Read by Eilidh Nairn
I’d just taken the lid from the saucepan to stir the fish stewing in there when MacGregor began knocking at my kitchen door. The door had been rattling on and off with the high wind all evening, but this knocking was persistent and panicked, as if he were using both fists to pound on the poor rain sodden wood. I lifted the plank from the door. I would’ve opened it just a crack but the weather pushed the door open all the way. MacGregor fair fell in a wave of heavy rain and gust. I shoved the door shut and re-planked it.