‘I gored someone to death with a trident in one of my books once,’ Carmen says, tiny but mighty in her chintz armchair. She’s knitting a large sweater from her own grey wool.
‘I think I’ve read that one,’ Ailsa chips in. ‘One of your filthiest.’
‘So many complaints.’ Carmen shrugs. ‘What did they expect in a book about a psychopathic sex addict? It was right there on the jacket.’
‘You’ll get no complaints from me.’ Ailsa pats the older woman’s arm.
‘Ladies, enough already.’ Dolores presses the back of her fingers against her forehead, straight out of a Jane Austen adaptation. ‘Delta, you’ll give birth on your back on a bed like every other Salvation woman before you.’
‘Actually, there’s good evidence that it helps to give birth standing up,’ Erin says. ‘Gravity gets the baby out.’
Dolores looks at Erin in a way that suggests she’d really like to contradict her but daren’t, given that she’s the doctor’s wife.
‘Let’s just hope the midwife is a good catch, then,’ Delta says.
‘Bit like catching a wet rugby ball, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Erin says.
‘Coffee anyone?’ Brianne springs up out of her seat, keen to move the conversation along. It works, and for a while everyone settles to the soft clack of needles and the homely scent of the home-made carrot cake Brianne has cleared space for in the middle of the table.
‘So, Cleo.’ Ailsa lays her knitting down in favour of a slice of cake. ‘How’s Mack going along with his photography?’
I study the four inches of battleship-grey scarf on my needles. ‘To be honest, I don’t really know,’ I say. ‘We don’t talk all that much.’
‘Ah,’ she says. ‘He said similar about you in the pub yesterday.’
‘He did?’
Brianne passes me a plate. ‘He just said you do your thing and he does his.’
‘Told everyone you’d introduced him to Yorkshire pudding though,’ Delta adds.
‘There’s no secrets round here, is there?’ I shove a forkful of cake into my mouth to avoid answering any more questions.
‘None at all.’ Delta rolls her eyes. ‘I wasn’t planning to tell anyone who the baby’s da is when I came back from the mainland. Turns out I didn’t have any choice – his ma is the second cousin of Ted Murphy who owns the village bakery, she was on the phone blabbing before I’d even climbed off the boat.’ She pats her bump. ‘Insert your own bun in the oven joke, everyone else does.’
Dolores sniffs. ‘Not so much as a discount on the soda bread from Ted.’
I don’t think she intends it to be funny so I swallow down my laugh.
‘Ah, Mam, don’t,’ Delta sighs. ‘It was no love match. Ryan Murphy might be easy on the eye but he spends all his days playing computer games and riding round town on a scooter. Honestly, can you see me in a sidecar?’
There’s a moment of charged silence as mother and daughter eye each other across the knitting table. I get the feeling this conversation has been rolling around for quite some time.
‘No one tell Julia this but, Cleo, I think I’m carrying a bit of a torch for your man,’ Ailsa says, probably to change the subject. ‘It’s the broad shoulders.’
Brianne turns pink and studies her cake.
‘Join the queue, Ailsa,’ Delta says, glad of the diversion. ‘Come on, Clee, spill the goss.’
I falter, caught off guard. ‘Umm …’
Delta looks at me closely, too emotionally astute by far. ‘Is everything okay over there?’
And then everyone else is studying me closely too, even Dolores.
‘Yes, of course,’ I say, aware that my cheeks are burning. ‘It’s just … a bit difficult sometimes, you know?’
‘Honestly, no, but I’m dying to,’ Delta says, sensing a story and letting her imagination fill in the gaps. ‘Oh my God! Have you two been hitting the sheets?’
I cover my face with my hands and groan. ‘No, of course not. He’s still hung up on his ex-wife and I came here in search of solitude.’ It doesn’t escape me that between the villagers and Mack, I’m a long way from that at the moment.
‘But …？’ Erin leans in, her clear blue eyes riveted on me as if I’m about to deliver an EastEnders-style cliffhanger. Back home, I’ve become accustomed to playing my feelings close to my chest, but here in this cosy space, there’s a heightened sense of camaraderie and female kinship. I feel like Winona Ryder in that American quilting movie where the women all go to unburden themselves and dish out sage life advice.