The Magdalen by Marita Conlon-Mckenna

warmer than here, and when the fishing is good the fish almost jump into the boat. I grew up in a little place called Goleen, have you ever heard of it?”
    She shook her head.

    â€œThere was a big family of us, and God love my parents, there was no way they could keep us all, so we knew once we got old enough that we’d have to leave the place and make our own way.”
    â€œThat must have been hard, having to leave the place you grew up in, and the place you loved,” said Esther, watching the emotion in his eyes.
    â€œBetter to leave Goleen than end up hating the place!” He sighed. “‘Tis the same with all small places!”
    â€œI’d never hate here!” declared Esther vehemently.
    They passed Seal Island, a small group of rounded rocks that at first glance appeared like a group of huge seals basking in the swirling waters. “They say that this is where the selkies come to sing their songs,” she told him as they passed close by. She noticed the way his thick hair caught in the sea-breeze, and he would try to push it out of his eyes.
    â€œAny sign of your two brothers?” he queried.
    Esther shook her head. There wasn’t a trace of their boat, but then this one seemed a lot heavier and slower. All she could see was the vast ocean spread out all around them. For the minute all she wanted was to stay in this old boat near him, this Con, this stranger. Absentmindedly she moved her feet away from the slight pool of water seeping in through the floorboards, and began to bale.
    â€œShe’s letting in a bit,” he remarked, watching her. “Anyways, it’s not much further to Inis Dil.”
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    Gulls screeched above them as they approached the steel-grey rocks and sharp cliffs of Inis Dil. Con had to concentrate as he guided the boat over a patch of ominous grey shadows lurking under the water.
    â€œBe careful!” she warned, leaning over to try and see what other dangers lay ahead. “Gerard might have landed on the other side, that’s where the grass is growing.”
    â€œNow she tells me!” groaned Con, laughing to himself.
    Esther blushed as his honest gaze ran over her. She began to bale again.
    â€œThis sure is a rough old island, ‘tis no wonder it was left to the goats,” he considered aloud. “I think we’ll try and go around to the other side.”
    Her long brown hair caught in the wind, whipping across her face as they turned, rounding the curve of the island, where patches of green were scattered amongst the bare rocks and her brother’s puzzled sheep stared out at them. They had to stay well out of the way of the rocks as they began to make for the shore. Con had cut the engine, lifting the propeller up into the air and using an oar to steer them along. With each roll of the waves they seemed to be pushed nearer the shingle-covered beach. The boat was letting in more water as the water swelled and pushed against it. “I don’t think I can take her much closer, it’s too dangerous!” he said grimly, pushing the boat nearer and nearer until it was almost aground, wedged on a sandbank. “We’ll have to wade in.” He lowered the anchor in the shallow water before climbing over the side, the water soaking his trousers. “Come on, I’ll lift you in.”
    Esther tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, and held his arms open to carry her. She squealed and
clung to him as he swung her over the water. Her arms locked around his sunburnt neck and she giggled and laughed so much that they both ended up getting splashed and soaked. He dumped her in the water as soon as the level was about to her knees. She gasped at its coldness, ruching her skirt up around her waist, modesty forgotten.
    They both scrambled on to the beach.
    â€œYou’re soaked!” she gasped, letting her skirt tumble back down over her wet legs, suddenly conscious of his eyes