One Night on the Island(57)

‘You’ll do no such thing with my beautiful veil,’ Dolores says. ‘Twelve foot of pure white Donegal lace, I’ll have you know, made by the best craftswomen there at the time. I felt like a princess, sure I did.’

‘Ah, Ma. You looked like a proper film star.’

Delta and her mum might appear to clash but scratch the surface and it’s obvious how much they love each other.

‘I better get going,’ I say. ‘I only came for cake.’

‘Wedding cake?’ Dolores says, hopeful to the last.

‘Just cake cake,’ I shrug. ‘It’s really not that kind of wedding.’

‘Evidently,’ Dolores says. Her smile is watery, as if she’s disappointed in me on behalf of my own mother, who – for the record – thinks this whole thing is one of Ali’s PR stunts and hasn’t really paid it much attention. That’s not her fault; I’ve told her the shout lines, but nothing really of the emotion or sentiment behind it for me. I don’t know if she’d understand how my feelings about turning thirty are wrapped up with my feelings about outliving my dad. We find it difficult to talk about him; she knew him inside out and I didn’t know him at all. We have no fond memories in common to look back on together. To say nothing of the fond ones we’ll never get to make. He’ll never walk me down the aisle and she’ll never get to watch him make his father-of-the-bride speech.

I say my goodbyes and leave the café, pulling my hood up against the rain. I’m going to be soaked by the time I get back over Wailing Hill.

‘You’re wet,’ Mack says, looking up from his laptop as I head back into the lodge.

I laugh and start to shrug off my dripping coat, but he stands up and extends his hands out to stall me.

‘How do you feel about going on an adventure?’

It’s an odd question. ‘Depends. What kind of an adventure?’

‘One that involves cave hunting and swimming?’

It’s the last day of my decade, I may as well see it out in style. I shrug. ‘Why not?’

The cave isn’t all that difficult to find when you know it’s there. The tide has gone out just enough to reveal the entrance and we should have a few hours of safe passage. There’s something soothing about the reliable ebb and flow of the sea, you have no choice but to move with the rhythm of the island. So different to London where there’s a million beats and you can choose which to follow at any given time. I’ve loved my time as a Londoner but stepping away has shone a light on the fact that I’m ready to leave it. More than ready, actually – I need to leave it. I need the sanctuary of quiet, of calm, of clarity. I need water in my glass for a while rather than tequila.

‘Watch your step,’ Mack says, reaching back for my hand. ‘It’s slippery here.’

We pick our way over rocks, slick with seaweed, as we head deeper inside the wide mouth of the cave, away from the daylight. As my eyes adjust to the shadows, I realize there are paintings on the surrounding walls. Nothing ancient – islander doodles, faded children’s splashes with some more sophisticated works interspersed. There’s names painted too, a few I recognize, most I don’t. Someone has painted Slánú, each letter of the island’s name decorated with twines and flowers. I step closer to look at a really beautiful image of a galleon with its sails billowing in the wind. I’m near enough to see it’s signed.

‘Julia painted this,’ I say, tracing the bow of the ship with my fingertip. ‘Ailsa’s wife.’

Mack runs his hand over the colours on the rock face. ‘It looks like it’s moving,’ he says. He’s right, the undulations of the cave wall bring the image to life. I step away as he raises his camera.

‘You wouldn’t think it’d be easy to hide something the size of a swimming pool down here, would you?’ I say. Glancing up ahead, I see the cave splits off in two directions.

‘You try that side, I’ll try this side,’ I say. ‘Shout if you find it first.’

‘Just don’t go too far or take any crazy risks,’ he says.

‘Do I strike you as a crazy risk taker?’

‘You came to a remote island to marry yourself,’ he says with a shrug.

‘Touché. Better than dull though.’

‘A whole lot better,’ he says, then pulls his head torch out of his pocket and puts the band around my head, clicking it on. ‘There. Be careful.’

I roll my eyes. ‘I could see just fine.’

‘And now you can see better,’ he says.

I don’t argue because he’s right. I stand on tiptoe and kiss him instead, gripping the collar of his coat.

‘Cleo, you’re blinding me,’ he says, laughing against my lips.

‘I’ll see you back here in ten if neither of us finds the pool before.’

He looks at his watch. ‘It’s a plan.’

I find the pool first. The path twists narrowly to the right and then opens out to reveal its secret, but something in me stops me from yelling to Mack. Almost every place on Salvation has an element of magic about it, but the ethereal quality in here is off the scale. A narrow shaft of daylight from somewhere overhead dapples the water with stars and I’m struck momentarily silent by the tranquillity of the cavern. It feels unreal. I watch the water, an idea already forming in my head. It’s like an ice-box in here, but I really would love to look back on the last day of my twenties and remember how daring I was.