‘Morning,’ someone calls, and I turn and see Brianne approaching with something in her hands. ‘Happy Birthday. I made this for you.’
I smile, surprised to see her. She pushes a tin towards me. ‘Brianne, that’s so kind, thank you,’ I say, lifting the lid to see she’s baked me a birthday cake, egg-yolk yellow icing decorated with flowers and my name. There are a couple of candles in there too. My mum will be pleased when I tell her, she’s always said it’s bad luck not to blow out a candle on your birthday. I gaze at the cake, choked by the gesture.
Brianne smiles, almost shy. ‘Come to knitting on Monday, tell us how everything goes?’ she says.
I nod. ‘Course.’
‘Good luck today,’ she says. ‘I better run, I’m late opening the shop.’
I pull her into a quick hug. ‘You’ve made my morning,’ I say, and she flushes with pleasure as she waves goodbye, already heading back towards the track.
What a kind person she is; the cake is so pretty, it must have taken her ages. I hadn’t really thought about the usual birthday things today, I’ve been so focused on the ceremony.
I pick up my coffee and take in the stillness for a few more minutes, leaning on the railings around the porch in the silence as I gather my thoughts.
‘Good morning, Cleo.’
Another voice; I turn to the path again and see Dolores.
I try to hide my surprise as I smile and step down from the porch to greet her. ‘Dolores,’ I say, unsure whether a hug is appropriate. ‘What brings you out this way?’
‘That child of mine wanted to come herself,’ she says. ‘I had to promise to bring these over, she’d have had that baby on the hill otherwise, you mark my words.’
She opens a neat jute bag hanging over her arm. I sigh softly as Dolores lays a circlet of wild flowers in my hands.
‘She thought the colours would look grand against your hair.’
‘Tell her it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,’ I say. Delta has wound laurel leaves and wild flowers around fine copper, whimsical and bohemian, perfectly her, and somehow absolutely me too. ‘I really love it.’
Dolores nods. She looks at me, uncharacteristically uncertain as I place the circlet on my head, and then she reaches back into the bag.
‘This belonged to my eldest sister.’ She hands me a small blue cotton pouch. ‘She never stuck to the rules either, always off getting herself in some sort of trouble.’
It’s kind of a compliment, kind of not, but I don’t think Dolores intended it cruelly.
‘This is so kind,’ I say, opening the pouch. ‘I didn’t expect anything from anyone. Brianne was just here with a cake …’ I stop at the sight of the rose-gold Claddagh ring I’ve just tipped into my palm. I lift my gaze back to Dolores.
‘It might not fit you,’ she says. ‘My sister was quite a fat woman.’
I choke down a shocked laugh laced with tears because it’s so Dolores to be generous but vicious at the same time.
‘Dolores, I don’t know what to say … are you sure? Is it an heirloom? It’s so generous of you.’
‘Bernadette had more jewellery than the queen of England, always bringing things back from her fancy travels. Ants in her pants that one, always looking for the next adventure,’ she says, brusque. ‘Now come on with you, left hand for romance, right hand for friendship.’
I fight the urge to wrap my arms around her because she’s absolutely not a hugger. I quite like the sound of Bernadette – I make a mental note to ask Delta more about her when I have the chance.
‘Right hand it is then,’ I say, and we both hold our breath as I try the ring on. It’s too big for my ring finger, but sits just right on the middle.
‘There,’ I say, holding out my hand with my fingers splayed. ‘I have a ring after all.’
She blinks, looking at it, and then at the flower circlet on my head. ‘And flowers too.’
I smile. ‘Quite like a bride in my pyjamas and blanket? Don’t worry, I do at least have a proper dress.’
She looks at me in a way that conjures thoughts of my mum again, a mix of exasperation and something edging towards fondness. Perhaps she feels an element of in loco parentis while I’m here on her island. ‘Take care, Cleo,’ she says softly.
I look at the ring on my finger again, welling up. ‘I will.’
I watch her make her way along the track from the lodge, straight-backed with a clear plastic headscarf to protect her Jackie O bouffe from the wind. This island delivers surprise after surprise, the people most of all.