At five to four Jules pulled the boneshaker of a jeep into the little car park at the front of Island Pottery. Her shoulder ached from yanking at the gearstick, and she massaged the side of her neck after pulling up the hand brake. It was only a couple of months since she’d driven, but she felt completely traumatised by the car, the country roads and the feeling that she didn’t trust herself.
Before Carrie had headed off to her appointment they’d spent most of the day sitting in the garden talking abouteverything except Gavin. Actually, Carrie had talked and she had listened, the calm and steady tone of her friend’s voice and the warmth of the sun actually helping her to doze at one point.
‘Jules,’ Carrie had said, lightly touching her hand and bringing her back to the real world from a distressing dream where she crashed the jeep into a ditch. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m really sorry. Rita’s left the car at the front of the cottage. Keys are on the kitchen table. Will you be all right?’
‘Mmm,’ she replied with not much conviction.
‘It’s a bit of a tank, that vehicle. Don’t be afraid to use brute force.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Just after three. You’ve got nearly an hour. The Pottery’s less than ten minutes down the road. Just keep going. You can’t miss it.’
But she almost had missed it. She’d nearly gone shooting past because she was thinking about Gavin. It was as if the beauty of the island emphasised her feelings of hopelessness. Another car pulled up next to her and a woman with a flowing scarf, flowing skirt and flowing hair got out.
‘What a glorious day,’ she said, smiling at Jules through the open window. ‘And I absolutely love this place. It has such a wonderful energy. Are you waiting here or walking through?’
She tilted her head towards the brick archway in the corner of the car park.
‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ Jules replied. ‘I’ve not been here before. In fact, I’ve only just arrived on the island.’
The woman looked as if she knew that already and Jules felt something curl up inside her. She obviously looked like a newcomer, as if she didn’t fit in. She’d felt like that at school with all of those cool girls making fun of her for her braces and plaits and homemade clothes.
‘You’re in for a treat. This island is the best place in the world. You can take the Caribbean or the Mediterranean any day. This beats them all, as far as I’m concerned.’
The woman smiled and gestured to Jules.
‘Shall we? Are you on pick-up duty or going to the tearoom?’
Jules felt trapped. She turned to lock the car, even though the other woman didn’t bother to do the same, and reluctantly fell into step beside her.
‘I’m collecting for a friend.’
They walked through to an area bordered on three sides with low buildings; converted stables or cow sheds, Jules guessed. The windows were all flung open and inside the far building Jules could see young heads bobbing about.
‘I bet they’re running late. Lance has no concept of time. Just gets carried away with what he’s doing.’
She wandered over and stuck her head through a window and following a brief chat with a man with curly brown hair and an intense, worried looking face, she returned.
‘They’ll be a while yet. Time for a cup of tea,’ she said to Jules. ‘My treat. What do you fancy?’
She had an overwhelming desire to run away. This wasn’t meant to happen. She was meant to come, collect Tasha and go, drop her at home and retreat to the safety of the cottage.
‘Oh, I’m not sure… perhaps I’ll wait in the car.’
‘It’s a bit hot for that, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’
‘We can get a table in the shade over there under the sweet chestnut. Such an interesting tree. It’s often mentioned in folk tales concerned with sustenance and survival.’
She twirled around and held out her arms, her hair rippling, her hands presented as if in the process of accepting something.
‘The creative vibes here are just amazing,’ she said, coming to a stop and smiling beatifically. ‘You don’t have to sit with meif you’d rather be on your own, I won’t be offended, but please let me buy you a welcome drink. They do great smoothies here if you’re not a fan of tea.’
Jules didn’t mean to frown, to give an impression of unfriendliness, and she didn’t want to give away the fact that she’d normally run a mile from someone who reminded her so much of her mother.
‘I’m sorry if I appear rude. I’m not great at conversation at the moment.’
