Barney lifts his eyebrows, enjoying the challenge. He’s completely ignored Delta’s reticence and is slowly but surely educating the residents of Salvation on the delights of a good Tom Collins and the iconic cosmopolitan. I don’t think any of us are likely to forget Dolores releasing her inner Barbra Streisand after a couple of gimlets on Christmas Eve. She isn’t embarrassed because she can’t remember, and none of us have the balls to remind her.
I watch Barney in his element behind the bar, making it look effortless in a Breton T-shirt with the baby strapped to his front in a papoose. ‘We’re having some boy time, aren’t we, Elvis?’ He hands me my drink, rubbing the baby’s foot with his other hand.
Delta rolls her eyes. ‘I’m just glad of someone else to take him for a while,’ she says. ‘He spends ninety per cent of his life with his face shoved in my bloody boobs.’
I glance down, laughing, because the unguarded look on Barney’s face suggests he thinks baby Raff is one lucky kid on that score. Or Rafferty Elvis, as Delta has officially called him, a nod to her uncle and a shock for her mother rolled into one.
‘Not bad,’ I say, sipping the Old Cuban.
‘World class,’ Barney corrects me. I don’t admit it, but he’s right. He could give Tom Cruise a run for his money.
Delta touches the rim of her glass against mine. ‘To you, Cleo,’ she says. ‘I feel as if you’ve lived here forever. Never leave me.’
‘And to you,’ I say, swallowing back tears out of nowhere because she’s my kindred spirit and coolest friend, the reason I was brave enough to stay.
She taps the Claddagh ring on my right hand. ‘It’s good to see Aunt Bernadette’s ring get a fresh airing,’ she says. ‘She was the island’s original wild child, pure crazy she was. I used to nag my ma something rotten to be more like her when I was a kid, more adventurous.’ She laughs softly. ‘I stuck her postcards from exotic places around the rim of my bedroom mirror, determined to follow in her footsteps as soon as I was old enough to escape this place.’ She glances across the bar towards Barney and her sleeping son. ‘I guess I’ve finally grown up and realized what really matters.’
‘You should tell your mum that,’ I say, knowing Dolores would love to hear it.
Delta barks out a sharp laugh. ‘You’re kidding me, right? Those words will never pass my lips to my mother’s ears!’
I hide my smile in my glass. Delta has her aunt’s thirst for adventure, Raff’s loyal streak and a good dose of her mother’s iron will. I look across the bar as the baby starts to cry and wonder what kind of child he’ll grow into, if he’ll give his mum much trouble as he gets older. Probably, if he’s half as spirited as Delta.
The door opens and Brianne comes in, a flurry of fur and sheepskin boots, followed by Cameron, who has to duck his head under the door frame. She makes a beeline for me as soon as she’s hung up her coat.
‘I’ve something for you,’ she says, quiet so no one overhears. ‘A package.’ She leans in so close she’s practically kissing my ear. ‘From America.’
She slips it from her pocket into my hands as if it’s class-A drugs. It’s about the size of a chunky letter, an inch or two deep. Okay. I only know one person in America.
‘Thanks,’ I say, my eyes lingering on it, wondering what’s inside. Mack and I haven’t been in touch since before Christmas. I sat for a while on Wailing Hill on Christmas Eve in case he was lonely and sent me a message, but nothing. I wonder if he sat alone and waited to see if I would make contact too, or if he’s making a good fist of putting us behind him. Maybe he felt obliged to send me something because I sent the scarf. I hope not. I’m glad Brianne had the sensitivity to go low key, I know Delta would be gagging to know what’s inside. I am too, in all honesty. I have another Old Cuban and a hold of the baby, but all the time my hand keeps sliding back to touch the package I’ve shoved into my bag. Did he take something of mine back to Boston by mistake? I haven’t missed anything, except for the sliver of my heart. I have a little rum-induced laugh to myself at the idea of opening the gift to find a pulsing piece of flesh inside it.
‘God, these cocktails are strong,’ I say, finishing my second.
Delta sighs into her cup of tea. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘At least you won’t have a headache in the morning.’
‘Yes I will, from lack of sleep. And sore boobs and a butchered lady garden.’