Black Cairn Point (7 page)

It took a
long
time to heat back up after our dip in the sea. I huddled in a towel in my chair, my arms wrapped around my knees, teeth chattering, thinking. Thinking about Dougie’s throwaway comment about the jellyfish. Was it just a jokey thing to say between friends, or was it something else? Something … flirty?

I was embarrassed, too. My face burned – it was the only part of me that was warm – as Dougie recounted the tale for Emma and Darren, both of whom had heard my hysterics but been too far away to see what was happening. They laughed at me, but it was good-natured and, better yet, Dougie chucked me another wink as he got to the part where I’d practically thrown myself at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled back, not quite brave enough to say something playful, something suggestive, like Emma would have.

‘Don’t be, I enjoyed it.’ Dougie lifted one eyebrow at me. Then he laughed at the expression on my face.

I looked down shyly – and a little annoyed at myself for not being able to come up with a witty comeback – and the conversation moved on.

To fishing. That was what Dougie’s dad had always come here for. Dougie wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually caught anything – except, one time, the flu – but Darren was itching to have a go, to prove his manly skills. Only he didn’t have a fishing rod. Or even a line and hook. The only thing he could come up with was a long length of twine from the junk-filled boot of the Volvo and a cold cooked sausage that he planned to tie on the end. He was adamant that it would work and was deaf to Dougie’s criticism. I offered no opinion – I knew as much about fishing as I did about alternator brushes – although it seemed a bit optimistic. He’d have more chance of catching a passing Irishman. Emma was ignoring us, lying in the sun, trying to tan away her sunburn. I was dubious as to whether that plan would work either.

The fishing argument continued but after a while I tuned it out. I contented myself staring at the sparkles dancing in the sea. Then suddenly they disappeared.

‘Hey!’ Emma complained, lifting her sunglasses and glaring at the sky.

I hadn’t noticed their approach but thick clouds now covered the sun, cutting off the light. They were innocuous enough, fluffy white cotton hovering in the sky, but behind us, crawling over the hill, they darkened to steel grey. Rain.

‘We need to get our stuff inside,’ I warned, watching with alarm as the rainclouds made steady progress across the sky.

‘It’s not going to rain,’ Darren disagreed, shaking his head disparagingly.

Just then a stiff breeze blew up out of nowhere, bringing with it a spattering of droplets.

‘It is,’ Dougie replied, standing up and staring at the approaching weather. ‘Pretty heavily, too.’ He looked at me. ‘Is your tent waterproof?’

I made a face. ‘Theoretically.’

The tent was old. It belonged to my cousin. Hoping for sun, I hadn’t thought to ask him how it would fare in a deluge.

‘Sit it out in our tent,’ he offered. ‘Our fly-sheet’s good for a pretty heavy downpour.’

‘Thanks.’ I jumped up, wrapping my towel tightly round me, and dashed for our tent. Once inside, I yanked on my clothes as quickly as I could, shoved everything else in my bag, hoping that would offer some protection, and bolted back out. The two boys were ferrying food and other provisions in through the empty opening of their much bigger tent, chucking everything on top of the three multicoloured sleeping bags. Three. I frowned at that.

‘Hey, has anybody seen –’

The heavens opened.

There was no warning. No pitter-patter or sprinkle before the storm. A sheet of water dropped from above. I was soaked in an instant, rainwater dripping down my nose, saturating my hair, barely dry from swimming. The t-shirt I’d thrown on now clung to me like a cold, uncomfortable second skin. There was no trace of the summer we’d been enjoying just moments ago.

I dived into the boys’ tent.

‘Shall I zip up the door?’ I asked, trying not to step on any of their possessions with my wet, sandy shoes.

‘Just the screen,’ Dougie told me. ‘The porch’ll keep the water out.’

We sat in a line, staring out of the half moon-shaped screen and watched the rain continue to fall. It was a torrent: big fat globules pitted the sandy beach and battered the waves. Time lost meaning as we sat there; it was mesmerising to watch. The clouds were so heavy an early twilight seemed to descend. Like looking at the world through a filter, the colours leached out.

‘Who’s got the torch?’ Darren asked.

There was some scrabbling around on either side of me, but the light in the tent remained muted.

‘Where was it last?’ Dougie wondered aloud.

‘I stuck it just by the opening, in case we needed it to pee in the middle of the night,’ Darren said, his voice right at my ear as he felt around the groundsheet surrounding me. ‘Heather, I think you’re sitting on it.’

‘Am I?’ I couldn’t feel anything, but I shifted obediently so he could check the space under me. Nothing was there.

‘What are you looking for?’ Emma asked, a dreamy quality to her voice as if she was in a daze. ‘Here, this’ll help.’

I heard a click and the tent was flooded with light.

‘That,’ Dougie laughed.

‘Emma, sometimes I don’t think you’re on this planet,’ Darren grumbled, but the look on his face was indulgent as he reached to take the torch from her.

‘What?’ She blinked and looked around at us, bemused.

‘Never mind, angel. At least you’re pretty.’

I rolled my eyes and shifted back to my original position. Every time I thought Darren wasn’t quite so bad he’d say something patronising like that, voice showing no hint of humour, and I’d revert back to my original assessment: he was an arse.

‘Ow!’ Something dug into my hip painfully as I let my weight settle back down. Were there two torches?

No. Whatever was hurting me was in my pocket. I ferreted around in my jeans until I could draw the thing out.

‘Oh.’ I stared at it, surprised.

The brooch. I’d almost forgotten it. The argument between Darren and Martin had totally driven it from my mind. In the torchlight it glittered, the curved edge throwing off sparkles. The light wasn’t quite good enough to show the carvings, not like I’d seen them earlier in the sunshine, but running my finger over the surface I could feel the grooves.

‘You cleaned it!’ Dougie said, surprised.

I turned to see him peering eagerly over my shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Yeah, it came up really well.’

‘Can I have a look?’ I surrendered it into his waiting palm. He held it up close to his face, angling the torch so that he could get a good look. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That’s crazy. Guess it’s not that old then.’

He seemed fascinated by the markings on the surface too.

‘What do you think the engravings are?’ I asked, pointing at one swirl that was just about visible.

‘Don’t know.’ Dougie shrugged. ‘Wonder what it was doing there?’

We lapsed into silence again. Dougie was still studying the brooch, picking at the pin on the back. I watched him, trying to imagine how the piece of jewellery had ended up buried deep in the middle of a collapsed cairn. The hill was in the middle of nowhere. I supposed there were probably walkers going past, but it seemed unlikely that whoever had left it there had discovered the place by chance. My stomach turned uneasily as another theory presented itself. What if it was a love token? What if it had been left there by a distraught widow, a gift to a husband or wife, one no longer here, left in a spot they loved? Once again I had the feeling that we shouldn’t have taken it. Maybe I would suggest to Dougie that we return it.

I glanced around the tent as I thought about it and my gaze drifted towards Darren, staring broodingly out towards the beer cooler, half buried in the sand outside. Yes, that’s what I’d do. But I’d wait until Dougie and I were alone first. Darren wouldn’t get it, he’d laugh at me. I hoped Dougie wouldn’t.

It felt like a weight off my mind to have decided. I went back to watching the rain.

‘We might find our stuff swimming in water after this, Emma,’ I told her ruefully. The bag I’d stuffed everything into wasn’t waterproof either and I hadn’t thought to bring our sleeping bags with me earlier. That was stupid.

‘I’m not sleeping in a wet bag!’ Emma complained.

‘There’s always the Volvo,’ I replied, looking at Darren hopefully.

He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, ladies, we’ll make room for you in here.’

‘Where?’ Emma looked round. Every inch of the tent was covered with the boys’ gear.

‘Believe it or not, this is meant to be a six-man tent,’ Dougie explained.

‘Ha!’ Emma snorted derisively. ‘Heather says ours is a four. Four what, midgets?’

The talk of numbers pushed a thought back into my head.

‘Hey!’ I exclaimed. ‘Where’s Martin? He still isn’t back.’

Darren laughed. ‘Specky’s going to be drenched!’

I scowled at him, irritated. ‘Don’t call him that!’

‘Ooh, touchy!’ He grinned at me. ‘Something you want to tell us about you two?’

‘Darren, shut up.’ Dougie glared across the narrow space, and for once Darren did what he asked. Dougie looked at me, his eyes uncertain. ‘Do you think we should ring him?’

I looked out at the rain, the darkening sky.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, we should. Hang on, I’ve got my phone.’

I dragged it out of my pocket and flipped through the contacts. Finding Martin’s name, I smacked my finger down on his entry and the screen jumped to
calling
. It last two seconds before it cut off.

‘What?’ I stared at the phone, confused. Then I remembered what the girl from the metalworkers’ had told me – the one who gave us a jump. ‘Oh. No signal. There goes that idea.’

Dougie pulled out his own mobile and stared at it. He sighed. ‘Me either. How long do we give him before we go out looking?’

I looked at my watch. Martin had been gone for hours. Dougie caught my expression.

‘Now?’

I hesitated, then nodded.

‘Emma and I will stay here,’ Darren said loudly. ‘You know, in case he comes back.’

Emma’s noise of agreement was lost under the rustling sound of Dougie rising to his feet.

‘We’re all going. Darren, get your jacket on.’

Though Emma accepted Dougie’s edict with resigned silence, Darren muttered and moaned for ten minutes while we got geared up for heading out into the downpour. Typically, the moment we were ready to go – suitably clothed in waterproofs and boots, both Emma and me clutching umbrellas – the rain stopped. We ditched the brollies and replaced the jackets with thick jumpers – the wind hadn’t died and there was a definite bite to the air – before heading across the beach in the direction I’d seen Martin go.

‘Hasn’t it occurred to anyone else that he might be going in a circle?’ Darren asked. ‘Just because he left in this direction doesn’t mean he’ll come back this way. He’ll probably turn up back at the camp while we’re traipsing about in the dark.’

‘Then he’ll wait there and we’ll find him when we get back,’ Dougie said firmly. ‘You’re not getting out of going, Darren.’

Darren didn’t complain after that, although I did catch him casting dark looks at Dougie and mumbling under his breath. Things between him and Martin weren’t going to be any better after this.

There was only one path at this end of the beach. It wound along the rocky coastline before veering steeply up the hillside. At the top it spat us back out onto the same road we’d driven in on. There seemed only one sensible direction for Martin to have taken: we followed the road back towards the dirt car park. It felt even longer on foot than it had squashed in the sweltering heat of the car. By the time we tripped down the sheer section running back down towards the beach, night had fallen.

We’d been gone for two hours, maybe more. At the car park next to our campsite, Darren’s rusting Volvo waited for us, along with the smell of rotting fish that the rain had done nothing to dampen. I barely noticed it, however. I was staring intently at the beach, hunting for a torchlight beam or flicker of flames from the campfire to tell us Martin was back. There was nothing, just distant milky-white moonlight reflecting on the water now that the clouds had finally moved on.

‘Martin?’ I called as I stumbled my way down the narrow path. There was no answer. ‘Martin, you there?’

Silence. My trainers sank into the soft sand, grains spilling into my shoes to irritate my feet. I didn’t notice. Light played out in front of me as Dougie shone the torch left and right, scanning the area. There was no one there.

I shouted again anyway.

‘Martin?’ I could hear the panic in my voice now, tinged with guilt. I should have gone with him. He’d wanted me to. What had happened to him? My stomach twisted uneasily and I hurried on ahead.

I stopped in the middle of the campsite, practically empty now that most of the gear was in the boys’ tent. The swirling breeze distorted the sound of three people murmuring quietly behind me. I turned to stare at them.

‘He’s not here,’ I said pointlessly.

Their faces all reflected the worry I felt eating away at my gut. Even Darren looked bothered.

‘Where else could he be?’ Dougie wondered, frowning thoughtfully.

‘Maybe he’s fallen somewhere,’ I suggested. ‘Broken his ankle or something and can’t walk?’

A horrible image of Martin huddled in a ditch, drenched and cold, flashed before my eyes. In front of me Darren shook his head, shattering the picture.

‘No, we walked the entire loop. We’d have seen him, or he’d have heard us, called out.’

‘Maybe he’s unconscious –’ I started.

Darren cut me off.

‘You’re jumping to conclusions.’

‘Well, where is he then?’ My voice was sharp, biting. I saw Darren’s expression curdle in response.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest. His muscles bulged menacingly. ‘Maybe … maybe he left, hitched a ride up on the road.’

‘Without telling any of us?’ Dougie looked sceptical. I was too. Martin wouldn’t do that.

‘He was upset,’ Darren continued, warming to his idea. ‘He was raging at me –’ (Not without cause, I thought.) ‘– and then neither of you would go walking with him. Maybe he just decided to disappear. Five’s a crowd and all that.’