Page 80 of One Night on the Island

I put my arm around Brianne’s shoulders and squeeze her tight. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

Brianne shakes her head. ‘Dolores is in bits. Delta too.’

My heart hurts for them. Dolores and her brother were chalk and cheese but still each other’s biggest fans, and Delta adored him like a father. Raff was too big a personality for such a small community to lose, it’s going to devastate them.

Brianne pulls a folded blue note from her pocket. ‘She asked me to give you this if I caught you.’

I dab my eyes dry and smooth the paper open on my knee.

Cleo, can you stay a while longer? I know the answer is probably no, but if you can, I could really use a friend. Delta x

Sometimes in life you’re asked to go out on a limb and do something, even when you know it will have repercussions on other areas of your life. You step up or you don’t. I know Delta would understand if Brianne went back without me, but I think of the patchwork blanket and everything it represents. Friendship. Sisterhood. Love. The boat sails without me today.

I’d say every living soul on the island is packed into the Salvation Arms tonight. I’ve been behind the bar most of the afternoon with Delta on a stool close by. She cried buckets when I walked into the pub earlier, and poor Dolores looks glassy-eyed, a radio that’s lost signal. People have turned up with plates of sandwiches and all kinds of other stuff; we’ve set it out on a hastily erected trestle table over on the far side of the room. Carmen made her way from her house at the far end of the village with a huge Guinness cake balanced on top of the bars of her walking frame, and it really touched me when she quietly took off her gunmetal-grey shawl and wrapped it around Dolores’s shoulders. The warmest wool on the island had never been more needed.

‘No one’s money is any good in here today,’ I say, when someone tries to pay me for their drinks. It was the only instruction I was given when I stepped behind the bar. Dolores issued strict orders to unlock the doors for the islanders and to not let anyone pay a cent.

‘You okay?’ I say, heading around the other side of the bar with a cup of tea for Delta just after nine. She’s held up heroically all afternoon but she must be dead on her feet. ‘You look knackered.’ It’s noisy in the bar, so many people eager to share their stories and anecdotes about Raff. I’ve heard outrageous tales, all true no doubt. He was a man who burst at the seams with life. There’s music too. A couple of Raff’s oldest friends have set up in one corner with an accordion and tin whistle, joined at some point by Ailsa on guitar and Erin’s tall husband, Luke, island doctor and dubious fiddle player. If you were to look through the steamed-up pub window you could easily mistake it for a New Year’s Eve celebration, entirely fitting for a man who danced through life like a party streamer. Such joy, people have said to me. Such a rogue, others have said. And then there are those who’ve told me quieter stories about a man who turned up with school shoes for their kids when money was tight, and who sent Sunday lunch to people who were alone or under the weather. It feels very much as if Salvation has lost its father tonight.

‘He’s been toasted to the rafters,’ Delta says, even as someone behind her raises their glass. ‘I’d kill you for a whiskey.’ She reaches out and grips my arm to steady herself as she slithers awkwardly off the stool. ‘Need to pee again.’

I smile as I hang on to her, and then I pause, disconcerted because my foot is suddenly warm. When I look down, I see why, and when I look back up again slowly, Delta grips my hands hard enough to cut the blood supply.

‘Ah, shite,’ she says quietly. ‘My waters just broke.’

‘Raff would have pissed himself laughing at this, wouldn’t he?’ Delta says, cradling her newborn son in her arms a few hours later. We’re in Raff’s cosy sitting room behind the pub, where she’s propped up on the big green sofa Raff sometimes used to catch forty winks on between the afternoon and evening shift. Everything kind of shifted a gear out in the bar once word went round that Delta’s waters had broken. Dr Luke calmly laid down his fiddle, to everyone’s relief, and guided his patient out of the busy bar, accompanied by Erin to give him a hand and Dolores for moral support. In London, it would have been a mad panic of hospital bags and running red lights. Here on Salvation, it’s ‘Hold my pint, I’ll be back through shortly to wet the baby’s head.’

‘No swearing in front of my grandson, now,’ Dolores says. She sparked to life the moment she realized her daughter needed her. I wouldn’t put it past Raff to have looked down at his sister in trouble and given his niece a bit of a nudge.

Dolores studies the tiny boy in her daughter’s arms, and then places her hand tenderly on Delta’s cheek. Delta meets her mother’s eyes and nods, silent, bittersweet acknowledgement that their family has experienced profound loss and bottomless joy today. I feel a sudden jolt of longing for my own mum. It’s been too long since I last saw her, last shared a cup of tea and basked in her calming company. Dolores twists to glance behind her for a second, searching, and then she reaches across the back of the sofa for Carmen’s grey shawl. She discarded it earlier in the heat of the moment, sweat on her brow, and now she carefully lifts her infant grandson and wraps him up.

‘There you go.’ She perches beside Delta, her eyes on Salvation’s brand-new resident. ‘The warmest wool on the island.’

I smile and look away, caught between a laugh and choking back tears. Brianne passes Delta tea and toast, and Erin sits beside me, bum resting against the table, whiskey in her hand.

‘Your husband was amazing,’ I say to Erin, full of admiration. Duty done, Dr Luke has headed upstairs to the bathroom because, in truth, he looks a bit like James Herriot after a rough day in a draughty barn on the Dales.

‘He is that,’ Erin nods, proud. ‘Feckin’ terrible at the fiddle though.’

And just like that, everyone in the room starts to laugh. I bloody love this island.

It’s past three in the morning when I finally head up Wailing Hill. Otter Lodge is empty for another week yet. I didn’t put up a fight when Brianne said to hang on to it for now and Cam brought my bags back from the dock. It’s all in darkness down there when I reach the boulder, the outline of the building picked out only by moonlight. It’s not expecting me back. I wonder if it will be pleased to see me or if the old stone walls will sigh with resignation at the sight of me trudging up the front steps. Not you again, drama queen. We were hoping for a birdwatcher or a professor.

Reaching for my phone, I tap open a new message to Mack, heavy-hearted to be the bearer of such unexpected news.

One – It’s been a hell of a day for Salvation, Mack, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished you were still here. I was supposed to go home today, but stuff happened and I didn’t.

Two – I’ve some sad news to tell you. Raff died. He went to sleep and just didn’t wake up. Dolores found him in bed wearing a ‘Frankie Says Relax’ T-shirt, which is just so bizarrely appropriate for him, isn’t it? I honestly don’t know how Salvation is going to cope without him.

Three – Some brighter news – Delta had her baby a couple of hours ago, a boy. I expect the stress of the day had something to do with it, she went into labour in the pub – as only she would! It’s certainly been an unforgettable twenty-four hours. I’m so tired, Mack. I’m looking at Otter Lodge now from the boulder on top of the hill, and … well, you know how it looks. Like home. X

I press send, shuttling life and death news across the ocean. It’s about half past ten at night in Boston, there’s a good chance he’ll be awake and see it come in. The wind here is bitterly cold tonight, my cheeks are freezing, but still I sit a while and stargaze, mapping out the few constellations I can identify. Ursa Major. The Plough. Jupiter, as always. I’ll head up to the café in the morning and contact Ali, I decide. I’m expected in the office on Monday morning and I’m obviously not going to be there. I’ve no clue what I’m going to say to her yet. I’ll sleep on it.

My phone vibrates, letting me know a message has arrived.

One – You sound in need of someone to hold you tonight. I wish it could be me.

Two – Raff, man. Devastating. I’ve just poured myself a whiskey in his honour.

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