The building looked ravishing as usual, and Flora had booked the lovestruck ferryman Bertie Cooper, who had never gotten over his teenage crush on Flora, even though she now had an actual baby of her own. He was an optimistic sort.

“Quite the night,” he observed, rowing her and Joel round in choppy waters. Joel was looking at the island behind him, frowning. “Wouldn’t want anyone to accidentally tip over the edge, leaving baby without a daddy,” said Bertie quietly.

“Well, no,” said Flora, puzzled, then went over to Joel.

“What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” said Joel, who had barely celebrated Christmas as a child and had felt the lack very keenly, “that when you look at it from out here, there’s barely any lights on the island at all.”

“Yes, well,” said Flora, “that’s because we’re out at sea on a boat, and people very rarely decorate for people passing by for two minutes on a boat. The next nearest people who could see it are in Norway.”

“Hmm,” said Joel. “Only I was thinking . . . it is Douglas’s first Christmas . . . I really need to get on it.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” said Flora, smiling to herself at the sheer amount of extraordinary woolen garments that had already come her way from her older customers, with more to come, she knew. That poor child would get eczema before he was two.

“I haven’t managed to allocate Colton’s lights provision yet.”

They looked at the dull island.

There was a council ruling every year that the money that other places set aside to use for their Christmas decorations actually went toward extra street lighting.

School finished in the dark in the winter months, and the school itself was at the very top of the hill above the village. Extra lighting and handrails on the hill meant more children could walk to and fro on their own, without parents having to drive up and get them, increasing danger to the other, still-walking children. It was a sensible arrangement. But it left the island rather devoid of decorations elsewhere. Joel hadn’t noticed it last year. This year, of course, everything was completely different.

“Cool,” said Flora, whose mind was on other things as they completed the short journey and Bertie held out his hand to lift her off.

“You’re looking lovely,” he said, lightly depositing her on the quayside.

“Thank you!” said Flora, genuinely grateful as it helped cheer her up quite a lot about the zip situation. Bertie was happy. He’d made her beam. There was always hope.

Chapter 23

O ne, thought Lorna MacDonald. She was getting dressed for the dinner in her flat near the tiny school where she was headmistress and thinking about Saif, the island’s doctor, who had come as a refugee from Syria and with whom she was passionately in love, even though he had no idea if his wife was still alive. Oh, and she taught his children.