The Visitors (28 page)

‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’

‘Aye, I think so. I mean, I’m shaken, but aye.’

I could hardly look at Ronny. Dismay carved across his face. He started shaking his head. My head crowded with dark-grey cubes, grinding into splinters. This was what my guilt looked like. I was certain they would hear the sound.

‘I’m sorry to tell you,’ I said.

‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘I don’t give a shite for Lachlan. He was nothing but trouble. It’s Anders I’m thinking of, and Bill and Dougie. They were good people. They were my friends. And if Lachie’s dead—’

He stopped, caught his breath. Mum shifted uncomfortably, one arm still around me.

‘Well,’ he said, his face crumpling, ‘you know what it means. We all do. It means Anders is done for, too, doesn’t it? Oh, Jesus. Jesus.’

I’d never seen Ronny cry before.

‘Hush, love. We don’t know that yet.’

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘Come on, Cath. Can’t you see it?’

Mum was silent.

‘This is no coincidence. It’s like we’re being hunted.’

‘We—’ she started, then fell silent. She let go of me and
put her arms round Ronny. The tear tracks on his face glowed in the firelight. He reached for his whisky, then paused.

‘Christ,’ he said, sitting upright. ‘That’s something else.’

‘What?’

‘Clachnabhan. The distillery. What will Munzie do if Lachie’s dead?’

‘He’ll keep it open, won’t he?’

‘I don’t know.’ Ronny was grim. ‘He’s wanted to retire for years, only Lachlan’s been too feckless. I don’t know what this means.’

All three of us thought of what would happen if the distillery shut. That would be a farewell to the island. There was nothing else to do.

‘I’d better call some of the lads. Better talk to Munzie.’

‘All right, love.’

Ronny refilled his whisky and sat down by the phone. He began to dial. Mum stood beside me, chewing her nails, watching her husband.

‘What if it’s true, Flo? Oh God.’

‘There’s nothing else it can be,’ I said, thickly. ‘There were half a dozen policemen at the harbour. This is getting really serious.’

‘You be careful, Flora,’ she said, urgently, and grabbed my arm. ‘Out by yourself all the time, and how you were last week. You promise me you’ll stay safe.’

‘I promise, Mum.’

It sounded hollow, but she gave me a weak smile. She smoothed the jumper where she’d grabbed my arm.

‘I’ll head to bed, I think.’

‘OK. Yes. Yes. Goodnight, love.’

‘Night, Mum.’

I went to my room. The Mutch book lay open on my desk. The voluptuous selkie waited like a centrefold, hand on hip.

This one is all yours, she said.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I said, though I didn’t believe it. I closed the book with a snap.

Ronny’s voice burbled through the wall. The distillery made things even more jumbled. If it closed, we’d have to leave. There was nothing else to do on Bancree.

My reflection fractured darkly in the window condensation. Trickles ran across my face.

Lachlan in the water was worse than Lachlan in the pipe. Until I’d seen him suspended there, lofted in the waves, part of me had clung to the idea that I’d dreamed it all. Now there were witnesses and policemen. There was sodden, swollen white skin, and holes where his eyes should be. Gulls or crabs, scavengers.

No body, no crime, said Izzy.

Now they had a body.

I needed to speak to someone. I needed to see Ailsa.

John Dobie skidded across the bay in the inflatable dinghy. I spied on him, ducking behind my curtains, as he laid it up on the beach. With the rugged kit bag slung over one shoulder, he marched off up the hill, heading south.

While the cat’s away, I thought …

As I’d seen Ailsa do, I fitted the outboard motor and dragged it across the sand into the shallows. The water was ice cold against my shins as I waded in. The engine started first time, and exhaust passed across my face like cigarette smoke. Travelling slowly, I steered the boat across Still Bay, tiller vibrating in my hand.

I killed the engine on the approach to the islet. I navigated the dinghy towards the pontoon, badly, but managed to lash it to a post and step onto Dog Rock. Wings outspread, a cormorant sat on a rock no more than ten feet from me. It glared, haughty, and didn’t move. The cottage seemed empty, but I knocked anyway. The little house was dead. I walked around the islet.

The chaffinches had gone, but a dozen crows waited in the secluded garden. They scrambled into flight as I approached, yelling and screaming down at me. The shed was musty, dark and empty, chinks of daylight showing through the roof. Bits of engine still lay strewn across the bench. I heaved the door closed and walked to the westernmost point. I found Ailsa where the Atlantic breathed against the shore. She sat
hunched on a rock, arms wrapped around her knees, and stared into the nearest waves. When she heard me coming, she turned, startled, then broke into the brightest smile and jumped to her feet. She gave me a fierce hug. I found myself hugging her back.

Lachlan, I wanted to say. Lachlan.

‘How did you get across?’

‘Your dad’s going to kill me. I pinched the dinghy.’

‘You never did!’

‘It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it? How long’s he away for?’

Her smile retreated into melancholy.

‘No idea. He’s been all over the place this week. He’s out every day. He’s been going to the library in Tanno, ordering old newspapers. He’s searching bits of the coast, too.’

‘The police searched when Doug went missing.’

‘That’s never stopped him before,’ she shrugged. ‘He’s certain the killer is here. But he’s said that before, and been wrong. More than once.’

‘So … how was he after the pub?’

‘Furious. I don’t think we spoke for three days. Hard to say which of us was madder. I’m so sorry about that.’

‘Me too. Mum was raging. I haven’t been in that much trouble for ages. She’s treating me like a kid.’

‘At least you get to be an adult the rest of the time. I get swaddled.’

‘He’ll have to let you go eventually. For the sake of your schooling, if nothing else.’

‘He doesn’t care about that. He just wants me locked away and safe. And Dog Rock does that. This is the edge of the map.’

She flipped a tiny pebble into the sea. It vanished without a splash.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m starting to think it’s harder out
here. It’s rougher. There’s more space to hide, to do things, and no one sees what’s happening.’

She gestured at the bruise on my cheek, concerned, then reached across and almost touched my face.

‘What happened to you, Flo?’

It had been a week, and the mark had almost faded, but it was still there, an echo in my skin.

‘I fell over on the way home. Daft, I know.’

‘You fell?’

‘That’s right,’ I said, studying the sea.

‘Oh. Right, OK.’

‘You heard about Lachie?’ I said, and teased fragments of lichen from the rocks.

‘It was on the radio.’

‘So much for him being the killer. What do you think?’

‘I think he got what was coming to him,’ she said.

She sat half-turned away from me. When I looked at her, she followed the gulls, avoiding my gaze. She either couldn’t bear to look at me, or Ailsa was hiding something too. Seaweed sluiced in crannies at our feet.

‘Did you and your dad go straight home?’

‘He marched me right back. He was fuming.’

Still staring into the grey ocean, she tucked hair behind her ear. We watched waves slapping on the rocks. The smell of the salt was overwhelming.

‘I should get back before your dad comes.’

‘Aye, I suppose. Sure you can handle the dinghy?’

‘Yeah, it’s fine.’

‘I’m half-tempted to take you across and bring the boat back here. Make him swim for it.’

‘Would he really be OK?’

‘He’d be fine with the swimming,’ she snorted, ‘but not with me leaving Dog Rock. I’m on lockdown.’

‘You talk like a prisoner,’ I said, half-laughing.

She wiped her nose. ‘Sometimes, I am.’

With a jolt, I remembered what John had told me: a comfortable prison is still a prison. I found myself wondering if he’d been thinking of Ailsa. Probably not. In his story, the prisoner escaped.

‘Things will get better,’ she said. ‘Dad will let me out again when this stuff with Lachlan blows over.’

I shook my head. ‘You don’t know this place like I know it. The Cranes are a big deal round here. I think it’s about to get a whole lot heavier.’

‘How so?’

‘There’s a lad called Tom Duncan who used to go to my school. He’s a detective now. I saw him in Tanno when they found Lachlan’s body, and I think he’s chasing it pretty hard. With someone like Lachlan, they need to show results.’

She chewed her lip. A thought occurred to me.

‘Has John ever told the constabulary about his ideas? The map, all his research?’

She shook her head fervently.

‘Dad doesn’t trust the police at all.’

‘Whyever not?’

‘Because they should have found whoever killed my mum.’

The gusts of wind blew colder.

‘I’m sorry, Ails,’ I said. ‘I should have thought.’

‘Isn’t it funny,’ she mused, ‘to miss someone you never knew?’

Her voice cracked a little, and she shifted away from me. I took half a step towards her. I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Her collarbones were sharp, even through her sweater. She leaned briefly against my hand, then stepped away. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’d better get yourself home.’

The return trip in the inflatable was easier. A mild breeze blew me straight towards the beach. My inexperience with the dinghy showed on the approach to shore, when slight waves began to lift and drop me onto land. When the rib touched sand, I was bundled headlong into the boat. Lying face up on the floor, just a little shaken, the clouds above me ran like horses. The lift of the waves and the lurch of the backwash spun me in tiny arcs and I lay there for longer than I should have, knowing what it was to be helpless on the sea.

Maybe things would get better. Maybe it would all blow over.

And maybe, I thought, the world will fall down around us.

I wandered into the kitchen in my pyjamas. Jamie grizzled, grinding balled fists into his eyes. He hadn’t slept well last night, and that meant neither had Mum. They needed another room for him. Really, they needed my room. There wasn’t anywhere else for him to go. He was growing up, and I was being squeezed out. Jamie sat on Mum’s lap, grumbling to himself. As I poured a tall glass of orange juice, I became aware that she was staring at me. She looked grim. Something was up, and it was more than just a sleepless night.

‘Mum?’

‘You tell me, Flora Cannan. Tell me exactly what you’ve been up to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is there any good reason why the police might want to see you?’

She was shaking. The juice turned sour in my mouth.

‘What? What about?’

‘You tell me!’ she snapped, and Jamie started with fright. A moment later, he started to wail. Mum shushed him, then turned back to me.

‘Tom Duncan called this morning, asking for you. Just you, Flora. He requests your presence at the station at Tanno. To assist with an ongoing enquiry. If you can find time, that is,’ she seethed, ‘in your busy sixth-year study schedule.’

‘Mum—’ I began, but she cut me off.

‘Maybe it’s nothing,’ she said. ‘But it didn’t sound like nothing. There’s so much going on, with Ronny’s job, and the baby, and all these terrible disappearances. And the state you came home in the other night!’

‘But I didn’t do any—’

‘Didn’t you?’

She glared at me. I thought about Lachlan, and couldn’t meet her eye.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered.

‘Not sorry enough to stay out of trouble. Grow up, Flora. Grow up. I’ve only room in my life for one baby.’

She stood up and stormed away, Jamie perched on her hip and squalling. His cries receded as she crossed the house, getting as far away from me as she could. I stood in the kitchen by myself, feeling guilty, feeling dirty. Sunlight streamed through the windows, but it carried little warmth.

Lachlan was really dead, and the police wanted to see me.

This was happening.

Without really knowing why, I dressed in the red skirt Ailsa had given me. It was totally different to the shapeless clothes I normally wore, and it felt a little like armour, hanging straight and hip to my battered sneakers. I couldn’t shake the sense that I was on borrowed time. Something in me decided to go out with a bang. Flushed, I tied my hair back with a handkerchief. It was a style I’d always wanted to wear out, but never had the courage. The skirt made me bold. I wore my large hooped earrings. They called me gypsy, so I’d give them gypsy. There was something defiant in dressing so self-consciously, rather than hiding myself away. I left for school, two fingers upturned to island life.

In the library, I struck out from my usual secluded corner and parked my things in the centre of the room. Curious
glances slid over me. I set my jaw, ignored the mutters, kept my head down and worked. If they wanted me to be an outsider, then I’d be an outsider. I started to compile a final draft of my report. Selkies, selkies, selkies.

Born from the spirits of drowned sailors, born into sadness. Caught for ever between the land and the sea, tugged both ways and always torn, hands outstretched and gripping tight to both identities. Pulled both ways by the tide.

Island men coveted selkie maidens for their beauty, their mystique.

Island women craved selkie men for their virility, their authority. Barren girls cried seven tears into the sea to attract a selkie mate.

I realised with a start that selkie men were never captured – only selkie women. Seal men gave their affections gladly to craven, submissive human women. But for the selkie women, their love was held ransom by only the boldest human men. I flicked again through my notes. Regardless of the story, that held true in every case. Selkie girls danced in the surf as though in a shop window.