Matching triple moon tattoos on shoulder and wrist

The ferry was cancelled again, so I am writing this on the back of the tide tables while the kettle goes cold beside me. You will laugh, but I went up to Mairi's shop above the harbour on Tuesday and asked her to do the three moons again. The old ones have gone soft at the edges. She said a triple moon keeps its shape if the circles are given plenty of room, and that nobody ever thanks her for that advice.

I still have the photograph you sent, the one from the car park outside the hospital, where we both held our arms up to the grey sky as if checking for rain. Dad called it a daft notion. Mrs Gunn at the post office asked whether we had joined a cult, and I said yes, the cult of catching the Tuesday boat. The branch on your finger is still my favourite part. Mairi says rowan wants a steady hand, and I told her you have one, which is a lie, because you always shook when you were nervous and still do.

Last night the wind came round to the north, and I walked down to the pier to watch the lights of the mainland. A gull stood on the bollard with its feathers blown flat, and I thought of the three of us on the back step with the dog, not talking, just listening to the boats knock against each other. Come home when the sea settles. The moons will still be there, and so will I, with the kettle on.