‘He … I mean, we …’ I pause, struggling with whether I should continue or not. Do I really want to do this? It seems I do. ‘We were both feeling low the other night for different reasons, and a hug turned into something else … we kissed. It was an accident, we both felt horrible about it afterwards, and now everything is awkward.’
Delta whistles under her breath. ‘Accidentally kissed? As in a brush on the lips or a full-on accidental snog?’
They all openly stare at me. I don’t think any of them are breathing. I place my fork down next to my half-eaten cake. ‘Full-on accidental snog.’
‘And?’
‘I didn’t know kisses like that even existed.’
A quiet gasp ripples around the group. Carmen opens the gold catches of her stiff black leather handbag. ‘I’ll just write that down for my next book.’
Ailsa reaches across and closes Carmen’s handbag softly. ‘First rule of knitting club: no one talks about what they hear at knitting club,’ she says, making Salvation’s oldest resident huff.
‘I just knew he’d kiss like that,’ Brianne says, then claps her hand over her mouth.
Delta looks at me. ‘The man is an absolute ride. And if that’s how he kisses, imagine how he –’
‘We’ve agreed not to talk about what happened,’ I interrupt. ‘We’re going to be like burgers on opposite sides of a barbecue, or something else confusing like that.’
Erin laughs sharply and looks down at her plate, and then glances up again, trying to keep a straight face.
‘What’s tickled you?’ Delta asks.
Erin tries hard not to laugh, her shoulders shaking silently with the effort. In the end, the words burst from her. ‘Big Mack!’ She shakes her head. ‘Burgers.’ She gulps and looks at me. ‘Sorry.’
It’s so out of character for calm, gentle Erin that everyone else laughs too, the mood lightened.
‘But the man has a wife, you say.’ Dolores’s words are a cold bucket of water.
‘An ex-wife,’ Ailsa corrects, ever Mack’s ally.
‘She’s still his wife,’ I say. ‘They’re separated, but I don’t think he wants to be.’
Carmen lays her handbag slowly on the floor. I notice the way she massages her ringless wedding finger when she studies me.
‘Watch yourself, wain. Unless you want your heart broken, my advice is to steer well clear of a man who loves another woman.’
No one knows what to say after that. I don’t blame them. I pick up my needles and hope the rhythm of knitting will calm my troubled mind.
The boulder on top of Wailing Hill is possibly my favourite place on the island. For reception, obviously, but most of all for the view. It reminds me of a scene from one of my childhood snow globes.
A few hours of female company was much-needed balm for my tattered nerves this afternoon. Salvation women are made of strong stuff. They’re as different as night and day, but solidarity and kinship is instilled into their bones. I envy their shorthand connection that has nothing to do with texts or gifs. On cue, my phone buzzes with a message.
I open the picture message from Ruby and see my blue top with all the buttons now missing down the back, and aubergine emojis beside the picture telling me Damien was an absolute animal in the bedroom and ripped it off her body caveman-style.
You may as well stick it in the bin
I text back because, honestly, I don’t know what else to say. Was I supposed to laugh? Ruby replies almost straight away; the girl is never knowingly seen without her phone in her hand.
Who pickled your onions? Don’t take it out on me because my sex life is better than yours. Or is it? Have you shagged that American yet? Yes, I’ve read your updates. Me and the rest of the UK!
I read the message, then reread it. No ‘sorry I wrecked your favourite top’ or ‘how’s everything going, I miss you’。 Maybe it’s because I’ve so recently left the warmth of the Salvation women, but the lack of compassion in Ruby’s words cuts me.
I didn’t come here for sex, Rubes. You know that perfectly well.
I see that she’s read it, and it takes a few minutes for her reply to come back.
Yeah, right! Declare you’re going to self-couple and all the other grand eat-pray-love shit, then shack up with a married man soon as you get there. Hilare!
She’s chucked a hearty-eyes emoji and a laughing face at the end, her way of adding that she loves me really and is kidding around. Hilare? It’s a bloody long way from hilare, actually, Rubes. It’s hurtful.