Page 26

Tara blinked into the dim morning light. She couldn’t believe she was waking up in Solhaven.

The floor had seemed like a shock at first, but she’d adjusted quickly, hypnotised by the golds and purples of the flames crackling beside her. Her white noise machine felt pathetic by comparison.

Tara heard the soft clink coming from the small kitchen area. She sat up and began pulling off her night stuff, getting quickly changed into clothes from her bag.

Once she was dressed, she stood, very aware of the ceiling only inches above her head. The whole place felt like a dollhouse.

In the kitchen, Amelia was standing by a wood-burning stove, watching a brass kettle rumble, her back straight as usual, her fingers drumming lightly on her hip.

Tara hesitated at the doorway, unsure whether to announce her presence or to continue pretending she was part of the furniture. In the end, she landed on a little cough.

Amelia jumped at the sound. ‘Stone the crows!’ she exclaimed, turning.

‘Morning,’ Tara said apologetically.

Amelia clutched her heart. ‘Sorry. Not used to having company here.’

Tara wasn’t sure if she should apologise, but that seemed odd, given she’d been invited. So she just smiled awkwardly. She didn’t think she’d ever felt conspicuous in her life.

‘Sit,’ Amelia said finally.

Tara obeyed, moving to the table and perching on a stool that creaked under her weight. The kettle’s rumble grew louder, and Amelia removed it from the heat. ‘How’d you sleep?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ Tara replied, though she could feel the tension in her back already.

Amelia busied herself making two cups of tea. ‘It isn’t what you’re used to, I know,’ she said, turning and handing Tara a mug.

Tara offered a half-smile, unsure whether to laugh or acknowledge the truth in Amelia’s words. It wasn’t just the sleeping arrangements—it was everything. It was a place out of time.

Amelia turned back to the stove to stir a pot. ‘I’m making porridge.’

‘Great,’ Tara said, glad to hear that it was something familiar and comforting.

As Amelia stirred, Tara took the time to study the cottage more closely in the morning light, noticing the little things: the hand-carved spoons resting in a jar, the pile of wicker baskets neatly stacked by the door, the mismatched ceramic mugs carefully arranged on a shelf.

As Amelia moved to open a cupboard, there was a soft knock on the door, and a moment later, the wooden frame creaked open. A villager, an older man wearing a flat cap at a jaunty angle, stepped in, holding a small, rolled-up piece of paper wrapped in twine.

‘Amelia! Glad to see you back.’ He looked at Tara, and his eyes widened. ‘Oh, it’s you! My gosh!’

‘I suppose it is,’ Tara said uncertainly. She took a sip of tea. It was a lot stronger than she was used to, but pleasant all the same.

Amelia smiled at the man as she took the paper. ‘Thanks, Morris. Time for a warm cup?’

‘Not today, lots to deliver,’ he said. He grinned nervously at Tara. ‘Well, bye then!’ he said at an oddly loud volume.

‘Goodbye,’ she said to him.

He tittered like a little girl and walked out.

Amelia shut the door behind him and unfurled the letter. She read its contents with a growing frown. ‘Looks like The Elders have spoken,’ Amelia said.

Tara took a sip of tea. ‘What does it say?’

Amelia’s expression was unreadable as she glanced at Tara, her tone firm. ‘They’ve decided you’ll be spending the day on the seaweed farm.’

Tara’s eyebrow shot up. ‘The seaweed farm?’

‘Yes,’ Amelia said. ‘The Elders think you should know how hard we work.’

Tara shrugged. ‘Cool.’ She wasn’t sure whether it was an invitation or an order, but she wasn’t arguing either way. ‘And you?’ Tara asked, her voice softening a little. ‘You’re coming too?’

Amelia gave a tight smile. ‘Of course. Someone has to show you the ropes.’

Tara’s smile dropped. ‘Wait, what? I’m working?’

Amelia burst out laughing. ‘You thought you were just gonna watch us and not have to do anything? You don’t know how Solhaven works yet, do you? But you will.’

It sounded like a threat.

***

As Tara and Amelia stepped outside the cottage—Tara’s belly full of porridge—the morning air was fresh. Tara was glad she’d packed a scarf and some dockers. She’d have frozen her tits off otherwise. It was colder here than Harborbrook. No central heating either. However, there was something to be said for that gorgeous fireplace.

The path leading down to the shore was rough and uneven, but Amelia walked with ease, and Tara had to quicken her pace to keep up. The scent of seaweed drifted on the wind, growing stronger with every step. Tara didn’t love it.

As they walked down the uneven path towards the shore, Tara glanced over at Amelia. She had to turn her attention to her reason for being here. It couldn’t be put off any longer.

‘So,’ Tara began, brushing a strand of hair out of her face anxiously, ‘how did this whole thing start? Solhaven, I mean.’

Amelia glanced sideways at her, a small smile creeping onto her lips. ‘How brief of an answer would you like to that question?’

‘The long story,’ Tara said. ‘I need to know as much as I can.’

‘Then let the lesson begin,’ Amelia said with a small nod. ‘It started with Arthur Henshaw. He was a fisherman. He stumbled across the place in 1901 while fishing these waters.’

‘Stumbled?’ Tara asked, producing her notebook and pen from her pocket.

‘As I understand it, he crashed his boat on the rocks during a storm,’ Amelia said.

‘There were already a few families living here—a dozen or so—and he was taken in and nursed back to health. But once he was back on his feet, he didn’t want to leave. Arthur wasn’t exactly happy with life on the mainland, so he moved his family out here. He was disgusted with how technology was creeping in, making everything faster and easier but not better. How it took jobs and dehumanised people. So, he moved here and started preaching about keeping the island free of all that.’

‘And people listened to him?’ Tara asked, pausing her scribbling.

‘They did,’ Amelia said with a slight shrug. ‘It was said he had a way about him. That when he spoke, he had a power in his words. He convinced them that the mainlanders were being corrupted by technology. He said it was poisoning their lives and that it would do the same here if it was allowed to reach the island. He also told them money did the same. As did alcohol.’

‘Sounds like he might have had a bit of trouble with the bottle,’ Tara observed. ‘Maybe had some debts.’ She made a note to research this Arthur guy when she got home.

Amelia looked like that had never occurred to her. ‘Oh, well. I’m not sure about that. But whatever his reasoning, everyone agreed with his words. So, they made some rules—no electricity, no money, no alcohol. Everything was to be grown, made, or traded so no one would ever go without. They wanted to be as independent as possible from mainland life but more dependent on each other. A true community.’

Tara glanced at Amelia, trying to picture a group of families turning their backs on the modern world. ‘That’s... intense. But they still traded with the mainland, right?’

‘Arthur realised they’d still need a few things,’ Amelia said, nodding.

‘But he didn’t want anyone to have to leave the island and deal with the mainland ever again. That was agreed, too. No one would ever step foot off the island, and we’d stay where it was safe. Unless there was no choice. So Arthur worked out a system. He knew a fisherman, Albert Hargreaves, who’d take fish to the mainland and trade it. Whatever Albert made, he’d use to buy what the island needed. Anything left over, he kept for himself. No one on Solhaven ever saw a coin from that day forward.’

Tara stopped for a moment, staring at Amelia. ‘Hargreaves... as in Tom Hargreaves, your trawler captain?’

Amelia gave her a quick smile. ‘Well caught. Yes, that was his grandad, and the arrangement stayed in the family. When Albert passed, Tom’s dad, Terry, took over. And now Tom.’

As they walked further down the path, the sound of waves grew louder, the smell of salt stronger. Tara kicked a small rock out of her way and glanced at Amelia again. ‘What happened to the fish trade?’

‘Stocks dwindled,’ Amelia told her. ‘By the ‘70s, there wasn’t enough left to trade anymore. That’s when Terry—Tom’s dad—figured out we had something special here: Dulse seaweed. He was the one who realised it wasn’t just edible but valuable. He took it upon himself to find a buyer on the mainland. And he did, maintaining the same deal. He gets what we need and keeps whatever money is left for his trouble. We’ve been farming seaweed ever since.’

Tara absorbed the information, her mind swirling with questions. ‘So, everything on this island—everything you do—goes back to this one guy’s ideals?’

‘His ideas shaped everything,’ Amelia said. She shrugged, suddenly a little shy. ‘It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.’

‘But eventually, someone did have to leave, right?’ Tara pointed out.

‘One day, a government representative came to our shores, sent to check on us. Someone on the mainland had concerns about how we were living—no electricity, no currency, completely cut off. They thought we might be... a danger to ourselves.’

Tara raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing they didn’t find any starving islanders?’

Amelia chuckled. ‘Not quite. But the representative wasn’t only interested in our welfare. They made it clear we didn’t own the island and claimed ownership. But they agreed to keep us as the long-term tenants. As long as someone went once a decade to re-sign the tenancy contract as a gesture of good faith. My grandmother was young at the time, but as a descendant of Arthur Henshaw, she was destined to be an Elder. She took on the task and carried it out throughout her life. Until now, of course.’

‘They claimed an island where people already lived?’ Tara asked sharply. ‘That sounds on par with the British government.’

‘You sound like my mother,’ Amelia said with a half-smile.

Tara was shocked to be told she had common ground with Amelia’s unpleasant mother. She wasn’t sure if she was coming around to a sympathetic view of Solhaven or simply hating on the government as a matter of general principle. She hoped it was the latter. She hadn’t been here that long. It was too soon to make any kind of real assessment.

Tara tried to absorb all she’d heard, the history of the island settling in her mind. She realised something. ‘Wait, if your grandmother was a descendant of Arthur Henshaw, then you are too… So, does that mean you’ll become one of those Elders?’

Amelia laughed. ‘If we still live here long enough for me to get the job, that’s the idea.’

The waves crashed louder as they neared the shore, the sound filling the silence between them. Tara studied Amelia, sensing the weight of responsibility the other woman carried. More than a hundred years of history, all on her shoulders.

‘Now, are you ready to be a real Solhavener?’ Amelia said, and Tara realised they were at the farm.

The sight before her was nothing like she had imagined. The farm stretched out across the rocky coastline in neat rows, an industrial-scale operation that seemed almost out of place against the island’s rustic charm. The workers moved methodically between the long lines of waterlogged greenery, their movements practised and purposeful.

Tara’s gaze lingered on the workers, their faces hidden behind the damp mist rising off the seaweed beds. The harsh reality of what she had walked into—this isolation, this refusal to bend to the modern world—felt all the more real.

And Tara was supposed to help.