Part 4 (1/2)

*You're from Wrathlin Island originally, aren't you?'

*Sure.'

*I thought maybe you could tell me something about it.'

*Something?'

*I've been given this grant to write a book. It means living in a wee cottage on Wrathlin for a couple of months. Kind of like a retreat. Far from the madding crowd, as Oliver Hardy might have said. I'm just wondering what it's like.'

He smirked. I smirked. *Have you ever been to Barbados?'

*Nope.'

*Good. It's nothing like that.' He rubbed his hands together, then held them up to his face and scratched at a heavy stubble. *Ah, now,' he said, *how do you describe Wrathlin? I suppose it's a pleasant little spot for a day out during the summer. When're you going, next summer?'

I shrugged. *Sooner. A couple of months.'

He tutted. *Coldy, coldy, coldy.'

*Bad timing? We go as soon as the baby's fully fit.'

Mark looked surprised. *Oh, aye. I forgot Patricia was due. What'd youse have?'

*She had a wee boy.'

*Congrats. Everything okay?'

*Yeah. Great.'

*You don't look very excited.'

*It takes a lot to get me excited.'

Mark looked a little closer at me. *You all right, mate?'

*Fine.'

*You're sure?'

*I'm fine.'

*My wife thinks you have a drink problem.'

I stood up. *I don't have a drink problem, Mark. I have a hangover problem. It's a subtle but important difference.'

He looked a little bashful. *Sorry, Dan, I didn't mean to . . .'

*Never worry. Tell me about Wrathlin.'

*Okay. Like I say, nice for a day trip when the sun's out and sea's calm. That's about a week every year. Rest of the time it's . . . well . . . a hole. Wind. Rain. Snow. Hail. Thunder. Lightning. Then you have your breakfast. Ach, maybe that's not fair. It's not so bad if you're keen on the island life a it's basic, it's primitive, its att.i.tudes, its morals belong to the last century.'

*But it has electricity.'

*Yes, of course it has, Dan. It's not that bad. It's very insular, but then you'd expect that with, what, a population of about eight hundred it must be down to now. During the winter you can't even see the mainland much. Isolated is the word. It's a poor place. Not much work, and what there is is invariably seasonal.'

*Fairly religious, would you say?'

*Has its moments. For three hundred years it's been something of a refuge for Catholics from all along the north-west coast. Those that could afford to fled to England or France or down South to escape persecution. Those that couldn't ended up on Wrathlin. Most of them never left again. We're crocheted. They're close-knit.'

*You left it, though.'

*Aye. That's the problem with Wrathlin. It's not big enough to support a secondary school, so most of the teenagers get shunted off to schools on the mainland, they have their eyes opened a bit, and they don't want to go back. Population's dropping every year, I hear.'

*Your folks still out there?'

*Aye.'

*You ever go back?'

Mark shook his head. *I should. Just never seem to get round to it. You know how it is.'

*Aye. I know.'

*You thinking of taking Patricia out there as well, then?'

*Yeah. And the baby.'

*You think that's wise?'

*You think it's not?'

*I wouldn't go that far. But Patricia . . . well, Patricia's a bit of a city girl, isn't she?'

*Yeah. I suppose she is.'

*Wrathlin's no city, Dan. You know they're still waiting for Gone with the Wind to arrive?'

I gave him the raised palms. *Well, I've agreed to go. I'll jump the Patricia hurdle when I come to it.'

*And when'll that be?'

*In about half an hour.'

*Oh dear.'

*Aye. I know.'