One Night on the Island(19)

Oh.

‘Otter watching?’ I say, attempting to channel Ali’s light-heartedness. Besides, I have been entertained every morning by the family of otters who roll around the slippery rocks close to the lodge, a tumble of slick silver-brown fur. Otters really do sleep holding hands so they don’t lose each other, it’s not just a story. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong – I should have been searching for my otter, not my flamingo.

Mack waits, watching me steadily. I’m realizing that, just like Ali, he’s one of those people who employs silence to get what they want. And that’s really frustrating because I’m one of those people who feels the need to fill silence with nervous, garbled words.

‘I’m on a sabbatical? Recuperating from an operation on my, er, knees?’ I close my eyes and feel really, really stupid.

‘Both of them?’ he says.

I sigh. ‘Look, we both know I haven’t had double knee surgery, okay? You made me nervous, it just came out of my mouth. I might not have an Irish surname or any distant relatives knocking around, but that doesn’t make my time here less important.’

‘I make you nervous?’

‘I don’t like having to justify myself.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to,’ he says. ‘It was just conversation. Someone asked me about you the other morning and I didn’t know what to say.’

‘Who?’

‘Ailsa, a woman I met out on a walk.’

I haven’t ventured far beyond the beach and hill around Otter Lodge since arriving. I’m aware there’s a village up at the top end – I don’t think I’d have felt able to come here without the security of other people, even if they’re not close by. I’ll get my boots on and explore once this week is over and I’m finally alone.

‘We need to talk about tomorrow,’ I say because I know that’s the real purpose of this conversation he’s trying to have.

‘We do,’ he says, getting up from the armchair to stand at the kitchen window.

I mentally square up, formulating my counter.

‘Cleo, I’m –’ He stops mid-sentence, hands braced against the kitchen surface as he leans forward to peer out of the window. ‘There’s someone coming this way, over the hill.’

I’m surprised enough to get up and join him by the sink, and I see he’s right, someone is heading towards us at speed.

‘It’s Cameron, I think, Brianne’s husband,’ I say because I can’t imagine there are many other men on Salvation who pack out a parka with quite such stature. We both go out on to the porch, as Cameron steps up beneath the roofline to shelter from the worst of the weather, water slicking from the bottom of his coat as he sticks his thumb down at us in greeting.

‘Bad news, guys,’ he says, coming straight to the point.

I wrap my long cardigan more tightly around my ribs, my arms crossed as my stomach flips over. ‘Come inside?’

He shakes his head. ‘I won’t if it’s all the same to you, best to keep moving and get on home.’ He pauses, and neither Mack nor I say a word. ‘Storm shows no sign of knocking off. In fact, it’s going to get worse before it gets better,’ he half shouts, loud enough to be heard over the weather. ‘Boat’s cancelled tomorrow.’

Mack runs his hand round the back of his neck. ‘I caught the forecast earlier, thought that might be the case.’

I fling him a filthy ‘you did what now?’ look, wishing I’d had the forethought to check it too.

‘Too rough,’ Cameron says. ‘Not a prayer of safe crossing.’ He shrugs. ‘Fairly regular at this time of year.’

I take the conversation in and try not to let my feelings erupt all over my face. I expect common sense should have sewn seeds of doubt in my mind too, although I haven’t had the benefit of a shipping forecast to alert me. Or the benefit of a room-mate who shares important information.

‘Might it be safe at some point over the weekend?’ I say, subtly crossing my fingers.

Cameron swipes away the rain running down his hairline. ‘Shouldn’t think so. We can wait until next week, unless there’s an emergency or the like.’

‘Such as death,’ Mack reminds me under his breath.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well. Thanks so much for coming all the way down here to let us know, it was kind of you.’

Mack slides a look my way and then steps forward and claps Cameron’s wet shoulder. ‘Yeah, thanks, man. You sure about not coming in for coffee? A beer for the road?’

Cameron adjusts his hood. ‘Bree will be clock-watching until I’m home,’ he says. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

And with that, he’s off up the hill, leaving us alone again. I back into the lodge and Mack follows, throwing the bolts on the door to stop the wind from rattling its hinges.

‘Did you really already know?’ I think about how we’ve both spent all afternoon in the lodge and he hasn’t said a thing.

‘I was just about to tell you,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t sure, but I for one wouldn’t want to get on a boat in this weather. Would you?’

Of course I wouldn’t. But I guess I hadn’t really considered the perils of the crossing because I wasn’t planning to be the person doing it. It was, I see now, a rookie error in a place as beholden to the elements as this.