There’s a handwritten note.
Mallachy,
Here is your jumper, I’m sorry I forgot to give it back to you sooner. Sorry also for leaving like I did. Thank you for keeping me from drowning in the rain and for the tea – it was kind of you and I’m sorry if I seemed rude. It seems to be a habit of mine, although not my intention. If the offer still stands to come and visit your studio again, I would very much like that.
Lorna
Immediately I return the note and the bag to their exact position, a flush of guilt but also excitement rushing through me. Lorna and Mallachy… When I introduced them at the school I couldn’t help but think they might get on. Their shared interest in art, his warmth but also the way we’ve all learned by now that he likes time alone too, just like Lorna seems to with her walks and runs. I don’t suggest going with her like I might with my friends. I can tell she needs that time to herself, and that’s OK. But I can’t rush ahead of myself. It’s none of my business, it was unfair of me even to look at the note. And it might be nothing anyway.
Lorna steps back inside, reaching for the bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me popping out?’
‘No, of course not. Have a nice walk.’
‘It’s your yoga class tonight, isn’t it?’ she says, pausing.
‘It is! Do you still think you’d like to come?’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Great.’
Then with a slight wave, she turns and is gone.
I reach for my phone, checking for any updates from Jean about how her appointment went. But there’s nothing. The worries start to creep in but I do my best to push them back. There’s too much to do, what with preparations for the funeral and the wake and all the chores that always need doing around the farm. I don’t have time to fall apart.
Chapter 17
Lorna
‘So, do you do yoga back in London?’
Alice drives the Land Rover up the track, dressed in loose exercise clothes and a floral headband.
‘Um, not exactly,’ I reply.
I accepted the invitation to join Alice’s class because I was pleased to be included. And then when I saw Sarah again at the shop I figured it might be a good way to try to start building bridges with her. At least it will put us in the same room together. That’s got to be a start. But I hadn’t really thought about the fact that I’ve never been to a yoga class before in my life.
It’s early evening and Jack is still working in the fields. Alice and I left Molly and Ella in the kitchen where they are preparing dinner for when we return. It was a surprise to hear that this is a weekly tradition for Molly, who has been cooking since she was very young. Aside from the occasional cake or tray of flapjacks, Ella rarely helps me out in the kitchen. Not that I’m much of a cook myself. I’m not sure you could call heating up a pre-made pasta sauce cooking. During the weekend I do try to cook from scratch, but always very simple recipes that we’ve had a hundred times before. The food Alice has cooked for us while we’ve been here has put my feeble attempts to shame and made me think that perhaps I really should make more of an effort when we get back to London.
The thought of the city slips into my mind in a sudden flash of sirens, crowds, steaming pavements and our small flat on the Isle of Dogs. But then the Land Rover lurches through a particularly deep pothole in the track and I’m brought back to the island. I look out the window and it catches me how relieved I am to see the sea.
‘Well, I’ll keep it gentle. And just remember, yoga isn’t a competitive sport. It’s OK if you don’t get it straight away, just as long as you give it a go.’
Stepping inside the village hall brings an onslaught of memories. Balloons and birthday cake at children’s birthday parties here when I was young, Irn-Bru drunk from sticky plastic cups. Tea and homemade cakes after every big service at the church – Good Friday, Easter Sunday, the Harvest festival. I remember my family standing with their church friends, always somewhat separate from the other islanders.
I also remember the celebration that was held here at the end of my last year at primary school. I was emotional all day, knowing that I’d not be continuing with Sarah and the others on to the secondary school on the mainland. I won an art prize at the ceremony. In reality, every one of the children at our small school won some sort of prize. But when Sarah was awarded hers, her parents and grandparents still stood up and cheered so loudly Sarah’s face turned the colour of beetroot. But my parents weren’t there. I’m not sure what happened and why they didn’t make it. My father had probably got himself into no fit state to leave the house and my mother would never have come on her own. I remember how disappointed I felt that they hadn’t been there, if not for me then for my brother, who was still small for his age and who shook when he collected his own prize from Mrs Brown, for science.
‘Why don’t you mind that they weren’t there, that they don’t even care that we won?’ I hissed at Jack later that evening, my anger spilling out beyond my control.
He had shrugged then, in that way that always infuriated and depressed me in equal measures. It was a shrug that said he accepted things the way they were and that maybe I should too.
‘Everyone got a prize,’ he said. He was right, of course. But that didn’t explain the sense of having been let down and the sadness that my little brother was growing up, like me, never to expect praise.
Standing in the same village hall again another part of my memory of that day comes rushing back, something I’d forgotten before stepping back inside here. When Jack and I stood up to collect our awards there wasn’t silence like I’d expected there would be, knowing that our parents weren’t there. There was cheering and clapping, coming from every person in the room.
I rub my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to push away the memories that are threatening to overwhelm me. This is not the moment to get upset. I focus instead on the room as it is now. There is a soft scent of eucalyptus in the warm air that rises just above the still familiar ‘village hall’ smell of old tea and musty carpet. Purple mats are arranged in lines facing a black mat at the front, towards which Alice is now heading. The room is already mostly full.
