One Night on the Island(28)

‘Umm … hello.’ I aim for confident and end up half shouting. ‘Hello,’ I say again, a little quieter to show I understand the concept of inside voices.

‘Cleo, hi! Come in!’

Brianne bounces up out of an armchair and across to me, and I smile, relieved to see a familiar face.

‘It was raining and I …’ I glance back towards the exit.

She takes my damp hat from my hands. ‘I’ll put it on the radiator to dry,’ she says. ‘Here, give me your coat too.’

I do as I’m told, glad not to be thrown back out in the rain.

‘Ladies, we have a visitor.’ Brianne draws me across the room towards a group of women like I’m a prize specimen. ‘This is Cleo – remember I told you she’s staying down at Otter?’

A slight woman with jet-black Jackie Kennedy hair looks up from her knitting. ‘The honeymooner?’

Brianne steers me into an empty corner of the sofa, before dropping back into her own armchair alongside me. ‘No, Dolores, the non-honeymooner, remember?’ she says. ‘The mix-up we talked about at the lodge?’

Dolores is mid-sixties, and I’d say from the look in her eye she remembers perfectly well about the mix-up. The gold buttons on her tweed Chanel-style jacket gleam like a soldier’s coat when she fixes her gaze on me.

‘Let me introduce you round,’ Brianne says. ‘This is Erin.’ The woman to Brianne’s other side smiles at me and reaches across to squeeze my knee. Her pale-blue eyes are welcoming, the smatter of freckles across her nose reassuringly similar to my eldest sister’s.

‘I’m Doctor Lowry’s wife,’ she says, ‘so you know whose door to knock if you need anything medical.’

The small, elderly woman beside Erin clears her throat. ‘And I’m Carmen, officially the oldest resident on Slánú.’

I notice Dolores’s slight nostril flare; whether it’s because Carmen always trots out the same line or because she disputes it, I don’t know. No one else missed it either.

‘Ailsa.’ The next woman in the circle raises her mug in my direction. I’d say she’s late-fifties or so and her tie-dye top and blue-tipped hair lends her a festival vibe. ‘I met that man you’re not married to a few days back. If I wasn’t a lesbian I’d take him off your hands, let me tell you that for nothing. A fine piece of arse and the kind of face that could get you into all kinds of trouble.’

She catches me off guard and a snort of laughter escapes my throat. The other women around the table all try not to laugh too, except for Dolores who looks pained.

‘I think I need to see this man I’ve heard so much about for myself,’ says the only woman left to speak. We’ve already met – it’s Delta, the pregnant girl I spoke to on top of the hill. She raises her glass of water to me in greeting, and I notice the delicate floral tattoo dancing across the back of her hand and around her forearm. I notice other things about her too, now she isn’t bundled up in rainbow stripes. Like how outrageously pretty she is with luminous green eyes and slightly out-of-control jet-black curls pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head.

‘I don’t think you need any more trouble in your life,’ Dolores says, earning herself a sharp look from Brianne.

‘Thank you, Mam,’ Delta laughs, unfazed. Looking between the two women, I see a strong family resemblance, despite their opposite styles. Same dark hair, same startlingly green eyes. Delta looks back at me. ‘I won’t get up in case I give birth.’

I’m instantly drawn to her, I like her couldn’t-give-a-damn attitude. I could use some of that.

‘Do you knit?’ Dolores tips her head to one side and stares at me. Everyone falls quiet.

‘Actually, yes. Not for a while now, but yes, I do. My gran taught me.’ Thank you, Gran, I think.

I almost see everyone’s shoulders relax. I get the distinct feeling that I’ve just passed Dolores’s initiation test; I’d have been shrugging my damp jacket on again and heading back out into the rain if I didn’t know my way around a pair of knitting needles.

Brianne has a look of genuine surprise on her face. ‘Cleo, that’s so great! We don’t get many new knitters on the island.’

‘The last one turned out to be a crocheter,’ Dolores mutters, as dark as if she’d said ‘murderer’.

‘The audacity!’ Delta’s green eyes dance. ‘Ma, you should have shoved her crochet hook right up her –’

‘It was a real shame she had to leave for the mainland, so it was,’ Brianne cuts in. ‘I miss Heather, she was great craic.’

‘Told filthy jokes too,’ Ailsa says. ‘I’ll see if I can remember any.’

I’m grappling to understand the dynamics of the group. From what I can gather, Dolores is the straight one and her daughter, Delta, doesn’t miss a chance to wind her up. Brianne is the peacemaker, Ailsa, the free spirit, Erin, the capable doctor’s wife. Carmen is the oldest and rebellious with it.

‘Let me get you some coffee,’ Erin says, unfolding her tall, slender frame from her armchair. ‘Sugar?’

‘Please,’ I say, wondering if she disapproves as the doctor’s wife. ‘Just half a spoon.’

‘Sure?’ She pushes her pale red hair behind her ears, grinning. ‘I take two.’