put his hand on Poppy’s back and started to steer her away from Jake as the boat tooted again.
She clutched the picture to her protectively. Of course, Jake had a fiancée and she had a boyfriend. It was clearly time to get back to the real world. ‘Goodbye, Jake. Have a good sail and congratulations,’ she said brightly.
‘Thanks,’ said Jake. ‘Hope to see you again one day.’
‘Poppy! Come on!’ Dan was halfway down the jetty now, leaving her to jog to catch him up.
She risked a quick glance behind when they reached the boat but Jake had already gone.
Once they were on board, Dan turned to her. ‘Why did you congratulate him?’
She had to regain her breath before she replied. ‘On g-getting engaged. H-he said he was meeting his fiancée.’
‘Humph.’ Dan turned to look at the view, but a few moments later, his arm snaked around her back and he kissed her cheek. She held on to her purchases while the boat started to rise and fall with the swell. She hoped she’d get to St Mary’s without feeling sick, but even if she did, it would be worth it to have visited the studio.
Dan kept his arm around her and stared out across the ocean, lost in thought.
‘That was fate,’ he said a few minutes later, out of the blue.
She tore her eyes from the view. ‘What do you mean “fate”?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but I wasn’t joking: I’m sick of the commute and the daily grind. I want to do something different.’
Taken aback, she pushed the hair out of her eyes as the boat cut through the waves. Dan didn’t believe in fate and he rarely did anything impulsive. She was the one inviting strangers they’d met five minutes before to stay with them ‘whenever they liked’ or blowing their holiday budget on handmade glass coasters. Dan was the sensible, practical sales manager who had the household finances on an Excel spreadsheet and the council bin chart pinned up by the back door.
‘That guy – Jake – chasing after us with the painting. I thought he was trying to flog us extra stuff at first, but now, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should see it as a sign.’
She gasped. ‘A sign? You don’t believe in any of that hippy-dippy rubbish. I don’t understand.’
He shrugged. ‘Not a sign then, but a wake-up call. You love it here and I’ve never seen a place have an effect on you like this one has. Your eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning when you looked around the gallery and you’ve been, well, kind of glowing ever since that Jake bloke brought us the painting. In fact, you’ve perked up since we set foot on the island full stop and, I must admit, this holiday has made me think too. I’ve not been happy at work for a long time.’
‘Really? I know our lives aren’t perfect, but I didn’t realise you were unhappy.’ She squeezed his arm, and a pang of guilt struck her. She’d been mooning over a stranger – even if only for a few minutes – and her own partner had been hiding his unhappiness. She hugged him. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t want to waste the rest of my life selling front idlers and bottom rollers. Do you really want to spend the rest of yours telling people how wonderful your firm’s soil pipes are? You’re creative. You love your beady stuff and you worked in that gallery in your uni vacation. You could have your own place one day.’
She laughed, amused by his confidence in her. ‘Helping out at the local craft centre for a few weeks a decade ago doesn’t qualify me to run a gallery.’
‘Maybe not, but you know more than most people would and that old guy – Archie – he clearly makes enough to live from the studio. And he looks so content with life. So … comfortable and at ease in his own skin. His grandson seems very pleased with life too, and not short of cash: did you see the watch and trainers he was wearing? He must make a living somehow. It seems as if everyone on the island is doing well. We should look at buying a business here. I already run my part of the business and you know how to market stuff. You could upskill your beadmaking too.’
She listened, half in amazement and half in sheer terror. What had got into Dan?
‘The jewellery, it’s relaxing and fun, but bead bangles won’t pay the bills. Unlike soil pipes.’ She laughed, but inside she was thrown by his enthusiasm for such a venture. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but this doesn’t sound like you … you normally like everything to be … so planned out.’ She’d been going to say ‘safe’ but didn’t want to destroy his dreams, even if she was slightly horrified by them.
‘I can see my life ebbing away like the rainwater down one of your drains. I don’t want us to grow old and have regrets. I’ll be on the way to forty before I know it and I want a change. I love Scilly. Let’s do it. It would be a great place to bring up a family too, wouldn’t it?’
She almost squeaked in astonishment. A family? It was the first time she’d heard him mention children for months and months. She’d always thought – hoped – they would have them one day, but this reference to them was stark. This was getting serious and had caught her totally off guard. She wanted children, but giving up her job? Selling the house and moving to such an isolated place, however idyllic, was a huge change. Did she have the courage?
He squeezed her hand. ‘Do we dare do this?’
Her stomach rolled over, and it had nothing to do with the swell. Moving to Scilly would be the most incredible opportunity and surely she’d be mad to let it pass her by?
Almost three years later
Jake cursed as the baggage carousel chugged round yet again. He could have sworn he’d seen the same bright pink suitcase three times already, yet he was still empty-handed. His flight had reached the stand over forty minutes ago and there was still no sign of his bags. It looked as if his precious luggage – with his whole life inside – might have been left behind in Auckland.
Wait … there it was!
A large padded rucksack with its distinctive green tag finally appeared through the plastic flaps. He’d been about to call his parents, but now they’d have to wait to find out their only son was alive and hadn’t been eaten by a crocodile or zapped by killer jellyfish.
He dived into the scrum of people at the belt. Yes! He was almost within touching distance of his camera bag. If he could just push the bald-headed sumo wrestler ahead of him out of the way …
Sumo-man swung a massive wheelie case off the belt and slammed it into Jake’s legs. He stumbled; his phone flew out of his hand and clattered onto the tiles.
‘Argh.’
‘Sorry, mate,’ the man grunted. ‘What a game this is, eh? Bloody cattle class. I’m never going Down Under again, I can tell you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jake, diving for his phone before it was crushed under the wheels of a trolley topped by a cuddly kangaroo.
Damn. His bag
