The Sound of Whales (5 page)

CHAPTER 7

F
raser thought again about Hayley's tale of someone hiding in the cave. First a man in the water and now perhaps a man in the cave. They must be connected, he thought, as he watched the afternoon ferry come in. Two cars and two vans disembarked along with a crowd of foot passengers, most of whom were islanders. He gave a nod to a girl who was a year ahead of him at school. His one friend on the island, a boy called Malcolm, was away for five weeks in Lanzarote. He stayed until the ferry departed; there were six cars on it plus some passengers on foot. That gave a net loss, more people leaving than arriving. Thus was the story of the island.

Fraser couldn't shake the notion there was something interesting lurking in the dark recesses of the distant cliff face. It was either nothing or it was adventure, and he'd had an afternoon of nothing. He could at least try for adventure.

A half-mile north of Skulavaig were deep caves that must once have harboured pirates and smugglers and shipwreckers. He had explored them often, had even camped for the night in one with Dunny. It took ten minutes to reach the base of the cliff and he was sweating as he pressed a hand against the weathered sandstone of the first cave opening. His heart pounded as he peered into the dark entrance. This cave was not especially deep and the afternoon light made it to the back wall. The cave was empty except for sand and dried seaweed. The next cave along was a little deeper but equally empty. The entrance to the third cave could only be reached by a clamber up some fallen boulders. Fraser pulled himself up the loose rocks, sending a scatter of stone back down to the beach. At the top he peered cautiously into the hole. Sunlight reached only so far and the depths of the cave were inky black. There was a damp smell to the air and he could hear water dripping from the roof. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The back of the cave remained in shadow.

‘Hello,' he said nervously, hearing the word echo back as if he had replied to himself. There was no other response. He needed a torch and some courage to venture deeper. He had neither, and there were other small caves to be examined further along the cliff face. He turned his back on the entrance, searching the ground for a sure footing to clamber back down to the beach, and saw, in the thin layer of sand at the cave mouth, a set of footprints. They were not his own, for these prints were made by bare feet. Big feet. Fraser caught his breath, turned back to the dark opening.

‘I know you're in there,' he said, trying to sound confident. ‘Show yourself.'

For a moment there was nothing, just blackness, and then shadow became movement. The figure of a man emerged from against the back wall as if pulling himself from the stone. At first all that could be seen were his eyes, white discs that shone as he moved into the light. The man was big. He wasn't young but he wasn't old, his head was shaven and he had the beginnings of a beard. He wore nothing except a pair of faded jeans. His skin was black.

Fraser gasped in fright, took a step back, then another and found himself tumbling over the fallen rocks. He hit the beach with a thud and his lungs deflated. He knew he was only winded, but it felt like dying. After a long few seconds he caught his breath and slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. The man was standing over him and Fraser couldn't breathe again, his heart hammered so hard it was painful, his whole body tensed at what was to come.

‘Can you help me?' the man asked. He sounded tired and desperate, and his voice trembled.

Fraser picked himself up from the sand and, gasping for oxygen, he turned and ran, ran as fast as he had ever run in his life, his feet sinking in the soft sand, his arms pumping, fingers clawing at the air as if that might help. He heard the sound of whimpering and realized that it came from him. He dared to glance behind him and saw the beach was empty.

Fraser collapsed on the sand. When his breathing finally returned to normal he sat up and felt embarrassed. True explorers didn't run away whimpering. And he remembered the man's words:
Can you help me
? That didn't sound like a murdering psychopath.

Then it hit him: he had heard those words before. In the middle of a storm-tossed ocean someone had called for help. It was the same man, there
had
been someone in the water, and the man had made it to shore.

He got up and walked back towards the cave. When he reached it he shouted, ‘Hello again.' There was a sudden panic that he had frightened the man away and would never see him again. After a moment, however, the stranger stepped out of the shadowy entrance and slid down the boulders to the beach.

At first glance the man looked big and scary but there was a nervousness in his eyes and his head twitched left and right as if he expected something bad to happen at any moment. ‘I did not mean to frighten you,' he said.

‘My fault. I overreacted.'

‘Still, I should not have jumped from the cave.'

The man had a deep voice and a sharp accent, not Scottish, not English, not American; some kind of African, perhaps.

‘You didn't jump. And it was me who told you to show yourself.'

‘You were not expecting someone like me.'

‘Not really, no. What are you doing here?'

‘That would very much depend on where
here
is.' He looked out to sea. ‘Where am I?'

‘You're on the island of Nin.'

The man frowned slightly, as if that was impossible. ‘An island? And in which country is Nin?'

Fraser hesitated, wondered if the man was joking with him. ‘Scotland. You're in Scotland.'

The stranger leant back against the fallen boulders and wrapped his arms around his bare chest. ‘Ah, Scotland. That would explain why I have been so cold.'

‘Where are your clothes?' Fraser asked.

The man gave a loud laugh that echoed off the cliffs. ‘It was easier to swim without them.'

‘Is that how you got here?'

‘Yes, I am
 . . .
' He scratched his stubbly chin as he searched for the word. ‘Shipwrecked.'

This
was
the man who had been swimming in the storm.

‘Well, you've landed not far from town. Come back with me. Or I'll go and fetch help.'

‘No!' There was a look of alarm on his face. He began again to glance up and down the beach. ‘You must not bring anyone here.'

‘Then let's go back to town.'

‘No, I cannot go to your town, I must stay here.'

‘But I want to help.'

‘You
can
help but only if I stay here.'

‘Why?' Fraser asked warily. ‘What have you done?'

‘I have done nothing.' The man's eyes narrowed and he pinched his lips together as if something hurt. ‘Except come here.'

‘Where are you from?'

‘I will tell you all you want to know but first
 . . . 
will you help me?'

‘Yes.' It was the least Fraser could do. In the storm he had lacked the courage of his convictions but not this time. The man looked cold and frightened and helpless. This time Fraser would help.

The man stared for a few moments, breathing slowly, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. ‘Can I trust you?'

‘Of course.'

‘You will tell no one of my presence here?'

‘Not a soul.' Fraser paused. ‘You must be hungry. And cold. I'll bring some food and clothes. I'll go right now and come back later with what you need.'

The man sighed and said, ‘Thank you.'

Fraser started back down the beach but was halted by a call.

‘Boy, what is your name?' The man was at the entrance of the cave, almost hidden by the darkness.

‘I'm Fraser. Fraser Dunbar.'

‘Thank you again, Fraser Dunbar.'

‘And what's your name?'

‘My name is Jonah. Like the story in the Bible. Jonah and the whale.'

Fraser sprinted all the way back to his house and arrived out of breath, heart pumping. It was not just the run along the beach; he had found a shipwrecked sailor in a cave. That was beyond astonishing! He slowed his breathing, wiped sweat from his forehead and pushed open the back door into the kitchen, ready for the row that would follow.

The kitchen was empty; no fuming parents, no dinner cold on its plate, only the smell of something cooking in the oven. His mum appeared from the downstairs toilet, wearing rubber gloves and holding a bottle of bathroom cleaner.

‘Where have you been?' she asked.

‘Just out.'

‘Down at that boat no doubt.'

Fraser said nothing.

‘Your father's warned you, Fraser. He says it isn't a safe boat.'

‘It's a fine boat. Dinner's late tonight.'

‘Just as well for you. Our American visitors are eating here tonight.' Jessie Dunbar ignored Fraser's sigh and her voice softened. ‘Have you met Hayley yet?'

‘Aye.'

‘She's a very pretty girl, don't you think?'

‘I hadn't noticed.'

‘Well, take it from me she is. Now go and wash your hands, they'll be here soon.'

Fraser hesitated. He had to get back to the cave. He had promised. ‘I'm not that hungry. I'll skip dinner.'

‘You'll do nothing of the kind.' His mother pointed a finger encased in yellow rubber. ‘Go.'

Fraser slunk from the hall and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. From the window he could see the
Moby Dick
sitting in the harbour but there was no sign of Ben. He tried to work out a plan that would get him back to the caves that night but nothing cunning or foolproof came to him. After a while he heard the doorbell and voices in the hall, and then his mother called to come and eat.

In the small dining room his family were squashed around the table along with Hayley Risso and her mother. The table groaned under the weight of food. His mother had left him a seat beside the American girl.
Subtle
, he thought. She was certainly pretty but in that don't-I-know-it kind of way.

The main course was salmon, as Fraser knew it would be. His dad was production manager of the island's large fish farm, Nin's only industry apart from tourism. Fraser and Hayley said nothing to each other throughout the meal except for some polite passing of the plates. Dunny could offer no conversation, so it was the parents who did the talking. Small talk mostly, about the food and the weather and the scenery and life in Texas and life in Skulavaig. Talk also about how life on Nin was hard for young people, how most had to leave to find work if they didn't want a job on a ferry or a fish farm. Fraser chewed his food and thought only of the man in the cave who had nothing to eat. After a dessert of apple pie and ice cream the never-ending meal came to an end.

‘I'll clear the plates,' said Fraser, seeing the surprised look on his mother's face. He never volunteered for chores.

‘Put the kettle on,' Jessie said as she ushered their guests into the living room.

Fraser carried the plates through to the kitchen and scraped the leftovers from the serving dishes into a plastic tub. He then put the remains of the apple pie into another tub. The man would have pudding.

He took orders for tea and coffee, to the admiration of his mother, then sneaked upstairs and stuffed the two plastic tubs into the bottom of his backpack, empty now of school books. He quickly searched and found two baggy sweatshirts, an old cagoule and a couple of pairs of thick socks. These went into the backpack. Finally he added a tatty blanket that had rested on top of his wardrobe for as long as he could remember.

He ran back down and made two cups of tea and one coffee. When he took them through to the living room Dunny and Hayley were standing with their jackets on. The girl made a poor attempt at concealing a frown.

‘There you are,' said his mum. ‘Take Hayley and your brother and stretch your legs for twenty minutes.'

‘My legs are stretched,' Fraser said.

‘Don't be cheeky and do as your mother asks,' said his father.

‘But I can't.'

‘Why not?'

Fraser could think of no convincing reason. ‘I've still to fill the dishwasher.' It was not a convincing reason.

His father made a slight scoffing sound, his mother said, ‘The dishes can wait.'

There was nothing for it, so Fraser moped from the room followed by his brother and the girl. He would have to think on the move. He ran upstairs to fetch a jacket, grabbing his backpack at the same time. As he pushed Hayley and Dunny through the back door he lifted a pair of his father's muddy boots from the step, waiting to be cleaned. He tied the laces together and strung them through the straps of his backpack. Hayley watched closely but he had little choice, it had to be done.

‘What's with the boots?' she asked. ‘What's in the bag?'

‘Some things I've to take to Ben.'

This seemed to satisfy her and she let Fraser lead the way out through the garden and down the small path that led to the harbour. Dunny trailed a step behind. Fraser's mind was racing. He had to find a way to ditch them both.