Dark Waters: Book 1 of the Lonely Island Series by Maggie Allder

Author:Maggie Allder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2022-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

Towards the end of the evening, Si and Rose produced what looked like a catering-sized can of cooking oil. It turned out to be more of the home-brew we had been offered on our last visit.

“Ah!” exclaimed Malcolm. “We can do better than that!” and he retrieved the whisky we had brought with us.

It was at about that time that the two refugees, the people they had called Quincy and Mo and who had been sleeping beside the far fire, emerged.

They were relatively young, not teenagers or children, but perhaps in their early twenties. Quincy had a bushy beard and long, scraggly hair. I’d noticed that none of the refugee men were clean-shaven. Mo gave the impression of being skinny, although it was hard to tell because they were both wearing blankets like shawls, wrapped round their shoulders. In the flickering light of the bonfire their faces looked worn and haggard. I thought that they actually did look ill, not the way you would expect a person to look if he or she was just malingering.

Everyone made room for the late arrivals round the fire. The children were mostly sitting down, dangerously close to the embers, I thought, and some of the adults had dragged bits and pieces to sit on: a broken wooden bench, an old crate, even a couple of breeze blocks. Malcolm had enlisted the help of Charlie and Harry to arrange some rocks away from the buildings, so that the fireworks could be lit safely. Frankie organised the removal of the potatoes from the fire, and they were served, liberally sprinkled with salt, on the same strange assortment of crockery that had made its appearance at lunchtime. Si came round with Malcolm’s whisky, and people started making toasts.

“To the new year!”

“To proper drink!”

“To our visitors!”

Mo was standing next to me. She was hunched up under her blanket, holding it together at the neck with one hand, and she had taken a jam jar of whisky in her other.

“So, what’s this all about?” she asked me. “And who’re you?”

“It’s new year,” I answered. “We call it Hogmanay up here. I’m Marie. We’ve just come over to celebrate with you.”

She glanced at me, almost furtively, as if she didn’t want me to know that she had looked at me. “Nobody comes ’ere to celebrate,” she announced.

“Well, we did!” I told her.

There was a pause, then, “Why?” she demanded. “What’s in it for you?”

Her question took me aback for a moment. Why had we come over? “To be neighbourly,” I finally answered.

“Huh!” remarked Mo. “A good time to start being neighbourly, ten years after we got ’ere!”

She had a point, and I felt embarrassed. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry!”

This time, Mo looked at me more steadily. “So what?” she persisted. “Are you new on this island, then? That vicar came over ’ere a couple of times when she was new. Never came back, though.”

“I’ve lived here for years,” I said, “but I live over on the other coast. I didn’t even know you were here until a few weeks ago.

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