Caitlin’s face fills my screen, her dark bob tucked behind her ears, a glass of what looks like gin and tonic beside her on the bedside table. Like me, she’s propped up in bed, pillows arranged around her. At the sound of her voice I feel as though the air has been knocked out of me. All my worries rise to the surface again, ready to overspill if I let them.
The screen flickers and Shona’s face appears too, slightly blurry. She’s holding a very large glass of red wine.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says. ‘I just managed to get the boys to finally stop arguing and to watch a film together. I may have bribed them with large amounts of Haribo. Dr Morton, from your professional viewpoint, am I a terrible mother?’
Ever since my eldest sister graduated after all those long years of study, my family have rarely called her by her first name. To us, she’s Dr Morton. It sometimes results in confusion from people who don’t know us that well. They mistake the title for formality, when really it’s an endearment only used by those closest to her. In reality we could call Shona Dr too, as a few years ago she finished her PhD. She’s too modest to use her title though. I don’t think that I’d be the same if things were reversed. I think I’d wear a badge with the word ‘doctor’ in huge letters. I’d never take it off.
‘Well, I’d be something of a hypocrite if I did,’ replies Caitlin. ‘Although you should know by now that doctors are the absolute worst at following medical advice. You remember how longit took Doug to go and get that rash properly checked out …’
Caitlin’s husband Doug is a doctor too and they work together at the same practice. Although it’s always been a point of pride for me that it was my sister who climbed the rungs to become partner of the surgery.
‘Oh yes, and how are your husband’s genitals now, Doc? I hope you’re not having to apply that ointment every hour anymore?’
‘Itoldyou the rash was on his stomach, his stomach!’
‘Yes, and I didn’t believe you. Would you really wait that long to get it checked out if it wasn’t something awfully embarrassing? I think not.’
‘That’s because you are incredibly rational, Shona. You know that a fear of doctors in someone who actuallyisa doctor isn’t entirely rational. Although perhaps it comes from living with me? God, I hope not …’
I sip my wine, smiling as my sisters volley back and forth. This is how it always is. When we all lived together mealtimes would be dominated by those two having a long conversation, their stream of words barely unbroken. Sometimes they’d argue and the words would grow snappy and loud; at others they’d discuss in great detail something that had happened at school or that they’d seen on the news. Back then I wished that I could join in too but usually couldn’t find the words. Over time it became so normal to sit in silence watching them that it’s something of a comfort to listen to them now. It makes me feel nostalgic. And it’s a distraction, pulling my mind back from the thoughts I don’t want to dwell on.
‘But anyway,’ Caitlin says, her eyes looking directly into her webcam, making it appear as though she is looking me dead in the eye, ‘I was just asking Squirt how she was doing.’
So, no escaping that question after all then. Shona nods, taking a glug of her wine.
‘Yes, how are things over there on fish island? Are you holding up OK?’
When I first told Shona that I was moving to the Isle of Kip she misheard me. She thought I said ‘kipper’. Although my parents were supportive of the move my sisters were a little perplexed at first. Not about me choosing not to go to university; in fact they both confessed that they thought it was probably for the best, that perhaps my talents lay outside of academia. But they didn’t know why I wanted to move somewhere so small and remote.
‘Won’t you miss going to the cinema and out to restaurants?’ Caitlin had asked me.
‘And won’t it be a little, I don’t know,conservativeout there?’ was Shona’s misgiving.
I’d told her about the island’s environmental credentials, how they were striving to be as eco-friendly as possible. Over the years it’s been wonderful to watch those aims come true. Thanks to wind turbines and solar panels we’re now pretty much energy self-sufficient. And for such a small place we’re a more diverse bunch than people might think. Kerstin is originally from Germany and teaches German and French lessons at the school, being fluent in both. Joy’s parents are Ghanaian and have since retired back there; Tess and Joy try to get there once a year to visit. Pat does a special order for Joy at the shop so she can cook her favourite foods that her mother taught her how to make and which she used to be able to get readily when she lived in Birmingham, where she and Tess met. Morag has started buying the same products and with Joy’s help now lives mostly off ricejollof,waakyeand rich stews. ‘Why did I waste most of my life eating all that bland crap?’ she said once. ‘I don’t think I ever want to eat a bloody potato again, unless it’s one of those sweet ones.’
Then there’s Kamil, Natalia and their baby Lena who moved here a few months ago. I’ve been trying to persuade Natalia to come to my classes, although so far she still seems a little shy. I’m determined to work on her though. And Brenda may have long ago lost her accent, but she grew up in Canada and every now and then you can hear her singing ‘O Canada’ on her walks around the island, usually in autumn when she says even now she misses the trees and the maple syrup waffles her mother made when she was a girl.
My sisters have visited many times now and have become friendly with my group of friends, all of us congregating in The Lookout for a good catch up and wine session whenever they’re here. But I know they would never choose to live somewhere like this themselves. I think even after all this time neither of them totally understands my decision to live here, or perhaps even my life as a whole. Despite my encouragement over the years, neither of them has ever done yoga: Caitlin prefers climbing mountains and Shona has an expensive gym membership that I’m not totally sure she uses. And they are both so rigidly practical that I know they don’t really get the more spiritual side of the practice. I think they would probably laugh their way through one of my classes.
‘We’re doing OK,’ I say, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Jack is struggling of course but thank goodness he’s got the farm and his vegetables to distract him. I think we’re going to have a bumper crop with how hard he’s working.’
I think about all the other things I’m not telling my sisters. The distance between Jack and me and how difficult I find it every time he withdraws from me. How hard I’m trying to hold things together in the house, to encourage Lorna and Jack to talk and reconnect. I know no one’s asked me to play the role of go-between, that I’ve put it on myself, but it’s still exhausting. Especially as somehow, I find I care too much to stop. I think about Jean too, and all my worries for my friend. And there in the back of my mind is a fear for the whole island that I’ve come to love, and what the future holds for us. Will we still even be here in ten years or so time? But I can’t bring myself to say all this to my sisters. They have their own problems and their own lives. And there’s something about the screen between us that makes me hold back. Perhaps if I was with them in person … But it’s too hard like this.
‘I guess that’s understandable. I know Doug worked more hours than ever after his father died. Sorry again that I can’t get over for the funeral, sis,’ says Caitlin.
‘Yes, me too,’ adds Shona. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’
Neither of them could get the time off work. I don’t mind though. They know that I was never close to Jack’s parents and I told them that it wasn’t worth making the journey. If I had really needed them I know they would have been there, regardless of work. When Molly was two I fell pregnant again. I was so excited. But I miscarried at four and a half months. I was too upset to speak to anyone or even to leave the bed, but Jack phoned my sisters. They were both there on the island two days later. They stayed for two weeks.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say now, swallowing tears not at the thought of the funeral, but at the memory of that time. They didn’t try to cheer me up, instead they were just there, helping out around the house and taking me out for walks if I felt up to it. Nothing could take away the sadness, but having them there helped.
My mind is still in the past when Caitlin asks me, ‘So, what’s she like?’
‘Who?’
‘Jack’s sister!’
‘Oh …’ I strain my ears, listening out for the sound of the shower. Lorna is just back from a run. As predicted she did get soaked but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed in a very good mood. Hearing the sound of the water and the hot water tank humming I continue. ‘You know, she’s nice. We’ve been getting on well. She’s clearly been through a lot and she and Jack are barely talking. But she and I … I don’t know, I guess we’re becoming friends. I like her.’
