Flora folded her arms before catching me off guard with a conversational curveball. ‘Have you decided to stay here forever yet?’
I took a moment before answering, deciding to pretend her question had nothing to do with the previous mention of Pip. ‘I can’t, even if the island is my new second favourite place in the world. I have a home, and a business back in England. I can’t just abandon it all.’
‘Hmph.’ She wasn’t convinced. ‘A good job Helen of Troy didn’t think that way. Or Arwen.’
‘That’s not quite the same. They gave up everything for love. I’m only here on holiday.’
As I said goodbye and made my way outside to wait for Connell’s bus, I heard her mutter, ‘You’re only here on holiday? If you believe that then maybe what they say about mainlanders is true after all.’
The minibus trundled up a few minutes after I’d walked to the end of the gravel drive and found a place to wait by the side of the larger road. Malcolm had assured me there were no formal stops; Connell would pick up and drop off at any point along the route. I held out one arm, just in case, and he came to an abrupt halt directly in front of me.
‘Well, you must be Emmie,’ Connell said, with a grin that almost split his round face in half.
‘Hello,’ I said, avoiding looking at the patches of rust, numerous dents and hole the size of a football as I climbed up the steps.
‘Pip’s pasty girl, everyone,’ he announced to the other passengers occupying about half the seats.
‘Oh, no.’ I turned to face them, my hands contradicting the greetings, ‘oohs!’ and knowing nods with a vigorous ‘no!’gesture. ‘I’m making pasties for Iris and Hugh’s wedding, but I’m not Pip’s girl.’
‘Yet,’ someone called.
‘Ever,’ I said with a rictus smile, but I was pretty sure no one heard me over the sniggers. I scanned the eight or so passengers to confirm that Celine wasn’t one of them and pulled out my purse. ‘A ticket to Lithin, please.’
‘Return?’ Connell asked.
‘What time’s the last bus from Lithin?’
Connell scratched his head. ‘I’ll probably stop at the caravan park for a quick drink and a natter then be heading back through Lithin ’bout six-thirty. Pass here maybe seven, depending on how busy we are, then on home, for Betty to serve up supper.’
The journey was about three miles, according to Malcolm’s map. That was a lot of stops.
It was five-thirty now.
‘Single, then, please.’
‘That’ll be six pounds fifty. Cash only.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ The shuttle bus to Sherwood Airport covered fifteen miles and was two pounds. Even cheaper, with a frequent traveller pass.
Connell wrinkled up his forehead when I held out a twenty-pound note.
‘Sorry, chicken. I don’t do change. Ends up causing delays.’
‘I don’t have six pounds fifty.’ I rooted through the handful of coins in my purse, knowing it was nowhere near enough.
‘I don’t mind taking the twenty if you don’t.’
Of course I minded. I was about to back up and find an alternative plan for the evening when a voice called out from the back, ‘You can’t charge Pip’s girl tourist rates, Connell. He’ll go mad when he finds out.’
There was a murmur of assent as Connell scratched his head again.
‘How about a fresh pasty?’ a woman in the front seat suggested.
‘Um… I don’t carry them around with me.’
‘Well, you could always drop one off tomorrow.’
‘No chance,’ another passenger said. ‘She’s got the wedding tomorrow. There won’t be time to wait around for the bus.’
