He doesn’t reply. He tucks the photo inside the pages of a book beside him. I glance at the title; it’sFinn Family Moomintroll, the book he used to read to Molly as a younger child. Then he pushes it back into the shelves behind the sofa and the volume disappears among the disordered jumble of all our other books.
Chapter 7
Lorna
I’m alone in the ferry café. I can see Ella through the window, chatting to Brenda on the decking and playing with Puff the puppy. She pauses every now and then to take photographs. The young couple who were in the waiting room with us earlier stand at the front of the boat, arms around one another. The wind lifts the woman’s blonde hair and throws it back in a tangled mane. She tilts her head back and laughs.
Ella wanted to spend the journey outside so she could watch the island approaching. I told her I needed a coffee and would prefer to sit inside. My Americano sits untouched in front of me.
I still feel bad for how I reacted when I heard Ella speaking to the woman who introduced herself as Brenda. As soon as she said she was from the island something inside me just froze. Did she know my parents? Does she know my brother? Does she know aboutmeand if she does, what does she believe? My parents always had their version of what happened in our family, and it was never the same as mine. I saw a flicker of a pause when Brenda heard my name and I’m sure it’s because it was familiar.
If I close my eyes I can picture the mainland retreating behind us, the horizon humped with mountains. I imagine the dark ridgeline of the island in the distance. When I open my eyes, I focus on the mug held between my hands. Carefully, I examine the packets of sauces on the table. Ketchup. Mayonnaise. Brown sauce. There are twenty-four paper napkins stuffed into a holder beside them. I know because I counted. And then there’s the emergency procedure sign to read on the wall, familiarising myself with the location of the lifejackets. But however hard I try to distract myself, I can’t stop thinking about the island.
I’ve tried hard to forget the day I left. But I can still remember it as clearly as if I’m watching it on a film. I packed late at night, fitting as much as I could into my parents’ suitcase, the suitcase I’d taken from the under-stairs cupboard. We rarely used that cupboard, mostly it was filled with boxes of Christmas decorations. But I was still terrified that my parents would notice the case was missing.
That night I stuffed the filled case under my bed and stared up at the ceiling. After a fitful sleep I got up before Jack and my parents were awake and dragged the suitcase out of the house and down the lane and along the road to Sarah’s, just like we’d planned. She met me there, still in her pyjamas, and took my suitcase inside. Then I ran all the way home again arriving just as the sun was rising, my pyjama bottoms damp from the wet grass. I still can’t quite believe I managed to make it back without anyone noticing I’d gone. I don’t know what would have happened if they had.
That morning, I had breakfast with my family in silence. My hands were shaking but I hid them under the table. I kept glancing at the clock, at Jack, at my parents.
‘Is it OK if I go to Sarah’s for a bit?’
I tried to sound casual. But this was the moment when my whole plan could have fallen apart. Because they might very easily have said no. They often did. ‘You spend too much time with that girl,’ my father always used to say. He liked knowing where I was, how long I’d be gone if I did leave the house and who I’d be spending time with. But for once he didn’t object.
‘Fine,’ said my father, ‘but be back for lunch.’
My stomach danced with relief and nerves. I washed my breakfast things quickly in the sink.I’m really doing it, I remember thinking.I’m really going to leave.
Jack was still finishing his breakfast when I left.
‘I’ll see you later.’
I held his eye for just a second longer than I’d meant to. I couldn’t help it. I’ve always wondered whether that’s what made him realise something was wrong. Whether that’s why he came to the jetty after I’d collected my suitcase from Sarah’s house and we’d walked together to the harbour, sticking to the forest and the path away from the main road so no one would see us. But my brother arrived too late to stop me. Sarah and I had already said a tearful goodbye and I had boarded the boat. The ferry was just pulling away when I spotted Jack running down the jetty, joining Sarah who was waving with one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. He didn’t say anything. Instead he stood next to Sarah and opened his mouth in a wordless cry. I remember staring at him, our eyes meeting. I couldn’t look away. I watched him until the boat was far out to sea and I couldn’t see him anymore. Until I couldn’t see the jetty, or the shapes of the buildings on the island.
The ferry hasn’t slowed yet but I can feel it in my stomach. We’re nearly there. I leave my undrunk coffee on the table and step outside.
The cool air rushes against my face, filling my ears with the sound of the waves and my mouth with the taste of salt and engine smoke. I walk around the side of the ferry until I’m standing at the front, facing out to sea.
And there it is. The Isle of Kip, rising out from the grey-green water. Or most of it at least. A mist has descended and obscures the top half of the island. As the ferry draws nearer, rocks along the shore emerge out of the haze, making me think of the shipwrecks I read about as a child. I can only make out a vague shape of the island behind. The view is unsettling. It feels as though, having been away from it so long, the island is choosing to hide its face from me. The shadow of the mountain suddenly pierces through the mist. Its familiar shape stirs something deep inside. I realise I’m holding tightly onto the railing, gripping so hard that my knuckles are white. Now I’m actually outside I can’t take my eyes away from the view in front of me. Gulls and cormorants fly ahead of the boat as though guiding it in towards the shore. There is a brightening and a sudden parting in the mist like curtains drawing open. And then the harbour becomes visible, the long stone jetty edging out into the sea and protecting the secluded bay where several sailing boats rise and fall on the rippling water. Behind it are the cluster of buildings that make up the village. As we draw closer I can make out the shape of the old pub, The Lookout, the school and the village hall, all built from the same familiar dark-grey stone. To the right of the harbour is a long beach dotted with dark patches of seaweed and rocks.
There is movement in the water ahead by the harbour. The sleek head of a seal breaks the surface, so very dog-like as it pokes its nose out of the water before diving below again.
‘There you are, Mum!’
Ella is at my side, her cheeks pink and her hair even curlier from the sea wind. Her face is bright with a wide smile. She links her arm through mine.
‘Look, Mum, a seal!’ she cries, spotting the silken shape in the water. I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm; seals were such a regular sighting in my childhood that they grew dully familiar, but now I try to look again through Ella’s eyes, noting the whiskers and the bright, inquisitive eyes.
‘If you’re lucky you might see dolphins on this trip too,’ I tell her and she lets out an eager squeak.
We stay side by side as the ferry edges nearer and the island grows larger in front of us.
By now the jetty is close. There are cars lined up, some waiting to board the ferry, others waiting to greet passengers. Is my brother’s car down there? Will he even be here to meet us or has he stayed at home? I know that Ella passed on the details of our ferry to Molly, but that doesn’t mean that he will definitely be here. I feel moisture on my cheeks and brush my face quickly. I don’t want Ella to notice that tears have escaped my eyes without my permission. If Jack is here, what shall I say when I see him? I wish suddenly that I had more time. Time to figure out what I’m going to say to him. But also to prepare myself for how I will feel. I haven’t seen my brother in twenty-two years. And yet I still don’t feel ready.
Water churns below us as the ferry pulls up to the jetty. A crowd has gathered among the cars. We aren’t close enough yet for me to make out faces but I can tell immediately that they are islanders. Their clothes give them away. The sun may be breaking through the clouds, but the islanders are wearing wellies in an array of shades from forest green to yellow, all faded and splattered with mud.
Directly below, a man in a navy jumper embroidered with the ferry logo catches a rope thrown down from the boat. He ties it quickly. A shaggy Old English sheepdog leaps at his feet, barking at the boat.
I hear a tiny whimper and turn. Brenda is standing beside Ella, Puff the puppy held tightly in her arms.
