‘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 airportstaff 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.’
