The Manse sitting room is cosy with old sofas and soft chairs and a green carpet, and on every surface there are piles of newspapers, letters and bits of paper.
Finn seems distracted. He leafs through a pile of papers on one of the chintzy armchairs. ‘You know about the wind farm project?’ he says.
I shake my head.
‘There’s a plan to build a huge wind farm just off the west coast of the island.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ I say.
‘No!’ Finn huffs. ‘It most certainly is not. It’s a massive disaster on every count. It will totally ruin this island. And the so-called public consultation’s a joke. There’s big money involved, of course. There always is. Business interests. Politics. It’s totally corrupt.’
I think for a bit about what I can say that doesn’t make me look like a total idiot. ‘I thought wind energy was a good idea,’ I say. ‘Like it’s green, and renewable, and better than nuclear power stations. Isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes, but it’s the scale of this project, and where they are planning to put it,’ Finn says. ‘Each turbine will be HUGE, built up on a platform, and they’ll be lit up at night. Because the island is so flat you’ll be able to see them from all over the island. Five kilometres is ridiculously close. And they’re planning maybe five hundred turbines, could be seven hundred. Bigger than any of the existing wind farms. The government want to pour money into it because it’s part of some strategy for renewable energy for the UK, but they haven’t thought any of it through. For a start the waves round this island are too high: even the maintenance boats won’t be able to get through most of the year. And wind power’s incredibly inefficient.’
Piers comes in. ‘Talking about the wind farm by any chance, Finn? Kate’s got that glazed-over look!’
I so have not, I’m about to say . . . but just in time I realise it’s only banter between brothers. He’s winding Finn up.
Finn scowls. ‘You’ll be the first to complain when they do build it, Piers.’
‘If.’ Piers sits down with us at the table and pours himself tea. ‘Urgh. Cold!’ He leans forwards. ‘So, Kate, what’s your view?’
‘I – I don’t really know. I’ve only just heard about it.’
‘Well, you’ll hear a lot more. Finn’s obsessed. But don’t let him brainwash you.’
Finn looks furious. ‘Have you finished?’ he says to Piers. ‘Why don’t you go and cook your lobsters or do something useful?’
‘Good idea.’
Finn’s quiet once Piers has left. I don’t know what to say. I finish my tea. Perhaps I should just go.
‘About the boat trip,’ I say. ‘Is it still OK for me to come?’
He looks up. ‘Yes, of course. We’ll go tomorrow if it’s fair. Everything depends on the weather here. I expect you’ve noticed.’
I nod.
‘Sorry about your parents,’ Finn says. ‘You know – the arguing and that. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Thanks though.’
I’m embarrassed now. As if my worries are of any interest to Finn. ‘I’d better go back,’ I say. ‘I’ll walk. I like the walk.’
‘Listen to the shipping forecast,’ Finn says. ‘Late tonight or early tomorrow morning on the radio. So you can tell whether we’ll be going or not. If the wind’s dropped enough, and it’s dry, we’ll come for you on the ebb tide – three-ish. Yes?’
I nod. ‘What do I need to bring?’
‘Waterproofs, boots – if you’ve got them. You’ll get wet in any case.’
On the way back I stop to check my phone when I get to the hilly bit. There’s one bar of signal: I wait for my messages to flash up, but there aren’t any. Not one. Not even from my sisters or Molly, my friend from school. The urge to send one to Sam is so strong it’s all I can do to stop myself. Is he allowed to have his phone with him? I don’t even know that. But I promised myself I wouldn’t phone him first . . .
Now I’m remembering a happy time, under the tree in the park near his nan’s house, about a week before he passed his driving test. Early June, hot and sunny in the late afternoon. I’m lying with my head on his chest, we’re both dozing in the heat. I open my eyes, and for a second I can’t work out what I’m seeing. Leaves falling? Petals? But no, it’s white butterflies, hundreds of them, as if they’ve just hatched out from their chrysalises, and they are floating and spinning in the sunlight that filters through the tree. ‘Look, Sam!’ I say, and he opens his eyes and watches them with me. And then he sits up and leans over my face and he kisses me, and all around us the air is full of fluttering white wings.
A tree full of white butterflies.
A long, soft kiss.
It’s the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me.
I didn’t tell anyone about it; not even Molly. And I’m glad now, seeing what happened after.