Candace sniffed. Oh Christ, how on earth was she meant to get back? She missed the old glory days of newspapers she’d read about, where people would hire helicopters and whatever it took to get them on a story. As it was, she was back to that grubby Har bour’s Rest, which she was sure was far worse than the place she’d been sent up to do the actual exposé on.

“No thank you,” she said snottily. “Can I ask you to contact me if a plane does decide to visit?”

Billy nodded as cheerfully as he could. Generally people didn’t behave as rude as this on Mure, and he wasn’t 100 percent sure how to handle it.

Candace had already turned around, remembering with a sigh that she would need to get the island’s only taxi back and the driver had been nosy enough the first time. And she was going to have to call Dan. This was going to be tricky. Very tricky indeed.

Chapter 59

I sla tended to keep her makeup out of sight at home, as her mother would always have something to say about the cost and about it being a little tarty. Vera wasn’t anything like old enough to have been to the dinner, Isla thought, but even there you could see groups of friends: ladies chatting with each other and having a laugh and even discussing a party as the group had carried on into the bar. She wished so dearly her mum had people like that.

But tonight, having cycled at top speed down the hill from the Rock into the village, then jumped into the shower, she was in too much of a hurry to be too bothered about what her mother thought. Even though they’d agreed to meet at Harbour’s Rest following her shift, and even though he still had to mop the floor, and after all, where else was he going to go? what else was he going to do?—she still, nonetheless, felt slightly that if she were late she’d get there and he’d be gone. Ridiculous. But still.

Like he was something out of a fairy tale, a puff of smoke. She put on her prettiest dress that she’d bought for dancing at Colton’s wedding the year before and never gotten to use. It was palest pink satin, pretty as anything and far too thin for the weather.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to meet a friend for a drink.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just a friend.” Isla felt daring and nervous.

“That lipstick looks tarty.”

“Good,” said Isla.

Her mother looked stunned. “Don’t answer me back,” she said.

Isla rolled her eyes.

“And don’t you roll your eyes at me. Are you going out to see some lad?”

“Maybe,” said Isla.

“Is he good enough for you?”

“For once, ” said Isla. “For once would you let me be the judge of what is good enough for me?!”

There was silence. Isla felt terrified. But for once she wasn’t going to be the conciliatory one, the one who tried to make everything better.