The Sound of Whales (3 page)

‘They might be marks made by the propeller of a boat.'

‘Is that what killed it?'

‘Maybe.' Ben looked out to sea and grimaced. A horrible notion struck Fraser.

‘It wasn't us, was it?'

‘No, it wasn't us. If you hit a whale, you would know it.'

Fraser gave a sigh of relief. ‘I knew I saw the lights of another boat last night.'

Ben's face had drained of colour, he had anxious eyes. ‘Perhaps there
was
another boat out there somewhere.' After a pause he added, ‘It still doesn't mean there was someone in the water.'

‘But it's possible. And we did nothing to help.'

Fraser was certain there was a connection between whale, boat and swimmer.

Ben said grimly, ‘Let's get this finished up.'

He retrieved a camera from the backpack, took a series of photographs, focusing on the propeller marks, then replaced the camera and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. With Fraser's help, the whale was pushed all the way over so it lay on its back. From his bag Ben extracted several plastic containers, which he laid carefully on the sand.

Ben unsheathed a large knife, and rubbed both sides of the blade across his shirt. ‘This is the unpleasant bit.'

Suddenly Dunny was there beside the whale, his head shaking and his face full of anger. He grabbed Ben's arm, tugging it, and the knife fell on to the sand.

‘Whoa, careful, wee man,' Ben said.

‘What's your problem, Dunny?' Fraser was shocked and a little frightened at such a display of rage and rudeness.

Dunny stood between Ben and the whale, breathing through his nose, his frown so deep you could hardly see his eyes.

‘The whale is dead,' Ben said gently. ‘I'm doing it no harm. I'm taking samples so we can find out what happened to it.'

Dunny breathed, said nothing, didn't move.

‘If we know what happened to this one, we can maybe prevent it happening to other whales.'

For a moment more Dunny held himself taut, then his whole body sagged. His eyes, that had been narrowed with anger, grew wide and watery, and he turned and moved away. Fraser watched him head along the beach in the same direction as the American girl.

‘Sorry about that.'

‘Don't worry about it.'

‘He's getting weirder by the day.'

‘He was just concerned about the whale. He didn't understand.'

Ben picked up the knife, grasped it firmly in the palm of his hand and plunged it into the underside of the animal. He pulled the knife down the length of the stomach. A greasy solution of blood and fat seeped on to the sand. He prised open the incision with the flat of the blade and took a step back as the smell hit him.

‘Well, that isn't nice,' Fraser said, putting a hand to his nose.

Ben laughed. ‘This job's not all boat trips and dolphin rides.' He delved a hand into the stomach and pulled out the animal's final meal. There were a few white fish bones and some squid beaks, black and sharp. He made some notes then prodded around the guts with his knife until he found the liver. He cut off a piece, popped it into a plastic container and labelled it. He took a few more samples, from the blubber, the kidneys, the skin, making notes as he went along. Finally he took the fragments of viscera and pieces of tissue that lay on the beach and jammed them back inside the whale, kicking sand over patches of stain. He pushed the cut in the belly closed with his foot.

‘Normally we remove the head of the whale and send it to a collection housed in the National Museum of Scotland but I haven't the heart for it today. I've samples enough. Now we need to go and see the harbour master.'

He stood and brushed the beach from his shorts. ‘One last task, though.' He lifted the knife from the sand and moved to the mouth of the whale, the jaws slightly agape. He selected a blemish-free tooth and worked it from the gum. It popped loose and he caught it in his left hand.

‘You can tell a whale's age from a tooth. It has annual growth layers that are visible under a microscope. But this one's for you.' He handed the tooth to Fraser, then prised a second one loose for himself.

Fraser held the tooth between his fingers, marvelled at it smoothness, the way it tapered to the finest of points.

‘Thanks,' he said.

‘Keep that in your pocket and it will be your lucky talisman. When you spot a whale, it will circle back, thinking you're one of them.'

Fraser didn't believe a word but he placed the tooth carefully in his pocket just in case as they headed to see the Skulavaig harbour master.

Mr Wallace was responsible for the safe arrival and departure of the ferry twice a day. He also watched over the comings and goings of the town from his little office above the Fisherman's Mission. The mission, a social club for the town's fishermen, was deserted when Ben and Fraser arrived, a pool table standing idly among a clutter of chairs. Fishermen were rare now in Skulavaig; the mission served mainly as a meeting place for the old boys who gathered to talk about how things used to be.

Together Fraser and Ben climbed the narrow wooden stairs that led to the harbour master's office. The walls were lined with photographs of fishing vessels, some in colour, some black and white.

Fraser had never been up these stairs before. He examined the pictures as he climbed and looked for Ben's boat.

‘Where's the
Moby Dick
?' he asked.

Ben gave a gloomy smile. ‘The boats on this wall have all been lost at sea in the last eighty years. It's a stair of remembrance.'

‘Oh,' Fraser said, wishing he hadn't asked. He had come close to being up on the wall himself.

They entered the harbour master's office and found Mr Wallace by a large window, scanning the sea with binoculars. He was a tall, thin man with neatly trimmed grey hair and beard. As well as harbour master he was also the unofficial coastguard and customs officer but he rarely moved from his window. Nothing much happened on the island of Nin; there was never much to see through his binoculars.

‘What can I do for you, Dr McCaig?' he said rather coldly, without removing the eyeglasses.

Fraser knew that Ben and Mr Wallace didn't like each other. Ben breezed in over the summer during the research season and ignored most of the harbour regulations. He didn't care much for figures of authority such as Mr Wallace.

Ben addressed the back of his head. ‘There's a dead whale washed up on the beach south of the cliffs.'

‘Aye, I heard. Willie McGregor was up earlier.'

‘Can you arrange to get it removed before it rots?'

‘It's already taken care of. Some men will be over later today. Are you finished with it?'

‘I am, yes.'

‘What was it?' Mr Wallace put down his binoculars.

‘A pilot whale. A young male.'

He turned. ‘How did it die?'

‘It was probably hit by a boat.'

‘In last night's storm?'

‘Aye, the whale is not long dead.'

‘It wasnae your boat?'

Ben huffed and folded his arms. ‘No.'

Fraser wanted to ask if there had been reports of struggling swimmers but he thought better of it. The harbour master would only wonder why they had done nothing to help.

‘And you, Fraser Dunbar.'

It took a moment before he realized he was being addressed.

‘Aye, Mr Wallace?'

‘No more midnight sailings.'

‘No, Mr Wallace.' Willie McGregor had obviously blabbed.

The harbour master turned back to his window and Ben and Fraser stole silently from the room and descended the stairs. Fraser had the suspicion Mr Wallace was disappointed not to be adding a new picture to his wall of wrecks.

He left Ben at the jetty and walked up the small hill to his house. His was the biggest house in the harbour, had belonged to the ferry master back in the days when ferries were powered by wind and sail. It had an old boathouse which his dad had converted into a holiday cottage to be rented out to tourists and visitors.

He was thinking about the American girl again. It was a small island and it was inevitable that they would meet again. The thought made him shudder – she was so annoying. But she was also very pretty and very American, like someone from a television show. Storms, sunshine, dead whales, American girls; the island of Nin suddenly seemed
 . . . 
seemed
 . . . 
he searched for a word but only one seemed to fit. Nin suddenly seemed
interesting
and he couldn't remember when he last thought that about the place.

CHAPTER 4

H
ayley stood at the base of the cliff she had climbed the previous night in the dark and the wind and rain. How different it seemed now, the red rock glowing in the sunlight. The path up seemed not nearly as steep, the cliff not so high. Hayley considered another climb but decided to walk further along the beach instead.

In the opposite direction there was just a dead whale and an irritating Scottish boy. In Texas she never walked anywhere, ever; it was the school bus or a car ride every time. A
combustion-engine culture
, her history teacher had called it. Here it was either take a walk or sit in the cottage, and since the internet connection was down again and she had listened to the songs on her iPod too many times and her mom was still in a mood, a walk seemed the only option. Her mom was waiting for an apology for her late-night wander, even though she had rescued a boy from certain death. The Dunbars had been eternally grateful when they had met at the harbour; she had brought their son safely home. That was how she had spun it anyway, although her mom was unconvinced.

Hayley wondered what would happen if she didn't apologize, if she just refused to say sorry. Would her mother punish her by dragging her away from her home, her friends, her life, and pack her off to some cold, desolate place on the other side of the world? No, wait, she had done that already.

Hayley stopped and glanced back again. Yes, he was still there, the weird boy, following at a distance but making no attempt to hide himself. At first it had been amusing but now it was a little creepy. Whenever she stopped, he stopped.

The tide was out so there was a large stretch of sand between her and the sea. The water glimmered in the sunshine and the air felt surprisingly warm – she had expected only cold rain in this country. As her eyes moved from the ocean to the cliff she saw a cave in the rock, a dark, menacing hole that gave her a jolt, along with an instant, overwhelming desire to know what was in there, despite not being much of an explorer. She would need to scramble up some boulders to get to the cave entrance. She was athletic and toned, on the school swim team, but she also had nice nails that were easily chipped
 . . .

Before she had the chance to choose between nails and curiosity, something touched her on the arm. She jumped in terror and let out a squeal. Dunny was beside her, he had closed the gap between them unnoticed and stood now biting his lip, frowning.

‘Jesus, Dunny, you gave me a heart attack.'

The boy pointed to the cave and shook his head.

‘What is it?' Hayley asked.

Dunny just shook his head again.

‘You really don't speak? At all?'

Dunny wrapped his thin fingers around her arm and gently pulled.

‘Is there something in the cave? A wild animal? A monster?'

The boy smiled, as if she was being ridiculous. It transformed his face; he had a nice face when he smiled with big soft eyes and cute dimples. Hayley wished he smiled more. He pulled again.

‘OK, I get it, it's your cave. I not allowed in.'

Dunny retraced his steps along the beach and Hayley followed, wondering to herself why, for the second day in a row, she was trailing after this mute Scottish boy. When his initial strangeness was overcome there
was
something intriguing about him. His skin was so pale but his eyes were so dark; he never spoke, but sometimes wailed; he seemed to seek solitude, but was always close by.

She turned to take a last look at the cave and saw a fleeting movement, a shadow, a shape. A man?

She gasped and it was gone.

Dunny kept to the top of the sand, away from the dead whale, and they reached the harbour in silence. Beside the Fisherman's Mission, Hayley saw her mother.

She sighed and walked up the road, leaving Dunny standing by the harbour.
No reason to say goodbye
, she thought.
He's not my friend and he won't reply anyway
.

Sarah Risso was slim and tanned from the Texas sun. Her blonde hair was shorter than Hayley's but tied in a similar ponytail. ‘Hi, honey,' she said with a smile.

This is promising
, Hayley thought.

‘Let's go for a coffee,' her mom said.

‘You can do that here?'

‘They drink coffee in Scotland.'

‘It doesn't strike me as a Starbucks kind of town.'

‘There is a small cafe round by the ferry.'

Together they walked along a narrow street that led away from the old harbour. Around the bend, on the other side, was the slipway and jetty where the ferry embarked and disembarked. Unlike the wood and stone of the old harbour, this was functional concrete and steel. Beside it sat a small row of shops and a cafe. The town had no mall, so Hayley hadn't thought it worth exploring. The low stone houses had window boxes and some of the quaint chimneys were puffing smoke. There didn't seem to be very many cars or people. A little back from the ferry port stood a large sandstone church with a tower but no steeple.

A bell above the cafe door rang as they entered. The place was empty. They chose a table by the window that looked out on the ferry port. One small van sat in the queueing lane but there was no one in it. The morning boat had been and gone, the afternoon ferry was not due for a couple of hours. The cafe smelt pleasantly of home baking, and a small, round woman appeared from a door by the counter. She offered a good morning and menus. Sarah asked for a recommendation.

‘We bake our own scones,' the woman said.

‘Two coffees and two scones, then,' said Sarah.

‘Fruit or plain?'

‘One of each.'

The woman bustled away and Hayley asked, ‘What's a scone?'

‘It's like a biscuit.'

‘But Scottish biscuits are cookies.'

‘Our kind of biscuit.'

Hayley stared out of the window and willed someone, anyone, to wander by and show that there were more than three people left in the world: her, her mom and the scone lady.

‘Was that you talking with Dunny Dunbar earlier?' her mom asked.

‘Hardly,' Hayley said with a scoff.

‘You know what I mean. It's good to make friends.'

Hayley physically recoiled. ‘Dunny Dunbar is not my friend.'

‘Have you met his older brother, Fraser? He seems a nice boy.'

‘He's an extremely unpleasant boy.'

Sarah sighed. ‘Hayley, honey, you have to make some kind of effort to get on with people. We might be here for a couple of months, remember. You will be going to school with these boys.'

It was Hayley's turn to give a big sigh. ‘I can miss school for a few weeks, Mom. I'll catch up when I get back, I promise.'

‘You're behind as it is. Your grades have been terrible this semester.'

‘We know who's to blame for that.'

‘You can't blame your father for everything. You flunked those tests all by yourself.'

‘Yes, well, Dad didn't help.'

Hayley stared out of the window again. She looked at the empty slipway and knew if she didn't get back in her mother's good books, she would be catching ferries to school. The island of Nin had a primary school but it was too small to have a high school of its own. Children from Nin went to the nearby, much larger Isle of Skye.

‘Sorry for leaving the cottage last night,' she muttered through gritted teeth.

‘Just don't do it again,' Sarah said. ‘I read somewhere that Scotland has more axe murderers than any other country in the world.'

‘Is that right?' Hayley asked disbelievingly. ‘More than Texas?'

‘That's right. And I've heard they target moody, selfish girls.'

‘I'm not going to school here.'

‘It will only be for a few weeks.'

‘But the high school isn't even on this island. I have to stay in a hostel.'

‘Won't that be an adventure.'

The distance between Skulavaig and Skye was too great to travel every day, especially in winter when seas were stormy and roads impassable. Children from small islands and remote locations stayed in a purpose-built hostel during the week, returning home at the weekends. Hayley had made it perfectly clear from the moment the idea was raised that she would not spend her weekdays with a bunch of hicks whose ways and accent she did not understand. Her mother had replied simply that it was not up for debate. Her mom thought her spoilt and self-absorbed; staying in the high-school hostel would be a bit like summer fat camp. It would be summer
brat
camp.

Hayley had checked out the school website, half of which was written in Gaelic, the local language. Most of the words had consonants running together she couldn't even begin to pronounce. And the school seemed obsessed with a sport Hayley had never heard of: shinty. After searching every page of the website, the crushing realization slowly settled that her new high school did not, and would never have, a cheerleading squad.

There was a pause while Hayley seethed in silence before she finally asked, ‘Why are we here, Mom?'

‘You know why we are here. I'm writing a book.'

‘A book about what?'

Sarah gave a laugh. ‘Now you ask. You've shown no interest in my writing up to now.'

‘I haven't been dragged from my home up to now.'

‘I've told you all this before. You don't listen. I am writing a book about displaced people.'

‘Like me, you mean.'

‘Not quite. These are people forced to move.'

‘Exactly. I can be Chapter One.'

Sarah gave an incredulous smile. ‘Hayley, these are people forced to move because of poverty or persecution or war. It's hardly the same thing.'

Hayley muttered, ‘It sure feels like it.'

‘That's why I was in Mexico in March. And London before that.'

Hayley stated coldly, ‘I remember.' Her mom's Mexico trip was the first time she had stayed with her father in his new apartment. The first time they had spent time together since he moved out. The first time she had met ‘Judy'. It had not been a good few weeks.

‘So why are we in Scotland?' she asked. ‘Why are we stuck on this little island in the middle of nowhere?'

‘I have my reasons,' her mom said. ‘But you don't need to know everything.'

‘I want to go home,' Hayley said.

‘You are home, honey, at least for a little while.'

Hayley took in the view from the cafe window: the glittering ocean, the rocky headland, the sandy beach. It was picturesque for sure, beautiful even, but so was the Sahara Desert, so was Mount Everest, so was the
moon
. No one asked her to live there.