Chapter 8
8
Stepping from the bustle and noise of my second home, into the relative hush of a half-full, forty-eight-seater plane was enough to send my pulse hammering. I ducked my head, shuffling down the tiny aisle towards the window seat in an empty row near the front.
‘Hey.’
Halfway down, I looked up at the familiar, gentle voice. Pip placed a steadying hand on my arm.
‘You made it.’
‘Yep,’ I squeaked.
‘It’s going to be grand.’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘Can all passengers please take their seats?’ Poppy, a regular air stewardess on the Siskin flights, barked over the intercom. Given that the aisle was about ten metres long, and I was the only person still standing, she could have quite easily taken six steps and told me herself.
I hurried past the remaining few rows, apologising as I bumped elbows and ran over someone’s foot, then spent another couple of minutes trying to wrestle the suitcase into the overhead locker, which was about two inches too high for me to reach properly, until a man in the seat behind helped me.
I assumed that Poppy ran through the safety instructions, and the pilot introduced himself, but it was all a blur.
I was sitting on a plane.
Wearing stripy trousers.
With a bag of other clothes I’d not owned two hours ago.
I had an hour-long flight in which to a) not die (which I wasn’t especially worried about), b) not vomit (which felt distinctly possible) and c) figure out what on earth I was going to do once I got there.
Then we started moving.
And – after I’d been holding my breath for so long, my head spun – so smoothly I had to open my eyes to check if it was ever going to happen, we left the ground.
All my questions, the swirling worries and growing concern that I might genuinely be falling apart, tumbled away, back down to the rapidly shrinking tarmac and cluster of grey buildings below.
I left them behind, lifting my head instead to the fields and forest spread out before us. And, above that, the bright, endless sky.
Landing on the tiny island runway was not quite so enjoyable.
Although, soaring over the sea, watching the unmistakable, famously bird-shaped outline of the island come into view, curving around the jagged cliff-tops, dipping down above the fields – verdant green, sunshine yellow and, to my heart’s delight, shimmering pale gold – took my breath away.
As we circled closer, I ogled at farmhouses tucked amongst the fields, rows of pastel cottages dotted along the coast, and counted two villages, the largest of which, Port Cathan, was designated the capital.
I’d read travel books about all the Sherwood Airport destinations, studying the photographs and soaking up the history and culture of every place I’d imagined one day visiting. But the reality of it was so much more.
I was so busy feeling thrilled that the jolt as the plane hit the ground took me completely off guard. It wasn’t only me – there were several loud gasps, exclamations, and one child began wailing as we hurtled down the runway, every one of us bracing ourselves as we were pressed into the backs of our seats.
I squeezed my eyes closed, gripped the armrests and reminded myself that I watched hundreds of people walking off aeroplanes in one piece, every single day.
‘Emmie.’ Poppy tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Time to get off.’
Prising my eyes open, I found that the plane was already almost empty. While I fumbled to get my seat belt open, Poppy swung my case out of the overhead locker and dumped it next to me.
I gathered my bag, the suitcase and what remained of my wits, and forced my stiff limbs to follow her to the exit, which led into one of those tunnels that took me straight inside the airport building.
Pip was lingering by the end of the tunnel.
‘You really didn’t have to wait for me,’ I said. I’d invited myself onto his flight; I didn’t want him to feel obliged to look after some woman he occasionally bought pasties from.
‘Best to wait for my bags, though.’ He pointed at the carousel taking up most of the room we were now in.
‘Of course.’ I tried to laugh it off, but it sounded as pathetic as I felt. ‘I’ve never been this side of things before.’ Scanning around, I spotted the exit. ‘Right. Well. I’d better get on. Thank you so much for the help.’ I hitched my rucksack higher on my shoulders, as though preparing to move might make it easier to go.
He nodded, chewing on his lip as he glanced at the carousel then back to me. ‘The bus heads into Port Cathan after most flights. If you get off at the main square, there’s a couple of hotels that probably have rooms. Otherwise, you can go all the way to the caravan park near Lithin, which has amazing views of the bay. Just avoid the Grand. There’s been nothing grand about it since the seventies.’
‘Thank you. I’ll see what I can find.’ My legs were more than a little reluctant to leave the safety of the airport. Or the safety of a friend. I gave myself a mental shake. ‘Adventure awaits!’
Then I turned and scuttled through the exit before I could grab onto his arm and beg him to take me with him.
A quick pause to show someone my passport, a detour to the bathroom, a march past a row of vending machines and I hit the double doors leading to the big wide world with as much bluster as I could muster.
I took four steps across the path before coming to a dead stop on the concrete.
‘’Scuse me, chicken,’ a man muttered, his island brogue only adding to my sense of wonder as I hastily moved to the side.
The scene in front of me was nothing extraordinary. A small car park, a bicycle-hire stand, a stall selling drinks and doughnuts.
And yet, everything was different.
The way the light fell on the row of birch trees lining the side of the building. A sparkling mix of silvers and yellows, like an old-fashioned filter on a camera.
The air was heady with salt and sand. And behind it, something wilder, fresher than the earthy richness of my forest.
Even the sounds – seagulls, of course, and maybe the peeping of oystercatchers in the distance. The rumble of a plane, trundling off the runway. Apart from that, no vehicles, no background hum of industrialisation. Instead, as I stood there, my senses relishing this new feast, I leant in and, whether it was a coincidence, or my body was already adjusting to the rhythm of this place, in perfect time with my own breath, I listened to the back-and-forth whisper of the sea.
The bus stop was easy enough to spot, the large orange sign being only a short distance from the airport entrance. A handful of people were already waiting, so I wheeled my bag over and joined the back of the queue.
‘How long until the bus gets here?’ a small boy asked, swinging around on the signpost.
‘The timetable says two minutes, look.’ His mum pointed to the timetable, but he was too busy swinging to read it.
‘How long now?’ he asked again, a few minutes later.
I didn’t catch his mum’s answer, as at that moment, Pip, who had clearly been looking for me as he left the main building, returned my tentative wave with a smile and a nod due to dragging two enormous bags past the sign to the long-stay car park.
The third time the boy asked, the mainlanders at the stop were clearly all wondering the same thing. Numerous airport staff had passed us on their way to the car park, which now had only one car and a scooter in it.
‘Don’t worry, chick. Island timetables are more of a rough guide.’ An older man with a strong accent chuckled. ‘Connell always gets distracted chattin’ to someone or other. No frettin’ necessary, he’ll be here.’
‘Sorry, Bill, but he won’t be,’ a younger man called over from the doughnut stall, squinting at us from underneath a blue cap. ‘He just messaged to say the Landers’ cows are blocking Back Road again. Big Lander’s mare’s birthin’ and Mrs L’s got the grandkids until Middle Lander’s back in port.’
‘Ah.’ Bill nodded, as if this was nothing. ‘Little Lander?’
The younger man adopted a knowing expression. ‘Drinkin’ with Morrow Taylor in the Grand since lunchtime.’
‘Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it?’ Bill checked his watch. ‘Connell clocks off at seven-thirty. Not a minute later. Cheers for the heads up, Barnie.’
‘I thought the timetable was a rough guide?’ A man in smart chinos and a tweed jacket asked, clearly running out of patience. ‘He can’t stop work on time if he’s late because he’s been chatting.’
‘Not chattin’ though, is it?’ Bill said, not in the least bit fazed. ‘No sane man would consider Lander’s wandering cows a fittin’ reason to work overtime. Not with a talented cook like Betty putting supper on the table.’
‘So, what, he’s going to simply abandon the bus on Back Road and leave us all stranded?’ the woman accompanying the man exclaimed.
‘Oh no, course not!’ Barnie at the doughnut stand scoffed, causing the mainlander half of the queue to breathe a collective sigh of relief. ‘He’ll drop off any remaining passengers and then drive it home.’
‘Daniel?’ The woman turned to her partner.
‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll call us an Uber.’
Someone sniggered at the thought of an Uber on the Isle of Siskin.
‘Well, do you have the name of a taxi firm?’ the mum asked. ‘I can’t get an Internet signal.’
‘That’s because there is no Internet signal,’ a woman who looked around my age said, rolling her eyes. ‘If you want that level of cutting-edge technology, you’ll have to come back in 2026.’
‘There’s no Internet?’ Daniel’s partner asked, jaw dropping in distress.
‘Of course we have Internet!’ someone else replied. ‘It’s just mostly dial-up. A few buildings have Wi-Fi, but there’s no mobile broadband, 4G, anything like that.’
‘What’s dial-up?’ the boy asked.
His mother pressed a hand against her chest. ‘I’m not really sure.’
‘A taxi firm?’ Daniel asked, sounding increasingly frustrated.
‘You could try Taylor’s taxi,’ Bill said. ‘Let me see now…’ He pulled out an ancient Nokia phone and slowly clicked to the address book before carefully reciting a landline number.
Several people started frantically waving phones about, trying to get some reception.
‘Probably not worth bothering, though.’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Would that be because Taylor’s taxi is driven by Morrow Taylor, currently drinking in the Grand with Little Lander?’
Bill simply smiled.
‘So, what do we do?’ the mum asked.
‘I’m going to purchase myself a cup of tea and a doughnut and sit upon that bench over there until my good friend Barnie packs up his stall and is free to give me a ride home.’ Bill gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘You can do whatever you like.’
There was a moment of general fluster and outrage until one of the women interrupted, holding both hands up as she positioned herself in front of the stop and loudly introduced herself as Daffy.
‘Don’t panic. My fella’s on his way in our van. Insurance allows nine in the back. Not a soul more. With cattle on the loose, we ain’t taking no chances. So, first spot for you, Heather. Who else needs a lift?’
By the time the various islanders had wandered off or joined Bill at the doughnut stall, there were nine of us still trying to sort out who got a ride in the van. Two retired couples, the mother and her son, plus Daniel and his partner. And me.
‘It’s fine. I’ll figure something out,’ I said, my nerves jangling in protest.
‘Are you sure?’ one of the older men asked, eyeing up Daniel with a scowl. ‘A female travelling alone at night, in a strange place?’
‘It won’t be dark for hours,’ Daniel’s companion retorted. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary. We’re not splitting up. Besides, we’ve got a gourmet three-course dinner booked for eight at the Grand. We’re not missing it.’
‘At the Grand?’ The corner of Daffy’s broad mouth twitched. ‘We most certainly can’t have you missing that.’
She turned to me. ‘Tell you what, I’ll send Rozzo over once he’s finished his shift. It’ll only be a couple of hours. He finally passed his test this week so he’s looking for any excuse to get his moped out.’
‘No, honestly, I’ll be fine,’ I protested. I’d have rather slept at the airport than get on the back of Rozzo’s moped.
‘I really must protest about this…’ the elderly man interrupted.
‘She said she’d be fine,’ Daniel snapped.
‘I will.’ I nodded vigorously, in the hope it might help me believe it. ‘I love travelling. And adventures like this make it so much more memorable.’
‘Where are you staying, dear?’ one of the women asked.
‘Oh. Not far…’ I waved vaguely in the direction most of the cars had left in, just as a van careened around the distant corner.
It choked, rattled and screeched to a halt in front of the bus stop, and a man who looked like Daffy’s male twin waved at us through the open window. ‘Get in then. Said I’d run an eye over Big Lander’s mare after dropping you lot off.’
To avoid further awkwardness, I walked back to the food stand and pretended to look at the doughnuts. There were three left, each looking like the scraggy scrapings of dough from the bottom of the mixing bowl.
‘Sorry. We’re closed.’ Barnie stuck both hands in his jeans pockets and pressed his mouth in a thin line.
‘Okay, no problem.’
It certainly felt like a problem. I was teetering between anxious and afraid. All I’d eaten in hours was half a bowl of soup and my water bottle was empty. I was seriously contemplating sleeping in an airport doorway, and my first ever trip to anywhere was rapidly descending into the disaster my better judgement and late mother would both have predicted.
All I wanted was my cottage, my cosiest blanket and a hot cup of Darjeeling tea in my favourite Hattie Hood rabbit mug.
‘Woah, I’m joking!’ Barnie burst into a grin. ‘As long as a customer remains on the premises, Barnie stays open.’
I didn’t warn him that this customer might be there all night, too busy trying not to cry.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Tea and a doughnut, please.’
‘Here you go, chicken. On the house. You look like you could do with it.’
He slipped all three doughnuts into a paper-bag with a wink.
‘You brought a mug?’ He nodded to the sign that read, Siskin is a disposable-cup-free island.
I shook my head.
‘Sorry, can’t serve you a drink without a mug.’
‘That rule must impact your trade.’
He grinned, reaching under the counter and plonking an Isle of Siskin travel mug next to the till. ‘A fair few thirsty people walk through those doors. After waiting around for Connell, eight quid for a mug with a free tea or coffee thrown in and everyone’s a winner.’
‘And to think I thought offering thirty pence off if customers bring their own mug was innovative.’
The free doughnuts seemed less of a generous offer, now. I got my phone out to pay, then remembered that, with no broadband data, I’d need to dig out my bank card.
‘Right then, Billy-boy,’ Barnie called. ‘Last customer served, time to get this scooter on the road.’
I turned to check and saw that we did appear to be the only people left. The final car had gone.
‘I don’t suppose there’s a car-hire place?’
What kind of airport didn’t have a car rental?
Barnie took off his blue cap, ran a hand through his blond curls before donning a red one, and ambled over to the bike-hire stand.
‘At your service, madam. How can Barnie’s Bikes help you today?’