Fight island

[Youngbritishbitch]

The ferry came when it could, which wasn't the same thing as when it was meant to.
Glasgow, so far to the south, was the place most wanted to escape to. Until they didnt and came back Edinburgh was the destination of choice for a few. But to most theres just a few too many English folk there.

Most mornings--weather willing--you'd hear it before you saw it, a low diesel grumble drifting across the grey water, gulls lifting in a ragged cloud like they'd been startled awake. It eased into the harbour, offloaded a few crates, a bit post, sometimes a visitor who looked like they'd taken a wrong turn somewhere far too late to fix it.

But no ferry on Sundays. Never had been.

On Sundays, the island went still.

The old folk filed to kirk in their good coats, shoes polished for the occasion, faces set somewhere between duty and quiet suspicion of everything. The rest of the place slowed to a near halt.

Except the young ones, who had nothing much to stop for.

--

"Ye see her lookin'?" said Mairi, not bothering to keep her voice down.

"Aye, I see her lookin'. I've eyes," Isla replied, leaning back against the harbour wall, hands shoved in her pockets.

Across the road, by the rusted winch that hadn't worked in years, Fiona stood with her own lot--three of them today. They weren't doing anything in particular. Same as always. Talking, stopping, starting again, like they were waiting for something that never quite turned up.

Fiona had ditched the kirk clothes quick enough. Now it was jeans, a short jacket half-zipped, a white top underneath that skimmed just above her belly. Hair loose, wind catching it, making a nuisance of itself.

"She thinks she's somethin'," Eilidh muttered.

"Everybody thinks they're somethin'," Isla said. "That's the problem."

"Aye, but she really thinks it. Lookit her. Belly out on show n ivrythin"

"And yours isny?" from Eilidh.

"Aye but a dinny go God botherin on Sunday mornin then lettin every loon in toon go through me the resta the week."

On the other side, Fiona's friend--Kirsty, the tall one--leaned in, saying something that made the others laugh.

Fiona glanced over again. This time she didn't look away.

"Here we go," Mairi said, almost pleased.

"Or maybe we dinna," Isla replied, though she didn't sound convinced.

Boredom had a way of making decisions for folk.

--

"Ye gonna keep starin', or d'ye want a photo?" Fiona called across, voice carrying easy enough over the quiet harbour.

Mairi barked a laugh. "A photo? Of that? I'm no that desperate."

Kirsty folded her arms. "Haud yer wheesht ya glaikit wee midden."

"Oh, listen to her," Eilidh said. "Big words the day."

Fiona and her friends drifted closer--not rushing, just that slow, inevitable narrowing of space that always happened. No one ever said let's go over there. It just... occurred.

"Whit's yer problem, like?" Fiona said when they were near enough. Not sharp, exactly. Just tired of the same thing.

Mairi shrugged. "Nae problem. Just observin'."

"Aye? Ye should try observin' somethin' interestin' for a change."

"Hard to find up here," Isla muttered.

That got a couple of quiet laughs--both sides, even. For a second, it might've gone nowhere.

Then Kirsty said, "Better than makin' shite up 'cause ye're bored."

Mairi's eyes flicked to her. "Careful."

"Or what?" Kirsty said, not raising her voice.

"Or ye'll keep talkin', I suppose," Isla said, dry as driftwood.

A pause again. The kind that could tip either way.

Fiona shifted her weight, glancing between them. "Look, we can just--no bother. Aye? Just... away wi' it."

"Or," Mairi said, stepping a fraction closer, "ye could say it to ma face what ye've been sayin' behind it."

Fiona frowned. "I've said plenty to yer face. Ye just dinna listen."

"That right?"

"Aye, that's right."

It wasn't anger that moved things along so much as stubbornness. Nobody wanting to be the one that stepped back first.

Kirsty gave a short, humourless laugh. "Christ, this is dull."

"Aye," Isla said. "It is."

Mairi shoved Kirsty's shoulder. Not hard. Enough to make the point.

Kirsty shoved back.

And that was that.

--

It wasn't much of a fight, not really. More of a messy tangle--hands grabbing sleeves, someone swearing when they lost their footing on the damp stones, hair getting in the way, elbows catching ribs by accident more than design.

"Get aff--"

"I'm no even--"

"Watch it, ya--"

Fiona ended up grappling with Mairi, both of them slipping, neither quite getting the upper hand, just going through the motions like they'd done it before--which they had, in one version or another.

Isla stepped in after a bit, not urgent. Just done with it.

"Away, pack it in. Ye're all lookin' daft."

Eilidh snorted but let go of Kirsty, who staggered back a step, brushing her hands off like she'd touched something annoying rather than painful.

Fiona pulled free, breathing a bit heavier now, pushing hair out her face. Her top was tugged crooked, jacket half off one shoulder.

"Brilliant," she said, flat. "That pass the time for ye?"

Mairi shrugged, though she looked faintly irritated more than anything. "Bit."

Kirsty rolled her eyes. "Could've just gone for a walk."

"Where?" Isla said. "It's the same island whichever way ye turn."

That hung there for a second.

Fiona huffed a small laugh despite herself. "Aye. Fair."

No one moved to start again.

The wind picked up a notch, tugging at jackets, carrying the smell of salt and something older underneath.

"Right," Fiona said, straightening her clothes as best she could. "We're away."

"Enjoy it," Eilidh muttered.

Fiona gave her a look, but not a sharp one. Just... tired. Then she turned, her friends falling in beside her, voices already dropping back into their own conversation as they headed up the road.

Mairi watched them go, then looked out at the empty water.

"Same shite," she said.

"Aye," Isla replied. "Different Sunday."

Somewhere out past the harbour mouth, the sea shifted colour under a break in the clouds, like it might be thinking about tomorrow.

"If the ferry comes," Eilidh said.

"If," Isla agreed.

They stood a while longer, because there was nowhere else to be, and nothing much else waiting.

[Youngbritishbitch]