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.
