He wakes to the world pitching and yawing.
Incrementally, tentatively, he turns onto his side, trying to focus on the light switch to stop the spinning, and as he slowly stretches his limbs, he tries to knit the shreds of himself into a whole, wincing at the state of his head, attempting to piece together the story of the night. He senses it was epic.
He is not in his own bed. He seems to be covered in … curtains. No pillow. His neck is incensed. And he’s cold.
The sense of loss. She’s gone already.
Ah, yes! The barmaid. Hannah. A pleasant throb reminds him of the night.
He remembers he’s in Puffin, so at some point he will have to make his way back to his mother’s.
He recalls abandoning the wedding reception, although he did stick it out through the appalling speeches. Why does everyone think they’re stand-up comedians when it comes to 57weddings? He’d left Aunt One dancing with Glorious Greg the groom, or rather the man was gamely attempting to prop her up as she swayed, fascinator at half-tilt, laughing her loud braying laugh, ‘HEE-HEE-HEE!’, while his mother sat aloof, quietly judging for Britain with that smug superior expression on her face that made him itch to stave in her skull with a jeroboam.
The thought of his mother makes his early-morning semi shrivel.
He thinks hard to retrace his steps. He’d made it to the Old Ship, sobering a little on the walk down, then he’d had a vodka at Table 1, chatting to Big Bob (thus named to distinguish him from Bobby), got his buzz back, flirted with the barmaid, drunk more, upped the flirting. Big Bob painted seascapes on bits of driftwood in the naïve style, which meant a child of five could do them, but he was fun to talk to – encyclopaedic knowledge of early Motown and the more picaresque aspects of island life.
Kit was informed that Big Bob and Vlad sourced cheap booze and a few basic drugs for the locals, and they could also sort a couple of chosen guests like Kit, who, Big Bob informed him, was deemed a top bloke, despite the accent.
It was the first time Kit had ever talked to Big Bob, but they were now apparently best buds because he’d just bought a little weed from him, the exchange happening in the toilets, Big Bob acting like a cross between Tony Montana and El Chapo.
When the gig crews invaded, Kit had a drink with Sam, who he’d chatted to on a previous visit, and a drink with someone else.
Whenever Hannah passed on her way to collect glasses, she joked with him, ruffling his hair, touching his arm.
‘Maid’s got the hots for you,’ winked Big Bob. 58
It became loud and blurry, or perhaps that was just him. One of the old boys joined their table and spouted a slew of garbled words which Kit took for Cornish, but apparently he was just arseholed.
When Hannah came by to deliver bowls of chips, he’d got up and followed her back towards the kitchen, grabbed her hand, and led her around to the corridor near the back stairs. In the corner there they’d had their first kiss – well the first since their brief fumble under the mistletoe last Christmas, which was red hot as he recalls.
Later, Hannah had finished early for the night, and when she came round to the punters’ side of the bar he’d stood, hugged her to him, bent to kiss her again, and while he explored her mouth, the noise and bustle was still there all around him but no longer inside him.
Then a push in his back and Charlotte was there – appearing out of thin air, confusing him, because as he stood there gormless and swaying, there’d been shouting which he couldn’t quite make out and Charlotte suddenly hit him hard across the mouth, making his lip bleed. A torrent of tears out of nowhere, making no sense.
When Charlotte disappeared, he immediately forgot her.
He sat back down at Sam’s table and Hannah came round with ice cubes in a cloth to put on his lip, but all he wanted on his mouth was her.
Another drink, avoiding the split, dribbling some of it down his shirt. More laughter.
The barmaid from this season, who was leaving in a couple of weeks, not even staying for the August rush (couldn’t hack it), joined them, and Alison went upstairs and left them to it. 59Hannah and her friend had put on their own music, but not loud, so’s not to disturb the guests upstairs, and the girls danced together, putting on a bit of a show. Hannah had a throaty, filthy laugh.
Then he was the only one left with Sam and a couple other workers.
And her. Sexy as all hell. A total knockout. Really long dark hair, like a mermaid. Dark eyes. A wicked smile and amazing breasts.
Desire licks up from his groin as he remembers.
Eventually she sat next to him and asked him about Charlotte.
‘Was that your girlfriend?’
‘Never saw her before in my life!’ he joked.
‘Really.’
‘Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into her. She’s my mum’s goddaughter. She’s usually a sweet girl. I’ve no idea why she kicked off.’ (And he genuinely doesn’t have the faintest idea.)
At some point there was the look.
He didn’t want to go back to his mother’s, and they couldn’t go back to Hannah’s – no room – but she had the keys for Puffin, one of the cottages up by the lake. In the middle of being redecorated.
Properties on the island are generally only locked during refurbs, because there might be ladders, drills, sanders and saws left around, and Tresco’s free-range kids, used to running in and out of the workers’ cottages, are fascinated by the timeshare homes, mainly because they’re not allowed in them. During building work these holiday lets are locked to stop the youngsters sneaking in, poking around and hurting themselves.
‘Sea savvy, land stupid.’ One of Old Betty’s sayings. 60
Kit left the pub first, then he waited in the shadows outside. Moonless. No streetlights. A couple of steps away from the pub, it was pitch black apart from the stars – so many stars! Hannah wheeled her bike round and joined him a few minutes later. She’d acquired a bottle of vodka.
He wrapped his arms around her, pressed himself into her, enjoyed the sting on his lip when she kissed him, and then he tripped, knocking over the bike.
She picked it up and they snuck away, giggling.
It was cold inside Puffin, the furniture enveloped with dust sheets, ghostly in the dark, the smell of fresh paint. They soon warmed up.
And she swept him away.
The thought of that and Kit is instantly hard again. And he feels a shift deep inside; something irresistible – the point where the moon’s pull turns the tide. It is light already, and somehow he knows his life has changed.
Like a teenage girl he checks his phone and smiles to see a message from her. She asks him to lock up, leave discreetly, bring the keys back to the bar this afternoon when Alison’s not there. His lip hurts as he grins at the thought of seeing her again.
But first he will have to return to Falcon and the thought of his mother, no doubt nursing her own hangover, makes him feel slightly queasy. He wonders if she’ll have remembered to let the dog out for a wee. And he’ll have to face Charlotte, who must have been off her head on something …
He swings his legs off the bed. Another memory – one so 61sweet, far more intimate than the sex, it makes him blush. As they finally lay down together in the small hours of this morning, exhausted, sated, he reached for Hannah’s hand.
And that’s how they went to sleep, the same as sea otters do, holding paws so as not to drift apart.