There was no one to tell me not to, any more. I would not set foot there, said my late mam in my head, after what they did to the women. What they did to your own Gran. But that’s all over, said that man. Since years ago. Oh, not so many years. And no doubt that’s what they told themselves last time. But I did not listen to Mam. An island of nothing but men! my friend Sally had said. It sounds wonderful, and frightening! I should come and see you off at the bus — but I’ve to be at the bakery. Never mind — I shall see myself off. You are so brave, Lory. I could never do something like this. I was not brave, or frightened. I was not even excited as I left Mrs Mickle’s boarding house. The key to the house in Potshead, as black and rough-looking as if it had lain in the sea-bottom for years, scratched at my hand in my coat pocket. Mam’s little case that I had always loved and wanted — it was mine now, and I wished it were hers again — onto the bus it came with me filled with the clothes that I’d taken to Mrs Mickle’s.
