The storm had lessened in fury by late the next morning, when Sam came blearily into the kitchen, to be fed on tea, scrambled eggs and buttered toast. ‘I don’t need to ask if you slept OK.’
‘I died, basically. Thanks for this, Si. I could probably eat it twice.’
‘Not until we get supplies you couldn’t. I need to go over to the store but maybe we can walk across to the other side then. This place is fine but I get cabin fever after twenty-four hours and it’ll be calmer by two o’clock I reckon. Might still be a bit of a blow-up on the top, that’s all.’
‘Could do with it.’ Sam spoke through a mouthful, then continued almost in the same sentence. ‘Do you think Mum’s OK?’
‘So far as I know. Why wouldn’t she be?’
‘Not sure about her work – she’s wasted doing locum stuff.’
‘Agreed. Have you talked to her about it?’
‘God no.’
‘Why not? She listens to you more than you might think.’ Sam shook his head. ‘Not my place any more. I used to think I kind of stood in for Dad a bit, you know, and then, well, just for a time after your –’ He pointed to Simon’s arm with his fork. ‘You know, for you. Sort of. Only now, she …’
‘You know …’
‘All right, all right … now she’s got a husband. There any more toast?’
The sky was sable and seal washed together, as they drove towards the quay, the wind calmer but the sea still choppy. They picked up groceries and a paper.
‘We’ll leave all this here and head out. Want a pint first?’
The bar was half full.
‘Ye’re here in one piece then?’ Iain said, pulling their beers. ‘Took a chance on your life in Sandy’s jeep.’
‘She was fine.’
‘She’s one of the best, I can tell you that. All right, Simon? The boy’s taller than you, do ye know that?’
‘Rubbish.’ Simon handed over the money. ‘Thanks for babysitting him last night.’
‘What did he mean about Sandy’s jeep?’ They had taken a table by the window. ‘She’s a great driver.’
‘Of course she is – and it’s a skill, on these island tracks in a squall. He was taking the piss. Plus a dig at women. They’re OK but a bit of that goes on.’
‘Different world.’
‘It is. If we go over the top we’ll pass her house … down a wee slope to the east there.’
‘A “wee slope”. Don’t stay here too long.’
Simon took a long draw of his pint, without reply. But he wondered. He always wondered. How long would he stay, could he stay, did he want to stay? Was he trying to duck out of a return to normal life, or whatever would pass as normal life with what Robbie called his bionic arm? He was still on sick leave and would be until he had the final prosthesis and was using it easily. Then came the decisions.
Climbing steadily, the wind at their backs, they did not talk but concentrated on the track, which was slippery and stony’ but when they got to a spur, they sat on the coarse turf and looked out over the sea. The wind blew the rush of the waves up to them, though the sky was lighter in the distance now and the swell was subsiding. Sam chewed a stalk. Simon tried to lean back on his elbows but the artificial arm did not support his weight and made him unsteady so that he was forced to roll over onto his stomach.
‘Is that where she lives?’ Sam was pointing to a slate roof just visible below.
‘No, that’s an empty croft – looks OK from here but it’s half derelict. There are one or two on the other side as well. Nobody can make any living to speak of from just a bit of land and a few sheep and chickens. There has to be something else – that’s why there are the holiday lets, but of course that’s only Easter, or a bit later, until September, and people want all the trimmings now, unless they’re walkers and birders – they’ll put up with simple conditions so long as they’ve hot water and something to brew up on. They can’t charge much for anywhere that hasn’t been tarted up. And they don’t go for tarting up much here. That’s one of the best things about the place.’
‘I’ve been thinking about medicine,’ Sam said, shifting his grass stalk from one side of his mouth to the other.
Simon waited, kept his expression neutral.
‘What do you think?’
Silence.
‘It’s not … the thing is, I mean I might. Only different from what medicine you think.’
‘I don’t think any medicine, you’ve got to tell me.’
‘Pathology.’
‘You mean in the labs?’
‘No. Forensic.’
‘Ah. Right.’
A minibus carrier was coming down the road to the side of them, and as it approached, they saw the field trippers waving madly out of the windows. Simon raised his arm.
‘So? Never mind them.’
‘OK. Why?’
‘Not sure. I like trying to find out things – deductions, you know?’
‘That’s what I do a lot of the time.’
Sam shook his head.
‘Safer, of course – in a mortuary. They can’t fire back.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with that.’
Simon sat up. ‘Sorry. I’m just puzzled. One, what put you off not just the police but armed police, and what suddenly turned you on to this?’
‘It’s not sudden. I’ve been thinking about it for a bit.’
‘What – days? A week or two.’
Sam threw his grass stalk away and pulled another roughly out of the clump.
‘I’m listening, Sambo, and I am taking you seriously. It’s just – a bit of a leap.’
‘Haven’t said I want to be a big-game hunter.’
‘No, but then again, that’d hardly be a leap at all.’
‘Ha.’
‘Long training.’
‘I don’t mind about that.’
‘You might get into it and decide you wanted to go for another branch of medicine altogether.’
‘I might. Probably won’t though.’
The sun was lancing through far out over the sea, brightness piercing the grey.
‘Come on, we need to move, I’m getting stiff.’
‘Race you.’
Sam leapt up and set off all in one movement, running fast over the rough ground. Simon watched him for a moment, then followed. He could still run. He walked ten miles across the island most days. But Sam’s particular exuberance and young animal spirits were something he had not felt himself for a long time. He envied him. And he also wondered, as he started in pursuit, if spending most of his days with the silent dead in a white-tiled space was the right future for his energetic nephew.
The sun came out intermittently, but it was pleasant enough to walk. They covered six miles to the far west of the island, mainly in companionable silence. Here, the land rose and there were cliffs, a couple of rocky outcrops offshore, which had been the downfall of many a ship and small boat in the history of Taransay. Gannets, kittiwakes and huge seagulls rose and swirled around, before tumbling back to perch in groups, making a racket with their harsh ugly cries and calls. Sam sat watching them.
‘No one lives over here then.’
‘No. It’s just too steep and it gets the lashing of the winter gales and high seas. You can see the remains of a couple of stone buildings down there. The odd hermit and sheltering sheep farmer stayed in them, I suppose.’
‘Someone there now.’
‘Can’t be.’
‘I saw smoke out of that chimney.’ Sam pointed. ‘Only a wisp though.’
Simon took out his small pair of field glasses and unfolded them. There was no trace of anything.
‘Optical illusion. The light here can play tricks.’
Sam shrugged. ‘I’m starving.’
They ate the thick ham sandwiches Simon had made, with hard-boiled eggs and a couple of bananas. Sam downed his and an entire bottle of water, before lying back on the turf and falling almost instantly asleep. Simon watched him, his own eyes half closed, but he only dozed. The sun was warm on their faces. Occasionally, a cloud slipped over, shadowing them, before the brightness returned. The seabirds cried. A few of the small, sturdy brown island sheep wandered about on the slope behind them and their occasional bleats mingled with the squawkings and cawing as the gannets and gulls rose and fell. The tide was far out and silent. The waves had frills of white along their edges as they creamed over and back, over and back.
I have everything I could possibly need or want here, Simon thought idly. Why would I go back? Sam murmured a little and was quiet again.
The man who appeared, crossing the path a hundred yards or so away, did not see them, just hidden below the outcrop. He walked quickly, the rucksack buckled tightly to his back. It was small, and did not bulge out. He carried very little. He dropped down and around, following the narrow track that led away in the direction of the main road a couple of miles away, that led to the far side of the island, the village and the harbour. His head was bent, as he concentrated on where he put his feet. The tracks were both stony and tussocky, making it easy to slip, but he went steadily on, not looking around, not aware of the sea and the landscape and the overarching sky.
By the time Simon registered him and sat up, giving Sam a shake, the walker was out of sight.