Page 15

Amelia perched on the edge of Tara’s sofa, nervously twisting the hem of her cardigan between her fingers. The room was cosy but cluttered, every surface holding a mix of books and papers stacked at precarious angles.

Tara had disappeared into her home office quite a while ago, muttering about how getting answers out of the council was like ‘pulling teeth with a spoon.’

The faint murmur of Tara’s voice filtered through the closed door, too muffled for Amelia to make out the words. She shifted on the sofa, wondering if she could tidy up, make herself useful. But as she looked around the room, she realised she couldn’t possibly know where anything belonged.

Amelia’s thoughts drifted to the morning’s events. Could women really marry each other out here? It seemed hard to imagine, but she tried. She pictured it—the ceremony on Solhaven's shoreline, the ocean murmuring its quiet blessings. For some reason, Amelia placed herself in the picture, standing opposite someone. Not Dane, but a female shape. Someone from the island? No…

She suddenly pictured Tara’s wry smirk and effortless beauty. The image was fleeting, but it left Amelia unsettled. She buried it quickly.

Tara’s office door swung open, and she emerged, looking both triumphant and worn out. ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘Your contact’s name is Geraldine Cooke. I don’t remember what department she’s in.’

Amelia blinked. ‘Geraldine Cooke?’ Had she seen that name? Possibly.

‘That’s your woman.’ Tara slumped into the armchair opposite Amelia, running a hand through her hair. ‘I’ve been on hold with more departments than I can count, but we finally have an answer. Cooke’s office is…’ She checked her phone. ‘Only a few minutes by car.’

Relief washed over Amelia. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry it took so long.’

‘It was no big deal,’ Tara said. ‘Though I think if I heard one more ABBA song on hold, I might have lost it.’

Amelia was tired of saying she didn’t know what things were, so she didn’t say anything, smiling.

Tara saw through it. ‘You don’t know who ABBA is.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll play it in the car.’

‘The car… plays music?’ Amelia gaped.

***

Amelia sat stiffly in the passenger seat of Tara’s car, in a trance.

‘What is this?’ she asked, her voice almost reverent.

‘Dancing Queen,’ Tara said as though that explained anything.

Amelia shook her head, her wide eyes fixed on the dashboard as the music spilt into every corner of the car. The voices were like nothing she’d ever heard—rich, layered, and alive with something she couldn’t name. The melody swirled around her, lifting her in a way that felt almost physical. She pressed her palm against the door as if to steady herself.

Tara glanced at her, ever amused. ‘You OK?’

‘I’ve never…’ Amelia trailed off, struggling to put the feeling into words. ‘It’s so beautiful. It’s like… Like it’s supposed to make you feel something big.’

Tara chuckled. ‘That’s one way to describe disco.’

Amelia barely heard her, too caught up in the swell of the chorus. The sound wrapped around her, bright and unrelenting, filling her chest with a strange ache. She thought of Solhaven’s band, their music raw and uneven, with melodies that drifted like sea mist but never quite settled.

It had its charm, but it felt small compared to this. This music was alive, thrumming with energy and purpose, sweeping her along like a tide she didn’t want to resist. For the first time, she understood what it was to feel music, not just hear it.

As the music played, a terrible thought struck Amelia. Once she was home, she’d never feel this again.

It was the first time she’d truly felt that Solhaven might not be enough. That something about the mainland fit. It was like stepping into the middle of a storm and realising you liked the lightning.