One Night on the Island(85)

‘Shark bite,’ he grins, pulling up a stool at the bar beside Delta. ‘I remember you. Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz, school production, mid nineties.’

She moves the sleeping baby from one arm to the other. ‘I remember you too. Glinda the Good Witch.’

He shrugs his good shoulder. ‘There were no little blonde girls, what can I say.’ He downs a good third of the Guinness I’ve poured him. ‘I heard about old Raff over on the mainland.’

Delta sighs and raises her glass – tonic in a G&T glass – to the photo of Raff tucked into the mirror behind the bar. I doubt a man has ever been more toasted.

‘Funeral’s on Thursday,’ she says.

‘I can pull a decent pint if you need someone behind the bar,’ Barney says, looking at his glass. I feel slightly put out; I know my Guinness-pouring skills aren’t top notch but I’m getting there.

‘With one arm?’ Delta says, doubtful.

Barney slides off his stool and nips behind the bar, reaching down a glass from the overhead rack and flicking the tap with an air of confidence that comes only from experience. We watch in silence until he places the admittedly perfect pint on the bar and then bows with a small flourish of his good arm.

‘Barman of the world,’ he says. ‘Santorini, Sydney, Sweden. You name it, I’ve probably mixed a mojito there.’

‘Anywhere that doesn’t begin with S?’ I laugh because he’s infectious.

‘Salvation?’ he says, crossing his fingers. His pale blue-grey eyes dance with trouble; I think he’ll fit right in behind this bar, if Delta sees fit.

‘Not much call for mojitos round these parts,’ Delta says, testy.

‘You haven’t had a mojito until you’ve had one of mine,’ he says. ‘Where’s your mint?’

‘In a jar in the fridge with all the other condiments.’ She’s putting him through his paces, but I can hear amusement behind her dry tone.

‘I’m Cleo,’ I say.

‘She’s a writer,’ Delta says.

‘Is she now?’ Barney says, looking at me. ‘And what do you write?’

‘Um, magazine articles in London, until this morning. I just jacked in my job.’ His eyes widen, interested. ‘I was supposed to go back home on the boat you came over on, but I’ve decided to stay instead.’

‘To finish her novel,’ Delta adds.

‘Well, that’s a story I need to hear more of,’ Barney says. ‘And who’s this fella?’ He nods towards Delta’s baby.

Her face softens as she looks down. He really is the most angelic child, peaches for cheeks and a shock of his mama’s black hair.

‘He doesn’t have a name yet,’ Delta says. ‘He’s new. Born in Raff’s sitting room through there, three days ago.’

‘And you’re propping the bar up already,’ Barney says. ‘Good on ya, I like your style.’

‘It’s my pub,’ she says, shades of Peggy Mitchell.

Barney contemplates the baby. ‘Quite the quiff he’s got going on there. Call him Elvis?’

Delta breaks into a laugh. ‘How much would Raff love that,’ she says.

‘Almost as much as your mother would hate it,’ I say. Delta’s already told me she’s most likely going to call him Rafferty, it seems only right.

‘Oh,’ I say, digging in my pocket, reluctant. ‘The keys to your lodge.’

‘You’ve been staying there?’

‘For the last couple of months,’ I nod, putting them on the bar. ‘I love it, you’re very lucky.’

He rubs his chin, thinking. ‘Crossed wires? You stayed there with my cousin, right? I heard bits of the story from my sister.’

‘Something like that,’ I say.

‘Do you know Mack well?’ Delta asks. I frown; she knows perfectly well that Barney and Mack are pretty much strangers.

Barney shakes his head, oblivious. ‘Not at all, really.’

‘You’re nothing alike,’ she says. ‘He’s a lot like Han Solo, and you’re more like the wimpy one. Luke Skywalker.’

‘You’re really holding this blond thing against me, aren’t you?’ he says.

She puts the baby on her shoulder. ‘I’m suspicious of newcomers, what can I say?’

‘Ah, but I’m not a newcomer, now, am I?’ he says. ‘Look, I’ll prove my allegiance.’

He drags his T-shirt up the unbroken side of his body to show us a faded tattoo on his chest, a postage stamp with If found, return to Slánú written across it.

Delta looks at it, assessing, and then at him. ‘How are you going to cope over at Otter Lodge on your own with one arm?’ she says.

‘Badly,’ he laughs.

‘You can stay here if you like, seeing as you’re going to be working behind the bar. The flat upstairs is empty.’

I stare at her. ‘I thought I was moving in here?’

The baby grumbles when she shrugs. ‘You were but wouldn’t it be easier for you to stay at the lodge and Barney to stay here?’

I look at Barney, and he looks at me.

‘If it suits you, it suits me,’ he says, easy. ‘I’m more of a middle-of-the-action guy anyway.’