‘Oh definitely,’ I reply, peeling the helmet off my head, my hair springing free in a damp frizzy mass around my face.
She lets out a laugh and I just want to catch that laugh, hold it tight to my chest and never let go.
‘I’m not going to lie, you were pretty wobbly. I kept thinking you were going to fall off. When was the last time you rode a bike?’
‘With you.’
Sarah’s eyebrows rise and she opens her mouth then closes it again.
‘Oh.’
I want to tell her that those moments cycling with her were some of the happiest of my childhood, that I think about them all the time. But despite her smile, I think perhaps we’re not there yet.
My eyes suddenly fall on the community noticeboard just behind Sarah. Among outdated posters for an Easter service at the church and an evening with a visiting musician that took place in May, there are signs advertising a choir, a new egg delivery service run by Alice and Molly, and a poster promoting the weekly yoga class Alice runs at the village hall. The class takes place tomorrow night.
‘Do you want to come to yoga with me tomorrow?’ I blurt suddenly.
I watch as her expression shifts, as though she is choosing which emotion to wear.
‘Um, well I do usually go …’
‘Great!’ I reply quickly. ‘See you there then?’
Sarah pauses, shifting the weight of the box in her arms. Then she nods.
‘See you there.’
As she walks away towards her car I step into the village shop with a bounce in my step. The shop is so crowded I have to dodge two dogs and a small child. Outside, the ferry is drawing closer to the jetty. Ferry time means post, deliveries to the shop and generally an opportunity for the whole island to catch up. It certainly feels like most of the island is here as I navigate my way between the shelves, densely stocked with everything from tins and dried pasta to toilet roll and cleaning products. A couple dressed in near-matching yellow raincoats examine the biscuit selection intently; I recognise them as the couple who shared the ferry with us from the mainland. Stepping over an empty crate on the floor I spot Jean Brown by the fruit and veg, dressed today in smart trousers and a shirt, an overnight bag at her feet. She talks quietly with Kerstin. They look deep in conversation. Should I go over? I don’t want to seem rude if they look up and notice I’ve been in here a while. I eventually head over towards them.
‘Good to see you both. Going somewhere nice I hope, Jean?’ I nod at the overnight bag.
She looks flustered, glancing from Kerstin to me and then back to Kerstin, who raises an eyebrow. Jean smooths her hair.
‘Just to visit my sister,’ she says quickly, her forehead suddenly pink. ‘And I think that must be the ferry here now, I’d better go.’
Kerstin pulls her towards her and hugs her tightly. When the two women part they both blink quickly, before Jean heads to the shop door where a man whom I recognise immediately as her husband (although with less hair and more wrinkles than I remember) greets her, taking her bag from her and wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders. They are just about to leave when a small voice belonging to a child who is trailing around after a parent in the shop cries, ‘Mrs Brown!’
The child runs up to Jean and hugs her around the waist. I smile, remembering how well-loved Jean was as a teacher when I was young too. But then the child lets go and Jean is bustling out of the door with her husband. What were Jean and Kerstin talking about before I arrived? And why did they seem so upset and flustered just now?
‘Right, I’d better get all this back,’ Kerstin says before I have the chance to say anything else, lifting the full bags of shopping at her sides. ‘Do pop round for tea at some point.’
I smile, remembering Brenda’s invitation too. And then she’s heading for the door, greeting a few people briefly as she passes.
I reach for a basket and begin the search for the things Alice has asked me to pick up. It feels strange to be in this shop that was once so familiar. Now, I have to search carefully for every item rather than simply heading to the same shelf as usual without even thinking. Is there anything more disorientating than doing a food shop not in your local supermarket? This island shop may be a fraction of the size of the Tesco I visit back home, but I still feel lost.
As I pause by the cans, I suddenly hear my name.
‘Did you hear that Lorna Irvine is back on the island?’
I freeze, my arm reaching out for the shelf.
‘I know, I couldn’t believe she had the gall to come back!’
The voices sound as though they are coming from just on the other side of the aisle. Am I even breathing? I’m not sure I am.
‘Her poor parents. After everything they did for her. Do you know her mother had to home-school her to keep her out of trouble? The mainland school wouldn’t take her because they’d heard she was too much to handle.’
As I listen to them, wincing at their version of things, I suddenly spot the shopkeeper behind the counter. Mrs Campbell, that was her name. She isn’t moving and I can tell she is listening to the conversation too. Then she looks up and meets my eye. She has aged, but I still recognise her.
