The Last Ferry to Inis

By the time Marta reached the harbour, the last ferry had already pulled away from the pier, leaving a pale line of foam on the dark water. She stood there with her suitcase, wondering how she could possibly have misjudged the timetable. The island of Inis was supposed to be a quiet escape from a year of exhausting deadlines, and so far it had delivered nothing but frustration.

By the time Marta reached the harbour, the last ferry had already pulled away from the pier, leaving a pale line of foam on the dark water. She stood there with her suitcase, wondering how she could possibly have misjudged the timetable. The island of Inis was supposed to be a quiet escape from a year of exhausting deadlines, and so far it had delivered nothing but frustration.

"You missed it by about two minutes," said a voice behind her. An elderly man was sitting on an upturned crate, mending a fishing net with remarkable speed. "Don’t take it personally. It happens to almost everyone who comes here in autumn. The captain is a stickler for punctuality, which is funny, because he is late in every other aspect of his life."

"You missed it by about two minutes," said a voice behind her. An elderly man was sitting on an upturned crate, mending a fishing net with remarkable speed. "Don’t take it personally. It happens to almost everyone who comes here in autumn. The captain is a stickler for punctuality, which is funny, because he is late in every other aspect of his life."

Marta laughed despite herself. "Is there anywhere to stay tonight?" she asked. The man, who introduced himself as Declan, shrugged. "The guesthouse closed last week, but my sister has a spare room, provided you don’t mind a houseful of cats."

Marta laughed despite herself. "Is there anywhere to stay tonight?" she asked. The man, who introduced himself as Declan, shrugged. "The guesthouse closed last week, but my sister has a spare room, provided you don’t mind a houseful of cats."

The walk to the cottage took twenty minutes along a narrow road, and Declan spent the whole time pointing out things Marta would never have noticed alone: a seal resting on the rocks, a light in a window where a neighbour was baking bread. By the time they arrived, her irritation had faded and been replaced by curiosity.

The walk to the cottage took twenty minutes along a narrow road, and Declan spent the whole time pointing out things Marta would never have noticed alone: a seal resting on the rocks, a light in a window where a neighbour was baking bread. By the time they arrived, her irritation had faded and been replaced by curiosity.

His sister, Nuala, greeted them as if they had been expected for weeks. Within half an hour a huge pot of soup had appeared on the table, along with brown bread, thick butter and a strong cheese made by a farmer down the road. Marta, who usually ate lunch at her desk while answering emails, found herself lingering over the meal, listening to stories about storms, weddings and a legendary football match against the neighbouring island.

His sister, Nuala, greeted them as if they had been expected for weeks. Within half an hour a huge pot of soup had appeared on the table, along with brown bread, thick butter and a strong cheese made by a farmer down the road. Marta, who usually ate lunch at her desk while answering emails, found herself lingering over the meal, listening to stories about storms, weddings and a legendary football match against the neighbouring island.

Later, when the dishes were cleared away, Nuala asked what Marta did for a living. "I manage projects," she said, and then, hearing how empty the phrase sounded in that warm kitchen, added, "mostly I attend meetings and worry about schedules." Nuala nodded with sympathy. "Then the ferry did you a favour," she said. "Nobody on this island has worried about a schedule for a hundred years."

Later, when the dishes were cleared away, Nuala asked what Marta did for a living. "I manage projects," she said, and then, hearing how empty the phrase sounded in that warm kitchen, added, "mostly I attend meetings and worry about schedules." Nuala nodded with sympathy. "Then the ferry did you a favour," she said. "Nobody on this island has worried about a schedule for a hundred years."

That night Marta lay awake for a while, listening to the wind and the faint purring of a cat at the foot of the bed. She realised that she had not checked her phone since the afternoon, and that the thought no longer troubled her. Her plan had been to rest for a week and return to work with a sharper mind.

That night Marta lay awake for a while, listening to the wind and the faint purring of a cat at the foot of the bed. She realised that she had not checked her phone since the afternoon, and that the thought no longer troubled her. Her plan had been to rest for a week and return to work with a sharper mind.

In the morning the ferry came back, exactly on time for once. Declan waved from the pier, still mending the same net, and Nuala pressed a loaf of bread into her hands. Marta promised to return in spring. She knew, standing on the deck as the island shrank behind her, that she meant it, and that next time she would deliberately arrive too late.

In the morning the ferry came back, exactly on time for once. Declan waved from the pier, still mending the same net, and Nuala pressed a loaf of bread into her hands. Marta promised to return in spring. She knew, standing on the deck as the island shrank behind her, that she meant it, and that next time she would deliberately arrive too late.