22

The morning classes seemed interminable to Sonya. Her first thought had been to bunk off, but she’d never done that before and was too afraid of being caught. She knew of others who would dodge classes and head away from Portnaseil to a remote part of the coast but that wasn’t for her. She liked school, she enjoyed learning. Today, though, she had something to do. Certainly it could wait until later, but she was eager to get it done.

Time dragged. Each click of the second hand on the big clock on the wall seemed to be in slow motion. Then finally it was lunchtime. She dashed out of school, avoiding both Gus and Sylvia, and headed straight for Campbell Drummond’s workshop on the upper fringe of the town, keeping an eye out for her gran or granddad. It was unlikely they would be up this way, but you just never knew. Of course, there was the chance someone would spot her and tell them, but she could say she was just out for a walk at lunchtime. Why she was lingering on the roadway within sight of the workshop and the cottage beside it was a more difficult sell, so she dodged behind a hedge from which she could keep watch, hoping Roddie Drummond would come out so she could talk to him. She didn’t have the courage to knock on his door; it had to appear to be an accidental meeting. She took a sandwich she’d prepared that morning from her bag and bit into it. She was hungry. She had half an hour tops, but she couldn’t face classes that afternoon on an empty stomach.

A couple of cars passed as she watched, including Alisdair McGovern’s Ford pick-up. He was probably heading to see his sister, who lived a mile to the north. She saw his big broad face peering out at her and he gave her a quick wave. She waved back.

A couple of off-islanders sauntered by, also heading north, obviously late-season tourists. They nodded to her and she nodded back, hoping they wouldn’t start a conversation or ask directions. Thankfully, they kept on walking up the rise until they eventually vanished over the crest of the hill.

She had been waiting for around twenty minutes when Deirdre Marsh drove up in her battered little Peugeot and stopped in the yard beside Campbell Drummond’s black van. The big double doors to the workshop were open and, even at this distance, Sonya could hear the clang of hammer on metal. The woman made no attempt to get out, although her head was angled towards the cottage door as if she was watching it intently. Campbell must have heard the sound of the idling engine because he appeared in the workshop doorway, wiping his hand on a rag. He frowned as he walked to the car and leaned into the driver’s window. Sonya couldn’t hear what was being said, but she saw Campbell briefly crane his neck to glance towards the cottage door then shake his head as he turned back to face her. He had both hands on the car door, as if he was holding it shut, but he stepped back when she pushed it open. He said something else, but Deirdre ignored him when she climbed out and walked purposefully towards the cottage.

The front door opened just as she reached it and Sonya’s breath caught in her throat as she saw Roddie Drummond for the first time. He looked so different from the photograph she’d seen. Not just older but defeated. As if life had been nothing but a disappointment to him.

He said something to Deirdre, glanced at his father, who shrugged, his hands working at the rag again as if he was washing them of any responsibility. Roddie watched him disappear into the workshop, then stood aside to let Deirdre enter. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his eyes sweeping the roadway and the countryside. Sonya eased further behind the hedge but she could still see him through the twigs. He seemed to stare straight at her for a second, then closed the door.

She waited a few minutes, the sandwich forgotten in her hand, her feelings mixed. That was Roddie Drummond. The man they all said had murdered her mother. More than ever she wanted to speak to him, to face him, but part of her, now that she’d set eyes upon him, wasn’t sure it was a good idea. As it was, she was unlikely to see him, not now that Deirdre Marsh was with him.

She thrust the half-eaten sandwich away, knowing she’d grab a few minutes back at school to finish it, and then, with a final glance at the Drummond home, shouldered her bag. While she walked back towards Portnaseil, she wondered what business the gamekeeper’s wife had with Roddie Drummond.

She was only dimly aware of Alisdair’s pick-up cruising past her again.

* * *

Deirdre was surprised at how much Roddie had aged. His hair was thinner, his body, which she recalled as being young and firm and a joy not just to watch but to caress, had sagged. His face was fuller, his eyes not as bright. But he was still her Roddie, she knew that. After all, she was no longer the woman she had once been, but if Roddie was disappointed at her appearance, he didn’t show it.

He led her into the cottage’s small living room with its old but comfortable three-piece suite, an open fire with its coals lifeless in the grate, and heavy, dark furniture that had probably been in the family for generations. There were windows to the front, looking onto the courtyard, and rear, facing a small, neat garden. Radio 2 was playing in the kitchen, Jeremy Vine talking to someone about parking in the city. Other people’s problems and a world away from the island.

‘Good to see you, Deirdre,’ Roddie said, motioning towards an armchair.

She perched on the edge of the cushion, partly because her body still ached but also because she was nervous. She’d been fine in the car, her mood almost buoyant over her sudden decisiveness. But now she was here, in this small cottage, seeing the man she’d thought about so often over the years, her certainty began to waver. It wasn’t that she had been put off by the way he looked now, that didn’t matter, but it occurred to her that she didn’t know where he’d been all this time. For all she knew he could be married. He could have a family. She couldn’t see a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Perhaps he was in a stable relationship but unmarried. Until now, she hadn’t considered the possibility that there would be someone else in his life.

Roddie leaned forward on the settee, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. ‘How have you been?’

How have I been? She almost laughed. She wanted to say that there hadn’t been a day she hadn’t thought of him. She wanted to say that she often thought of how different her life would have been had they gone away like they’d planned. She wanted to say that when Carl made his demands, it was Roddie’s flesh she stroked, his lips she kissed, it was him she felt moving inside her. These were the things she’d come here to say, but in that moment she couldn’t.

‘I’ve been fine, Roddie. And you? What have you been doing with yourself?’

A short laugh escaped his throat. ‘This and that.’

They fell silent again. This was not how she had dreamt this. She hadn’t expected him to pull her into his arms—she didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. But what else was there? They had once been white hot with passion, but a lot of time had passed. Now it was just polite conversation.

‘I was sorry to hear about your mother,’ she said, amazed at how normal her voice sounded, while in her mind she was willing him to tell her how much he missed her, how much he wanted her, that he wanted to be with her.

He acknowledged with a slight inclination of his head. He stood up, obviously just as nervous as she. Somehow that made her feel better. ‘Do you want a cup of tea? Coffee?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

He sat back down again and she instantly regretted her refusal. He probably needed something to do and she would also have welcomed the distraction. The moment had passed, though. He seldom looked at her, but when he did she made sure she held his gaze. She’d heard the stories from the older folk, about the people who could make things happen with the power of thought. She knew it was all mystical bunkum but she was trying it anyway. She listened while he spoke but her mind was urging him to take her away.

‘Will you be staying on after the funeral?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m not welcome here, you must know that.’

‘Where will you go?’

Take me with you.

‘Back to the mainland,’ he said.

Take me with you.

‘So where do you call home now?’

He paused. ‘Stayed in Glasgow for a time. I’m over near Edinburgh now.’

Take me with you.

‘Is there . . .’ She stumbled over her words, for this was a hard question, an important question. ‘Is there someone there waiting for you?’

He gave her a look that was as surprised as it was quizzical. ‘Waiting for me? How do you mean?’

‘I mean, a wife, a partner, a significant other? A family?’

He understood. He even looked relieved. ‘No, I’m unattached.’

She was delighted to hear that. Now was her chance. She took a deep breath, stared at the carpet. ‘Do you ever think of me, Roddie?’

Take me with you.

‘Think of you?’

She looked up, met his eyes. She saw it then. He had thought of her. She knew it. ‘Of me. Of us. Of the way we were together?’

He held her gaze and she thought for a dreadful moment he was going to say he hadn’t. Then his eyes softened. ‘Of course I have.’

‘It was good, wasn’t it? What we had? You and me?’

He smiled, a small one, but a smile just the same. ‘Yes, it was.’

She swallowed. This is your chance, Deirdre, you have to go for it. This is why you came. You’ve opened the door, time to step through.

Take me with you.

‘I think about you, Roddie. Sometimes I feel I do nothing but think of you, of what we had, of what we could have been. You remember our plans? To go away together? To get away from this rotten island and Carl and all the small minds? You remember?’

‘I remember,’ he said.

She leaned forward again, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. ‘We can still do it. It’s not too late. We can leave here, start a new life. I still love you, Roddie. I know we’re older, but I still feel the same. We can be together again. We can make the past fifteen years just go away, like they never happened. We can make it like it was before . . .’

She stopped. She couldn’t say the name. Roddie said it for her.

‘Before Mhairi?’

She nodded. ‘That didn’t happen, not as far as we’re concerned. I know you didn’t kill her, I don’t care what the rest of these narrow-minded islanders think. I know you didn’t. We can wipe that slate clean.’

‘Just like that?’

She almost leapt to sit beside him on the couch. She didn’t need to use telepathy. She was getting through to him, she knew it. She took his hand, threaded her fingers through his, the sensation of touching his flesh pleasing her. She was heartened that he didn’t pull away. She was completely energised now, something she had not felt for many years. Being with Carl had sapped all the life from her, but right at this moment she felt it surging through her again. ‘Yes, just like that. Wash it away. Start fresh. The two of us. Away from here.’

She wanted to say more but she couldn’t find the words. It was up to him now. He sat beside her, very still, his eyes fixed on their hands and intertwined fingers. Then, slowly, gently, he disentangled them and stood up, walked to the window and looked out into the sunlight.

‘Some things you can’t just wash clean,’ he said, his back to her, his shoulders stooped.

‘You won’t take me?’ She thought she’d been getting to him. She thought her words had struck home. She thought he had wanted to regain what had once been as much as she. But he was rejecting her. Again.

He faced her. ‘Deirdre, I can’t. My life . . . is . . .’ He couldn’t find the words to describe his life so he merely sighed and shrugged.

‘And mine is so wonderful,’ she said, an edge now to her voice. No matter how he had lived since leaving the island, it was nothing compared to what she had endured. ‘You know what Carl is like.’

He nodded, averted his eyes.

‘You’re really not going to take me with you?’ she asked.

‘I can’t. You don’t understand . . .’

She saw tears forming in his eyes, but she was unmoved. She’d seen men’s tears before and they meant nothing. Roddie was just like Carl in the end. He’d used her, drained her. Carl kept her close because he didn’t like the idea of anyone else having her. She was his and his alone. Roddie didn’t even want that.

‘He’ll kill me, you know that,’ she said. ‘Sooner or later he’ll go too far.’

‘Then leave him.’

‘That’s what I want to do. But with you.’ The truth was, she’d thought of it often, packing a bag, grabbing the ferry, vanishing onto the mainland. But Carl would come looking for her and find her, she had no doubt about that. He could be resourceful when he wanted to be, and when he found her it would be all the worse for her, she knew it. Seeking help wasn’t an option, not to her, not simply because of the repercussions that she was certain would follow when he found out she had confided in an outsider, but also because she was ashamed of what she had allowed to continue for so long. That shame wore heavily upon her. She also didn’t want to be alone, which made her even more ashamed. For years she had been told that without Carl she was nothing, less than nothing, useless, functionless. Her father had said the same to her mother and, when she grew older, to her. Sometimes the message was enforced with his fist, just like Carl. Part of her had come to believe it. The part that had lived with her father and had lived with Carl. But the other part, the part that was hers and hers alone, had only been lying dormant, waiting for this moment, this opportunity. She couldn’t let it pass. Her future, the future she deserved, was standing right in front of her and she refused to give it up without a fight.

She could do this.

She stood up, placed both hands on either side of Roddie’s face and forced him to look at her. She stood very close, almost but not quite pressing her body against his. She softened her tone. ‘We can make this work, Roddie, I know we can. I don’t know what your life has been like but I can fix it. We can fix it together. We were good back then, weren’t we? You loved me, you said you did. I know I’ve thrown this at you, but we can find that again.’

Then she kissed him. He didn’t try to pull away but he didn’t respond either. His lips were unpliable, his hands remained at his side. Still she worked at it, her hands snaking under his arms, pulling him closer to her. But there was no response. No returning pressure, no gentle caress, no passion. Nothing. She knew then with utter certainty that she had failed. The hope that had sustained her so far withered and died. She found she couldn’t look at him any more so she turned away, a finger wiping at her bottom lip. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Her emotions had raged all morning, from anticipation, to excitement, to nervousness, to joy and now disappointment. She felt tired, so very tired, and all she wanted to do was leave, to get away from this neat little room looking out to the neat little garden with some classic rock track playing in the background. She didn’t want to say anything more. She just wanted to go.

She was almost through the door when Roddie said, ‘I’m sorry, Deirdre.’

His voice snapped something inside her and she experienced a fresh emotion. She whirled back, the need to lash out, to wound him, strong and unstoppable. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? You’re still hung up on that slut, even after all these years. Even though she’s dead. She’s still there beside you.’

She saw her words had hit home. ‘Deirdre . . .’ he began, but she didn’t want to hear anything further from him.

‘Poor little Mhairi Sinclair, all the boys loved her, didn’t they? You, Donnie Kerr, anyone who fell under her spell. She had you all panting after her. And she loved that, loved to play you. She was nothing but a whore.’

‘Don’t . . .’ he said.

‘Oh, I know, believe me. I know what she was like. She let Donnie get her pregnant and then she moved on to you. But even you weren’t enough. I know, Roddie, I know! And you know what? I’m glad she’s dead. I meant it when I said you didn’t kill her. You didn’t, you couldn’t kill her. I know that. Because that would’ve taken balls and that’s something you don’t have. You always were a gutless, simpering child. And now? I don’t even know what I saw in you.’

She left, her anger giving her the strength to keep her head high. But deep down she knew it wouldn’t last.