Page 90 of One Night on the Island

‘Sure you wouldn’t rather go straight to the lodge?’

She shoots me a look under her salt-and-pepper fringe. ‘Plenty of time for that later.’

I glance at my watch. We can walk up to the village for a while before dusk.

‘G&T in the pub?’ I suggest.

Her eyes light up. ‘Lead the way.’

‘Let me guess,’ Mum says, unbuttoning her coat. ‘Delta?’

‘What gave it away?’ Delta skims a look down at the shock of black hair poking out from the cocooned baby in her arms. His tiny profile is peaceful in sleep, dark lashes and rosebud lips. ‘This guy?’

‘I’d heard he was the cutest baby in all the world.’ Mum smiles, her eyes on the baby. ‘And so he is.’

Barney surveys us from behind the bar. ‘My turn to guess now,’ he says, tapping his fingertips on the edge of the drip tray. ‘You look like a woman in need of a …’ he tips his head to one side, thinking, ‘French 75.’

Most people would be largely unfamiliar with Barney’s extensive cocktail repertoire. My mother, however, is not most people.

‘Heavy on the gin, easy on the lemon juice,’ she agrees.

Barney all but punches the air. ‘Naturally.’

And there she goes. Delta immediately on side, Barney sensing a cocktail ally. She’s an effortless Pied Piper, gathering friends and fans in her wake. It feels strange seeing Mum here on Salvation, as if my two worlds have nudged against each other, overlapping just enough to allow her to cross over.

‘Do you knit, Helen?’ Delta asks when she brings Mum’s drink across to our table beside the fire. It’s quiet in here this afternoon, in the post-lunch lull.

‘Badly,’ Mum says, which is a lie because she knits much better than I do.

‘You should bring your ma to group next week.’ Delta passes me the baby as she flops beside me. ‘I swear he gets heavier by the hour, every day’s an arms day at baby gym.’

‘Michelle Obama’s got nothing on you,’ I say. I clink glasses with Mum. ‘Barney’s cocktails are the best on the island,’ I tell her, as I watch her take her first sip. Barney does a bad job of pretending not to watch too, and an even worse job of not hanging out to hear her verdict.

‘Ooh, isn’t that heavenly,’ Mum says, looking over her shoulder at Barney with a nod.

I’m not certain, but I think Barney Doyle, supercool barman of the world, is blushing.

‘Another one to add to my list for when I can ever bloody drink again,’ Delta sighs.

‘I had a glass of champagne every day when I was nursing my four,’ Mum says. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

Hope flares bright in Delta’s green eyes. ‘And they turned out all right, didn’t they?’

‘He was struck off a few years later though, so don’t put much stock by his advice.’

‘Ah, shite.’

I pat Delta’s leg beneath the table as Mum knocks back half of her drink and puts the glass down. ‘Dutch courage,’ she shudders. ‘Darling, I’ve got some news.’

I go clammy in case it’s something terrible, and Delta’s hand slips into mine.

‘I’ve got a boyfriend.’

Of all the things I thought she might say, that wouldn’t have even made the list. I’m so surprised I don’t know what to say. Baby Raff covers for me with an impromptu fart, making Delta jump up and take him from me, laughing as she leaves us to it.

‘Anthony,’ Mum says, uncharacteristically flustered as she supplies info I haven’t asked her for. ‘Online, would you believe?’

‘Honestly, Mum, no, I wouldn’t,’ I say, blindsided. She doesn’t have a computer and barely uses her phone. ‘I mean … how?’

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