‘Not sure. Not that much older than us, I think. They’re not from the island either so they haven’t got the usual support network, although everyone here tries to help out when and where they can, as you may have gathered.’
‘It’s a proper little utopia,’ Jules said.
‘Don’t knock it.’
Carrie’s tone was definitely defensive.
‘I’m not. It just seems a bit too good to be true. Not everyone can be lovely. There must be simmering jealousies and resentments beneath the surface.’
Carrie was quiet for a moment.
‘Of course there are. And sadnesses, too. But if you have a strong community where the whole is treasured and seen as not just a benefit to the individual, but an enrichment for everyone who wants to be part of it, you try hard to overcome those.’
‘Doesn’t it get a bit claustrophobic?’ Jules asked. ‘Doesn’t it just add extra responsibility to lives that are already busy, maybe even stretched to their limits?’
‘It depends how you approach it. You can give as much or as little as you like. No one is going to challenge you. Some people like to be involved and others don’t. But that doesn’t mean that the ones who don’t won’t be welcomed with open arms if at some time they need the support of a wider network.’
Jules screwed up her face.
‘I’m not sure that it’s workable long term. Someone or something is bound to throw a spanner in the works.’
Carrie got up and gathered the plates.
‘You have to be here to experience it, the benefits, the sense of acceptance.’ She shot Jules a knowing glance. ‘You have to give it time.’
Jules turned and looked out of the window as Carrie walked through to the kitchen. Had she really been that obvious? Could Carrie sense that she wasn’t planning on staying that long?
She popped her head around the doorframe.
‘Why don’t you book in for a session at The Pottery? It might be good for you.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘I’ll come with you. I’ve never worked with clay. It looks like fun.’
Jules leant back and closed her eyes. She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep Carrie would let it drop. Quietly Carrie got up and went inside. Surreptitiously, Jules opened one eye. Crisis averted. For the next few days, at least, she could go back to concentrating on being a hermit.
SEVEN
Jules was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine when a man in a blue shirt walked past the window.
‘Hello,’ he said, leaning over the half-open stable door to the kitchen. ‘You must be Jules. I’m Guy. How are you doing?’
Jules scraped her chair back and wished she didn’t look so unkempt for her first meeting with Carrie’s boyfriend.
‘Um, I’m okay, thanks, not too bad. Please come in.’
He opened the lower part of the door and allowed a brown Labrador to precede him into the cottage.
‘Sorry,’ he said as the dog came over and sniffed the side of her knee. ‘I should have checked. Are you okay with dogs?’
‘Fine,’ Jules replied, stretching her arm to fondle a soft doggy ear.
‘That rude mutt is Wilbur.’ Guy chuckled. ‘Come here, Wilbur. Where are your manners?’
Wilbur plonked himself down by the range, made a disgruntled huffing sound and put his head on his paws.
‘Thank you for letting me stay here,’ Jules said, standing awkwardly and wondering what to do with her arms now the dog had left her side.
