She catches me off guard and a snort of laughter escapes my throat. The other women around the table all try not to laugh too, except for Dolores who looks pained.
‘I think I need to see this man I’ve heard so much about for myself,’ says the only woman left to speak. We’ve already met – it’s Delta, the pregnant girl I spoke to on top of the hill. She raises her glass of water to me in greeting, and I notice the delicate floral tattoo dancing across the back of her hand and around her forearm. I notice other things about her too, now she isn’t bundled up in rainbow stripes. Like how outrageously pretty she is with luminous green eyes and slightly out-of-control jet-black curls pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head.
‘I don’t think you need any more trouble in your life,’ Dolores says, earning herself a sharp look from Brianne.
‘Thank you, Mam,’ Delta laughs, unfazed. Looking between the two women, I see a strong family resemblance, despite their opposite styles. Same dark hair, same startlingly green eyes. Delta looks back at me. ‘I won’t get up in case I give birth.’
I’m instantly drawn to her, I like her couldn’t-give-a-damn attitude. I could use some of that.
‘Do you knit?’ Dolores tips her head to one side and stares at me. Everyone falls quiet.
‘Actually, yes. Not for a while now, but yes, I do. My gran taught me.’ Thank you, Gran, I think.
I almost see everyone’s shoulders relax. I get the distinct feeling that I’ve just passed Dolores’s initiation test; I’d have been shrugging my damp jacket on again and heading back out into the rain if I didn’t know my way around a pair of knitting needles.
Brianne has a look of genuine surprise on her face. ‘Cleo, that’s so great! We don’t get many new knitters on the island.’
‘The last one turned out to be a crocheter,’ Dolores mutters, as dark as if she’d said ‘murderer’。
‘The audacity!’ Delta’s green eyes dance. ‘Ma, you should have shoved her crochet hook right up her –’
‘It was a real shame she had to leave for the mainland, so it was,’ Brianne cuts in. ‘I miss Heather, she was great craic.’
‘Told filthy jokes too,’ Ailsa says. ‘I’ll see if I can remember any.’
I’m grappling to understand the dynamics of the group. From what I can gather, Dolores is the straight one and her daughter, Delta, doesn’t miss a chance to wind her up. Brianne is the peacemaker, Ailsa, the free spirit, Erin, the capable doctor’s wife. Carmen is the oldest and rebellious with it.
‘Let me get you some coffee,’ Erin says, unfolding her tall, slender frame from her armchair. ‘Sugar?’
‘Please,’ I say, wondering if she disapproves as the doctor’s wife. ‘Just half a spoon.’
‘Sure?’ She pushes her pale red hair behind her ears, grinning. ‘I take two.’
‘Go on then,’ I say, sensing an ally.
I sit for a few moments, acclimatizing to the sound of voices around me again after ten quiet days. It’s nothing like the drama or pace of the office, more a low-level hubbub, the soft lilt of their accent music in itself. Brianne picks up the brightly painted needles jug and holds it towards me. ‘Help yourself,’ she says. ‘To the wool too.’
I falter. I can’t really recall how things go with needle sizes and the jug seems to have just about anything you could want.
‘I’m making a scarf.’ Delta holds up the sea-green-and-grey colour-blocked length on her needles. ‘Easiest not to stuff up.’ She rifles through Brianne’s jug and picks out a pair of needles, handing them to me without comment. I appreciate the unfussy help.
Carmen nods towards a bowl of grey woollen yarn. ‘Use that.’ She shoots Dolores a sly look. ‘It’s from my sheep. Best on the island.’
Dolores couldn’t look more as if she were sucking a lemon than if she was sucking an actual lemon. I slowly reach out and pick up a ball of Carmen’s wool.
‘Oh wow, it’s so soft,’ I say before I can stop myself, not even daring to look at Dolores, because the wool does genuinely feel like holding clouds in my hand. On closer inspection, it’s storm grey marled with subtle flecks of natural colours – marine greens and topaz brown. It reminds me of the colours of the Salvation landscape. ‘Thank you, it’s pretty,’ I say.
‘So you have wool and you have needles,’ Brianne says, keen to make me feel included.