‘If they’d taken a few wrong turns in the dark, then I suppose it’s not impossible.’ Malcolm sighed. ‘But like I said, these things do happen. It might be better to apologise and move on rather than keep protesting your innocence.’
‘Lily is really upset with me.’ I slumped back, despondent.
‘She was a lot more upset with me when we lived by the café and I didn’t shut the coop properly. We lost three hens to a polecat.’ He took a slow sip of his own drink. ‘She’s stressed about the opening in two weeks, the wedding, kids. Money. And while I’d sooner swim with the basking sharks than risk saying it to her face, she’s always resembled something of a polecat herself when chock-full of pregnancy hormones. One of the upsides of living on this “lump of rock”, as Flora calls it, is that we know all too well each other’s mistakes. You learn it’s not worth holding a grudge when there’s no escaping each other. She’ll be fine by lunchtime.’
‘I really hate you all writing me off as a hopeless mainlander.’
Malcolm raised one eyebrow. ‘Those who’ll think that already thought it. There’s nothing to be done about them.’
‘Do they still have that opinion about you?’ I asked, Mum’s letter still on my mind.
‘Why do you think I’m opening a B&B and not sorting eggs or planting cabbages?’
‘Does “they” include Gabe?’
Malcolm smiled. ‘Gabe won’t let me near his animals because I’m an accountant. He’s happy enough to let me look over his books, mind, and sort the endless paperwork that lords it over modern farming. He gave me his blessing to marry his eldest daughter. Aster and Richard haven’t spent any real time off the island, so are more, shall we say,traditionalin their views. Mind you, we can both be grateful Gabe’s old da is no longer with us. Forget traditional, he was downright xenophobic.’
Malcolm had reassured me to the extent that I almost told him about the milk jug. It seemed entirely possible that if it had been deliberate, the saboteur might have left the gate open too. Even better, he could have a perfectly logical explanation for the milk, in which case, I could stop freaking out about it.
However, I was also aware that a couple of days ago, I was potentially Pip’s unhinged stalker. I felt nervous about arousing any more suspicion. And if someone genuinely had it in for me – most likely, their goal was to drive me back to the mainland, although it seemed an extreme reaction considering I was only here on holiday – then perhaps it was better if they didn’t know I was onto them.
For the next hour, I instead argued back and forth with myself about whether to buy a ticket for the next plane out of there.
I was still staring at the airline’s online shopping basket when Lily and Iris blew through the front door, all smiles and excited chatter about the wedding.
‘Are you sure it’s still okay for me to stay and do the food?’ I asked, because remaining in this strange place and taking on something as important as catering a wedding would be difficultenough as it was. If I spent it riddled with nerves, it would surely end up a disaster.
‘Did Lily make you feel bad about the gate?’ Iris threw her sister a stern look. ‘Did she happen to mention the time she flooded the barn, ruining half the oat crop? Or when she stole Granda’s old tractor in a fit of temper and crashed it into a stone wall?’
‘Well, what about when you snuck out for a romantic night in the hayloft with Hugh and set the place on fire?’ Lily retorted.
‘That’s precisely my point,’ Iris replied. ‘We’ve all made stupid mistakes, Emmie. While you might not be an expert on farming, you’re a genius pasty maker. Let’s get planning.’
By the time we’d finished discussing pasties and drinks and opted for cake and definitely not Barnie’s doughnuts for dessert, I crossed Lily and Iris off the list of people who might want to drive me away. Maybe I was being naïve, but I’d once again experienced the thrill of collaborating with people who were both genuinely enthusiastic and respected my skills, and I loved them for it.
I went into Port Cathan with Lily to buy the available ingredients and order the rest, after which she declared it lunchtime and insisted we stop for fishfinger sandwiches at the harbour, served from the deck of a revamped fishing tug.
‘Right, working lunch,’ Lily said, as we sat on a bench close enough to the Island Arms to use their Wi-Fi. ‘Now the food is under control, we can cover some of the other details. What’s your experience with flower arranging?’
‘Um, none.’ I didn’t mention that the only flowers I’d bought – or received – had been a modest bouquet for my mum’s funeral.
‘Okay. No problem. How about centrepieces?’
As Lily rattled through the rest of her list, it became clear that I was not a woman of many talents.
‘I can follow instructions,’ I added, hoping to redeem myself. ‘And I’m used to working long hours. I might not be very creative, but I don’t mind being treated as a dogsbody.’
We finished our sandwiches and Lily sent me some links on her phone.
‘I was thinking something like this, for flowers. Though I don’t know where we’d get enough, at such short notice. The island preservation committee will fine us if we pick anything wild.’
I had a look at the images of intricate bouquets and garlands.
‘Iris doesn’t strike me as a very extravagant person.’
Lily snorted. ‘She’s planning a wedding in four days. That says it all.’
‘So why not keep it simple? How about an iris on the end of each pew?’
