“The most pointless career in the world, I would think, must be to be a hairstylist in Orkney.” - Mark Steel

The wind blew so forcefully off the sea that Grace struggled to push open the passenger door of Vidar’s car, wrestling against invisible pressure to ease the door sufficiently wide to wriggle out.  The moment her feet touched the grass, a gust snatched the handle from her gloved fingers and slammed it shut again, “Oh!”

Vidar shot around the side of the car in response to her shout, “You ok?”

“Yeah.  The wind got the door.  I just wasn’t expecting it.”

She shivered, jogged on the spot, and swung her arms back and forth, “It’s so cold!”

“It’s Orkney.  It’s December.  Right,” Vidar held her shoulders and gently rotated her to face the full force of the north-easterly wind, “This is your beach.  This is what you gave up your old life for.”

The wind was so strong it stretched her skin slowly across her cheekbones.  She tugged her bobble hat down more firmly over her ears.  The exposed ends of her long hair whipped and danced, “I am a nutcase, aren’t I?”

“No comment.  Come on.”

Taking her hand as if he’d been doing so for decades, Vidar led her down the sand dunes, the wiry grasses dipping and rising rhythmically like the necks of courting swans.  Halfway down the dune, a section of missing bank dug out by the violence of another winter’s battering presented a more-sheltered hollow, protection from the severity of the driving wind.  Vidar curled himself into it.  Without thinking it was a small seat for two people, Grace wriggled in beside him and found they were pressed together, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, knee-to-knee.  The rounded, grass-covered edges of their shallow cave directed the wind across them rather than full into their faces, as they snuggled in companionable silence watching fluffy, white clouds scudding across the blue sky as the low winter sun slowly climbed.

“It’s actually very nice,” said Grace, with characteristic positivity, “Out of the wind, it’s pretty pleasant – sun’s out, white sand, nature, peace…”

“Oh yeah, it’s lovely.  I can’t feel my face,” teased Vidar, deadpan.

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