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The Spring Festival was just starting when Tara and Amelia reached the main square, the morning sun casting a warm light over the scene. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh bread. Women in flowing skirts wove wreaths from wildflowers while children played games at wooden stalls, trying their luck at ring toss and strength tests.

Tables were covered with colourful cloths piled high with fresh herbs, soft cheeses, warm bread, and smoked fish. Nearby, a large wheel of cheese sat beside apples and pears from the island’s orchards. A few elderly men turned skewers of roasted vegetables over a wood-fire stove. The sizzling sound mingled with the laughter and chatter, filling the air with lively energy.

To Tara, it was giving Wickerman.

But she didn’t want to be all weird and judgy around the islanders, not openly, at least. She needed to keep it light. Join in a bit. Keep a low profile and observe the fuck out of it. It was time for Fun Tara. She’d just have to ignore that Harriet woman eyeballing her across the square.

Amelia, standing stiffly beside Tara, was not singing from the same hymn sheet. She was quiet and tense. She’d been that way all morning.

‘You OK?’ Tara asked her gently.

Amelia gave a tight smile, her lips pulling at the corners. ‘Fine. Fine. Just—’ She glanced away, not finishing the sentence.

But before Tara could ask more, someone stepped in front of her. ‘Well, look. It’s you!’ a wiry man with sun-worn skin said. ‘The mainlander!’

Tara looked at him and then back at Amelia, whose body seemed to lean away from her as though trying to create some distance. Tara couldn’t figure it out. She’d been normal last night. Had Tara said something wrong today?

‘That’s me,’ Tara said, trying to focus on being chatty and easy with the islander guy.

‘What do you think of the place so far?’ he asked.

Tara hesitated. She could feel the weight of the question and decided to dodge it. ‘I think I’m terrible at island life,’ she said, offering a nervous laugh. ‘I nearly fell flat on my face yesterday trying to farm seaweed.’

The wiry man chuckled, and a few others smiled nearby. ‘You’ll get the hang of it,’ he said.

Another older woman approached her. ‘So, you’re the mainlander, then?’ she asked, her voice light but with a note of curiosity.

‘I tend to go by Tara,’ Tara said.

The red-haired woman raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see about that.’ There was a hint of challenge in her voice, but it softened as she handed Tara a strength test hammer.

Tara hesitated. But she was in for a penny. She picked up the hammer, her fingers gripping the handle with determination. The woman smiled as Tara swung the hammer, but when the bell barely budged, a small chuckle escaped her lips.

‘Better luck next time,’ the woman said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

Tara shrugged and smiled. ‘What can I say? I’m a coddled mainlander.’

The woman laughed.

As Tara stepped back from the game, she caught sight of Amelia staring into space nearby. The ease she normally exuded was gone, replaced with a kind of withdrawn nervousness Tara couldn’t make sense of.

A guitar strummed in the background, and the group’s mood lifted. A wiry teenager challenged Tara to a clapping game, but Tara’s rhythm was a mess, sending the group into fits of laughter.

She turned to Amelia. ‘Man, this stuff’s trickier than it looks.’

‘You did well,’ Amelia replied. But her smile was forced.

Tara watched her for a moment, trying to read her expression. But Amelia had become a mystery—there, but not there. Tara couldn’t understand what had happened.