One Night on the Island(76)

‘A man like that’s going to take some getting over,’ Ailsa says, and they all nod in grim agreement.

‘Could I write that line down for a future book?’ Carmen asks after a beat, and I half laugh because I know that’s exactly why Carmen said it.

‘Thank you for the note. I’m glad I came,’ I say when I feel calmer.

Dolores adds a nip of whiskey to my coffee as Delta squeezes my knee. ‘We were coming to you if you didn’t. I’d already asked Cam to barrow me over the hill. He was on for it.’

I don’t for a minute think she’s joking – I can easily imagine Brianne’s huge husband pushing Delta over Wailing Hill in a wheelbarrow. I shudder out a deep sigh, relieved that these women have folded me into their flock like a lost lamb. I’ve many friends in London but there’s an unavoidable transiency, people come and go. Here, people grow and stay. I’ve spent more time with Delta than with most of my colleagues, and I’ve worked at the magazine for almost four years now. And so it was with Mack too. We jumped straight into each other, feet first.

I feel my shoulders slowly slide down from my ears as conversation ebbs around me against the click of knitting needles and the clatter of plates, the sound of the radio low in the background. An orchestra of comfort. The women’s accents rise and fall, musical as they pass me a slice of cake or a ball of wool, a reassuring hand on my shoulder as someone gets up. They instinctively pitch it at just the right level of compassion and comfort, letting me settle down after my initial outpouring.

‘I feel like such a bloody weakling,’ I say when Delta arches back to stretch her shoulders and asks if I’m okay now.

‘Today maybe,’ she says. ‘It’ll make you stronger in the long run, mind.’

‘You think?’ I look at the half-made scarf on my needles.

She nods. ‘For sure.’

Dolores glances up at me. ‘Not too strong, though,’ she warns. ‘Don’t go building your wall so high you can’t climb over it.’

It would probably displease Dolores a great deal to know how much I like her. It’s good advice. Right now, I’d build those walls good and tall from Salvation rock, double thickness for good measure.

‘It takes a tough woman to weather something like this,’ Carmen says.

‘She’s tough enough,’ Erin says. No hesitation.

‘Can I just stay here for ever?’ I sigh.

‘Not at Otter Lodge, I’m afraid.’ Brianne bites her lip, her eyes full of apology. ‘I heard from Barney this morning. He’s coming back to stay in the lodge in a few weeks, told me to hold off any more bookings for a while.’

‘Oh,’ I say, crestfallen. It’s such unwelcome news. I know I have to leave the island sometime, of course, but this feels like yet another ticking clock, as if the decision has been taken out of my hands. Otter Lodge has become my sanctuary. I don’t like to think of anyone else sitting out on the porch, watching the beach or greeting the dolphins in the morning. My temporarily buoyed spirits nosedive, and I find myself ready to head back over the hill. The women fuss, holding out my warmed jacket for me to shrug my arms into, loading my bag with tin-foiled parcels of cake and what’s left in the whiskey bottle. Delta follows me to the door and adds another parcel wrapped in brown paper.

‘Open it later,’ she says, hugging me over her ridiculously huge baby bump.

‘Go back inside,’ I say. ‘You’ll make the baby cold.’

She laughs. ‘A bad mother already. This poor one has no chance.’

I leave her there and head off, thinking how wrong Delta was just now. That baby is one of the luckiest kids on the planet to be born on Salvation amongst these people.

Dusk gathers as I make my way back up Wailing Hill. I’m wearing Mack’s deeply unflattering but hugely practical head torch – he left it in my coat pocket and made me promise to use it. I’m glad of it this evening but also glad no one can see me.

It’s almost dark when I reach the summit of the hill and I drop my bum down on the familiar slope of the boulder. I know exactly how to position myself on it now, there’s a particular spot that’s been moulded into a gentle curve by countless backsides across the years. I’d like to think mine has added a little to the groove too.

I click the head torch off to better appreciate the view. I left the porch light on for myself at Otter Lodge, I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to a cold, dark place. For a moment, I imagine Mack is in there now building a fire, and it’s so sweet I could set myself off again. But he isn’t. Solitude awaits me, and actually, after an afternoon of such bolstering company, I find I don’t mind the thought of some time alone.

A noise in my pocket startles me – my phone connecting to the network. I switched it back on after Mack left, just in case. A message from my mum; she has a coffee cake cooling on the side and wishes I was there to eat it. She wants to get a visit arranged as soon as I’m back in England. I haven’t told her much about what’s been happening here, but she’s my mum. I know she reads my work and finds all the invisible words between the lines, that she’s deciphered secret SOS messages I didn’t even know I’d sent. Another message, this time from Ali, to let me know she’s approved my request to take the chunk of annual leave I’m owed and tag it on to my time here. I sag with relief. It’s a tiny window of breathing space, more Salvation days before the sand runs through the timer.