Holly is 27, she is 5 ft 7in. Veronica is 26, she is 5 ft 5in. Not giants by any definition, but thankfully not snakes either. Radiating openness and brimming with warmth, Holly tells us she will be telling the tale of an older lady, Shenna, and Veronica, that of a younger one, Ali. Both of these women are standing on the edge of a cliff on 20 June 2016 – that moment of the summer solstice, when the sun comes down and the moon comes up, and where the storm will rage till the land falls.

The tales unfold and as they do, folk song, lyrical prose and movement interweave to create the lives of these two characters. Shenna has been a giant in her world, a tall strong lady who strides through the wilds of her homeland; a woman carved from the same stuff as the crags, the cliffs and the earth, strong and un-shiftable, until she begins to shrink into her death. Ali, meanwhile, is growing into her life, a 29-year-old, who has recently separated from her fiancée and, mourning the lack of her, finds herself in a spacious empty flat, dwarfed by its relative enormity. Shenna, as her older self, sits in a day centre, grips a teapot and talks to the ‘lady with the kind eyes’ about her life. Ali, meanwhile, is coming to terms with what the future now means for her. Both, in different ways, seem to waiting for the thing that will change them; waiting for their own perfect storms.

Timeless folk songs, sung with heartfelt spirit in deep rich tones, brush against prattle about Ikea flatpack furniture; the enormity of life that builds itself around us and the tiny details of the modern everyday happily co-existing.  Holly Beasley Carrigan and Veronica Hare tell this tale with complete commitment. It is entirely evident that they believe and relish in the stories of these women and what we can take from their lives. At times, however, the individual journeys are not always easy to follow and the stories crack, the choreographed movement seems slightly out of place and under developed, and there is a lack of tautness in the narrative.

When the ending comes, and the women are back on their edges of their cliff – waiting for the storm – they turn to each other and dance; whatever they have fought against and lost becoming irrelevant. They look into the night, at each other – and dance. Freely and with joy. The moment almost mirrors the piece: any narrative or stylistic flaws being compensated for by the warmth and soul of the performers that dance its steps. The Flanagan Collective has created a piece of understated charisma – heartfelt, soulful and moving.