perfect. I picked out some landmarks and set off.

Not long after I started to head downhill, I made out another solitary cottage, around the same size as mine, maybe slightly larger, in a hollow to my left. I hadn’t seen it from my kitchen window, but, as I turned to look behind me, I could still make out my place clearly on the tops. Maybe it was hidden from that view, or maybe I had only been interested in the far-reaching vistas from my vantage point and had overlooked what was directly below me. I promised myself a better look when I returned, although not until after I had found my cellar.

I ran under what was almost a complete canopy of shocking pink rhododendron, which I recalled vaguely from the day before, through the pain of my burning lungs. This was the first checkpoint I had earmarked before I had set off; the small path heading off towards the school should appear just after, on the left. As I emerged back into the full daylight, I slowed to make sure I didn’t miss it. There it was, cutting diagonally down and across the meadow to land somewhere at the base of the sports fields. I threw myself into the corner like a racing cyclist.

My pumping left arm missed the young boy by a matter of two or three inches. Just as I had reached the apex of the junction, he emerged from a third path at around the same speed as me. We both stopped dead with shock. I reached out to steady him and check that I hadn’t caught him.

‘Oh Christ, are you alright?’ I blurted out.

He withdrew from my clumsy grab and looked at me like I’d ruined his birthday. It was the boy from the ferry crossing, the piano prodigy. ‘Oh, hello,’ I said, and smiled my recognition. ‘Are you ok? Did I catch you as I was coming round the corner?’

His face softened a touch. He shook his head. ‘I’m ok,’ he said, looking at the ground.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise there was another path coming down here. I can’t really see it from my cottage, and I planned my route before setting off. Stupid of me. I didn’t expect to meet anybody else.’

He looked at me and smiled. ‘Grandma’s cottage is in an invisible hollow,’ he boasted. ‘You can hardly see it from anywhere. Not even here.’

I looked up the path, which turned sharply to the right almost immediately. The enormous rhododendron blocked the view of everything else.

‘Up here a few yards, though,’ he continued, ‘and you can see it. Come on!’ And he headed back up the path to where it veered. He beckoned me up to a small mound on the left and, sure enough, there was the cottage again. It looked much larger than mine from there. The garden, apart from an area taken up with a large wooden frame from which two swings dangled, was mostly covered in immaculate strips of cultivated vegetable beds, which all appeared to be overflowing with produce. There was something to aspire to.

Arriving on the path now was the rest of the young man’s family: his sister and father out in front, followed by his mother and grandmother, who used a stick to walk, although she still kept a decent pace along with the rest of them. The father greeted me like an old friend.

‘Well, hello!’ he gripped my hand in both of his and shook it like it belonged to a rag doll. ‘Out enjoying the scenery are you? You won’t see anything quite like this anywhere else in the kingdom. Have you been along the north coast yet?’

‘Errr, no. I’ve not ventured that far yet, although I’m planning on heading up that way this morning,’ I replied.

He looked at the sky and pursed his lips. ‘Yeah, should be ok today. Not a bad idea. You won’t regret it.’

‘Excellent. I’ll look forward to it.’ I wasn’t sure exactly to what, but I was making a conscious effort to ask as few stupid questions as possible and just let things happen to me now that I was here. ‘Are you off into town?’ I asked.

‘Well, sort of. The harbour. We’re back to the mainland today. Kids start school the day after tomorrow, and if we leave it another day we might not get back at all.’ He glanced at his daughter while he told me this. She was poking her head out from behind him, clearly a little shy of me. I smiled the sort of smile that such a cherubic face deserved.

‘How do you mean, you might not get back at all?’ I know I was trying to avoid dumb questions, but I couldn’t let that one go.

‘Winter. It comes on quick. The ferries get what you might call unreliable. It’s not a good season to be planning a journey, least not one that depends on a firm timetable. If you’ve got a few weeks to sit around and wait for the weather to let up, you’ll be fine. We’re not in that boat. I’ve got work: the yard’s summer shutdown finishes tomorrow, kids have school. We’ve got to get going.’

I was shocked. I was due to start work when the winter arrived. I hadn’t expected it so soon. I wanted to be well prepared. And what about my container? I had brought the bare minimum with me on the crossing, preferring to load everything else up in one large cargo and deal with it a few days after I had settled in. It sounded like if it didn’t arrive that day, it could be weeks. I knew I should have got a firm delivery date from the shipping company, but they weren’t keen to commit to anything.

My friend must have seen the look on my face, or grown tired of the silence, because he touched me on the shoulder and asked if I was alright.

‘Sorry,’ I replied, a little embarrassed, ‘I was thinking about my container. It’s got all my stuff in it. I’ve got hardly anything in the cottage – just what I brought across with me, and that’s mostly books and emergency provisions. And running kit.’ I looked at myself.

‘When’s it coming?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know exactly. The chap said within a week, but if the weather closes in tomorrow, that could mean any time,’ and I stared at him. I must have looked terrified, because he burst into laughter. His children giggled quietly, although I don’t think they knew why.

‘Look at you!’ he shrieked. ‘Face like a goose being sucked into a jet engine!’ he continued to laugh like a drain, but eventually managed to still his mirth. ‘Don’t be so concerned about stuff like that. You’ll be fine. Nobody will see you struggle here. You just have to ask. Don’t be afraid to ask. We’re pretty self-sufficient here, you know, and you’ll find there’s not much that you need that you can’t get from someone or another. Even stuff you only think you need. We can normally rustle some of that up too. There’s plenty to go around. Never seen anyone want for anything here.’

As he was talking, his wife and mother had caught up. They were waiting politely by his side, in no rush. He introduced them, then looked askance at his mother.

‘Mum, why don’t you go back? I think we can find our way alright without you. Get back in the warm and stick your feet up, let it pass.’

His mother glared at him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that won’t be cured by a decent tramp down into town and back, and don’t you suggest that there is. I’ll outlive you, the rate you’re going.’

He looked at me and smiled. I wasn’t a great ally in this conspiratorial opportunity: my mother had died when I was 12, and I couldn’t picture her as anything except an invalid.

‘Have you got any charcoal for your range yet?’ he winked at me as he asked. It was a good point, though.

‘No, not yet. Apparently I’m to find a guy called Joshua, who can help me out there. Do you have any idea where I might track him down?’

‘Mum, can you do the honours? There’s no way he’s going to find Joshua now. He’s been here two days and probably hasn’t had a hot meal yet. I bet you haven’t had a hot meal yet, have you?’

‘Well, no, but I hadn’t really given it much thought. Listen, I don’t want to put anyone out here unnecessarily. If I can find Joshua, I can get the charcoal I need.’

‘I’ve told you – you won’t find him. Not for a few days.’

‘Well, is there anyone else? Must it be him?’

‘There’s only one place here to get charcoal, and that’s Joshua,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘And you’ve got no chance.’ He looked at the old woman again. ‘You’ve got more than you need, Mum. How about you give him a bag to keep him going. You’ll be seeing Joshua before him. You can get some more.’

‘Course I will,’ she replied. ‘You come back with me, young man, and we’ll get you all fired up. This lot don’t need me escorting them. They can find their own way down for a change.’ She kissed them all one by one, and slipped some coins into the children’s palms. I took my leave of them too, slightly more formally and without any money changing hands. I liked the shipbuilder a lot, and his kids seemed as good as gold. I hoped I would see them again, whenever the weather allowed.

The old woman and I stood in silence and watched them drop down the path, straight along the main street to the harbour. We walked the few hundred yards back to her cottage. She showed me her store and invited me to take a bag of charcoal. It was as heavy as a dead man’s body. While I was lugging it towards the front door, she sat down and grimaced.

‘Are you alright? Are you in some pain?’ I asked. She seemed the sort who would have no fuss, but it was clear to anybody that she was suffering.

‘I’ll be alright, duck,’ she gave me a kindly look. ‘It’s my hip. It gets like this for a few days and then clears up. If I keep moving it gets better quicker, but sometimes it’s too much.’ She sank further into her chair. ‘Worse in the Winter, of course, and it’s been getting more regular for a while now, but I’ll survive. I’ll see Joshua tomorrow, anyway, and get something for it.’

‘Is Joshua a doctor?’ I asked. My new life resolution to let things become apparent through the power of their own volition was taking a hammering.

‘No, love, not a doctor. He’s what you might call a remedist. Or a herbalist, or something along those lines. He’ll fix most complaints here one way or another. No more trial and error than those doctors on the mainland, I’d say. And it’s all natural. Natural cures suffice for the natural ailments we get here. I’ve sworn by his treatments all my life. So did my late husband.’

‘You seem pretty sure I won’t get to see him in the next few days. Why not? What’s he up to?’

‘He’s preparing for Winter now. The weather’s on the turn. He’ll be getting all his warm-weather stuff under cover and safe, and finishing off his charcoal production. He prefers to stay indoors during the winter. He does a bit of remedy work, but spends most of the season in The Griffin if he can. You’ll see plenty of him in there. But not right now.’

‘You say you’re seeing him tomorrow, though?’

‘He’ll know about my hip. He’ll be here tomorrow.’ She looked at me knowingly. I supposed, if I’d been on the island for, what, 70 years or more, rather than two days, I might hold the same sway with this mysterious quack. She changed the subject: ‘Are you plugged in yet?’

‘Ah, no,’ I started. ‘In fact, I had a bit of difficulty with that yesterday. Apparently I’ve got a sub-station in my cellar, at least, that’s what the landlord of the Shipbuilders told me.’

‘That’s right. Same as everyone else. Could you not find it? It’ll be painted white and green and it’ll have a big red switch on the front of it. Should be right next to the wall furthest inland.’

‘Well, it’s not that that I couldn’t find….’ I wasn’t sure how to put it.

‘What do you mean?’ she looked at me like I was some kind of simpleton.

‘I couldn’t actually find my cellar,’ there, I spat it out.

Her jaw dropped slightly. She must have thought me a true idiot. But it soon picked up and her mouth curled round into a huge grin. She chuckled.

‘So, is there something important I don’t know?’ I asked.

‘I totally forgot. Bobby will have done too. He wouldn’t play tricks on you.’ I was hanging on her next sentence. Finally, I might get to know something important without having to ask a ridiculous question. She went on, ‘You’re in Santino’s old cottage. He was always a bit of a clever dick. Genius builder. Have you checked out the glass dome on the south corner yet?’ I assured her I had, and was suitably impressed. ‘There’s a trap door. It’s somewhere in that parquet he put down. Only place on the island that has real block parquet. You won’t find it unless you look, but if you’re on your hands and knees it’s pretty clear. If he hadn’t been such a show-off, likelihood is nobody would have known about it at all. But he couldn’t help himself. Lucky for you!’

A trap door. Hardly the most uncommon solution. I convinced myself that I had been tired the previous day, had had too much wine and wasn’t thinking straight. I really had to up my game here, though: I was acting like an infant, and needed to take control.

I made sure the old girl was comfortable enough where she was. She almost shooed me out of the door, I fussed so much over her. And I lugged my unfathomably heavy bag of fuel down her short path and back up to the top. It took me nigh on half an hour, compared with around 90 seconds on the way down earlier. I deposited it in the larder and set about finding that trap door before I attacked any other jobs on my list.

The best thing about the whole exercise was getting close to the blockwork of the parquetry. From standing distance, I had assumed it was all made from a single wood, but up close I could tell that each block must effectively have been handcrafted. Contrasting colours were inlaid in one of four or five repeating designs that spread organically across the floor, so much more visible from that angle. And the finish was flawless: perfectly flat, no loose blocks, no inconsistency in the mixing of colours, no interruption in the flow of the design. This Santino must have been outrageously talented. It was surprisingly easy to find the latch. One block had a thin ‘L’ shape set into it, where the metal hook sat. I pulled it, the hatch rose up smoothly and silently and a steep stone staircase revealed itself below. It was as dark as hell down there.

Armed with another fresh candle, I made my way gingerly, backwards down the narrow steps. It was a little chillier than in the cottage, but not cold, and there was no sense of damp at all. I reached the bottom and turned around. The candle lit a small area around me well enough, and threw its feeble light as far as it could. I figured which way was inland and picked a path slowly in that direction. I had a clear run, but could tell the space around me was far from empty. I tried to concentrate solely on my immediate goal, which was a green-and-white box with a large red switch on it.

Lo and behold, I had been accurate in my calculations. The candle lit up the far wall and, sure enough, there sat a white box with a couple of green stripes around it. I guessed it was about 12 inches in each dimension, and on the front sat a large red switch, set to ‘off’. Could it be that simple? It could. I flicked it with commendably little trepidation, and a bulb above me came on straight away. The sub-station began on a low, stable-sounding, hum. I blew the candle out and turned around to see what was down there. I almost fell over backwards.