Calum and I walk to Shona’s house, side by side in the darkness, as once we walked before in the opposite direction. Better prepared this time, I shine my flashlight ahead, avoiding the stones and potholes that caused me to stumble and take Calum’s proffered arm, an event I now recall with a pang as the first time we touched each other.
This time Calum doesn’t offer his arm, doesn’t speak. I am aware only of his steady footfall and the faint creak of his leather jacket as he walks beside me. A bitter February wind lifts my hair and tosses it across my face, blinding me. I bow my head and shiver inside my coat. For once I am looking forward to the stifling warmth of Shona’s overheated house where Donald - perpetually chilled from fishing or crofting activities - insists on sub-tropical temperatures being maintained at all times.
The distant grumble of the sea fades as we draw near to Shona’s. The yellow glow at the windows looks welcoming and I’m relieved that the far from companionable silence between Calum and me is about to end. I quicken my step as I approach the house but faced with the door, I hesitate before entering, turn back and look at him. As Calum draws level he remarks, ‘That was the longest silence there’s been between us since we met.’
My mind shuffles, plays the card before I’m even aware that I’m responding. ‘Apart from when we were both asleep.’ It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the doorway but I think he flinches minutely.
‘No... You talked even in your sleep.’ He pushes open the door and, unsmiling, ushers me into Shona’s kitchen.
I’m glad I took the tranquilliser.
I should have taken two.
Once through the door Calum goes into comedian kid brother mode, joking with Donald when he hands him a dram, admiring Shona’s appalling outfit which does nothing for her other than draw attention to her size. I remark that I have never seen her look lovelier - which is more or less true - and admire the fabric (polyester) and the striking colour scheme (a fuchsia print with citric accents of lemon and lime.) Shona sings the praises of her mail-order catalogue (the source of her astonishing wardrobe) and promises to lend it to me. At this point I catch Calum’s eye and wish I hadn’t. I concentrate firmly on the glass of whisky Donald has slipped into my hand while Shona prattles on, flushed and happy.
‘It’s so kind of you to baby-sit, Rose. Eilidh has been so excited! But I wish you were coming with us! I said to Calum, he should have invited you - och, it would do you good to get out.’
‘No, Shona, really - I’ve been working so hard this week and what with one thing and another...’ The sentence hangs in the air, lame, unfinished.
Calum, apparently deaf, is looking out of the kitchen window for the taxi. Shona shoots him a sidelong glance, looks back at me and, barely able to disguise her disappointment, changes tack immediately. ‘Fergus is asleep already and he’ll not wake, but if he does, give him a drink of milk and he’ll soon settle. Duncan and Eilidh go to bed at eight and Aly goes at nine-thirty. Don’t let them tell you any different now!’
Shona launches into a list of instructions as to the whereabouts of tea, coffee, biscuits, oatcakes, scones and jam. Eilidh tugs at my hand and mercifully drags me off to the sitting room where Donald has banked up the fire in my honour. Aly sits at the table, apparently doing homework, his eyes covertly following Batman on the TV. Duncan lies in the middle of the floor, his chin resting in his hands. Both boys mumble, ‘Hi, Rose,’ without looking up from the TV. Eilidh pulls me down onto the sofa and thrusts an open music-box in front of me and starts to chatter as a tiny ballerina in a pink tutu pirouettes dementedly to La Vie en Rose. Aly shouts, ‘Shut it, Eilidh!’ I’m not sure whether he is referring to the music-box or her conversation. Eilidh ignores him and pointedly winds up the clockwork mechanism.
I can see I am in for a long evening.
Shona pops her head round the door. ‘Did I tell you where the sugar is, Rose?’
‘No, but I’m sure I’ll find everything. Don’t worry about me.’ From the kitchen I hear Calum put on his teacher voice, cutting straight through Shona’s wittering, the music box and the Batman soundtrack, to summon his sister to her waiting taxi. Shona kisses her brood goodnight one by one, much to Aly’s disgust.
With Eilidh clamped to my side (where I suspect she intends to spend the rest of the evening) I follow Shona to the door and watch as she totters down the path in unaccustomed high heels, like a fastidious ewe picking her way delicately along a stony sheep track. Calum hands her into the taxi, shuts the door, looks back and raises his hand in salute to Eilidh and me, then climbs into the front. As the car pulls away I notice Donald still has a whisky glass in his hand. Empty, no doubt.
I read two stories to Eilidh, quietly, so as not to encroach on Batman, then she offers to read to me. I take the opportunity to unpack my sewing bag and begin the tedious task of unpicking one of Megan’s old dresses, an emerald velvet party dress that I intend to cannibalise. Eilidh soon tires of her “reading”, which consists of running her finger along a line of text whilst improvising a story based on the illustrations.
She fingers the shiny velvet. ‘What are you making, Rose?’
‘I’m not making anything. I’m un-making. I’m taking this old dress apart so that I can use the fabric to make something else.’
‘She’s recycling it,’ Aly announces without looking away from the TV.
‘What are you going to make, Rose? Another dress?’
‘No. I’ll probably cut up the fabric into smaller pieces and use it to make a quilt. It’s a lovely colour, isn’t it?’
‘Can you not make it into another dress for Megan?’
‘Well, yes, I could - if I had some more of the same fabric. But I can’t make this into another dress for Megan. It’s too small. This was hers when she was young, about the same age Aly is now.’ Eilidh eyes the fabric, then looks up at me, a strange mix of excitement and apprehension on her little face. ‘Do you like the fabric? Would you like me to make it into something for you?’
Eilidh glances across at Aly and Duncan then takes my hand. She leads me out of the sitting room to the bedroom she shares with Fergus. As she opens the door I whisper, ‘Don’t disturb Fergus! What is it you want to show me?’
‘Wait here,’ she hisses and slips silently into the bedroom. I hear the sound of a drawer being opened and closed carefully. Eventually, Eilidh appears, flushed and excited, clutching a carrier bag. ‘Come to the kitchen, Rose.’ I follow, suppressing a smile at Eilidh’s mystery, wondering what her precious parcel contains.
In the kitchen she climbs onto a chair and kneels up at the table. She shakes out the contents of the bag and a swathe of peach satin slithers onto the table, followed by a tiny coronet of battered dried flowers. I lift up a tiny bridesmaid’s dress.
‘Oh, Eilidh - how pretty! Was this yours?’
‘Aye, but it doesn’t fit me now. Can you make it bigger?’
‘No, darling, I’m afraid I can’t - not without some more fabric.’ Her face falls and I can see she is close to tears. ‘But I might be able to find some fabric in my store that would go with it... Some white satin perhaps. We could probably manage to make something from it. But it wouldn’t look exactly like this.’ Her lip wobbles and a tear begins to slide out of the corner of her eye. I reach into my pocket for a tissue and dab at her face. ‘But now I come to think about it, if we dyed some white fabric the same colour, I’m sure we could come up with something pretty close.’ Eilidh brightens and rubs at her eyes with my tissue. She attempts to bundle the dress back into the bag. ‘Here, let me fold it for you... Show me what you looked like in your flowers.’ She places the coronet carefully on her head and smiles up at me, as if posing for a camera. ‘You look lovely! You must have looked very pretty on the day. Are there any photos of you?’
‘No.’
‘Really? Doesn’t Mummy have a photo of the wedding?’
‘No. The wedding didn’t happen.’ Eilidh begins to look uncomfortable. She snatches the bag away from me and hugs it to her chest.
‘Oh, that’s a shame. Was the wedding called off? I mean, did the couple change their minds about getting married?’
‘No. Christina died.’
‘Oh... How terribly sad.’
‘There was an accident.’
‘A car accident?’
‘No. In the mountains.’
My innards turn to ice-water. I already know the answer to my next question. I should spare the child, spare myself, but I ask anyway. ‘Eilidh... Who was Christina going to marry?’
‘Uncle Calum, of course.’
‘But... she died?’
‘Aye. In an avalanche.’ She pronounces the difficult word with an effort. ‘So they couldn’t get married and I couldn’t wear my dress. I cried and cried... Everybody cried,’ she says, with a shrug of her little shoulders.
‘How old were you when this happened - can you remember?’
‘I think I was... four.’
‘And you’re seven now?’
‘Aye... It was years and years ago.’
‘I’ve never heard anyone talk about Christina before.’
‘Uncle Calum called her Chris, but I liked to call her Auntie Christina. She would have been my auntie if she hadn’t died,’ Eilidh explains. ‘But we don’t ever talk about her now. After she died Mummy said we must never talk about her in front of Uncle Calum because it made him so sad... Och, don’t you be sad too, Rose!’ She unfolds her used tissue and presses it into my hand. ‘Mummy says Christina is asleep in Heaven now and very peaceful and she says Uncle Calum will surely find someone else who will make him just as happy as Christina did! But when he does I’ll have to have a new bridesmaid’s dress, won’t I?’ She places her little hand on mine and squeezes. ‘Will you make it for me, Rose? And can it be the exact same colour as this one? Please?’
When all three children are finally settled in bed I sit in an armchair and stare at the blank television screen, trying to piece together the fragments of information that Calum gave me. I try to work out if he has lied, misled me, or simply failed to tell me the whole truth. My exhausted brain stalls at a memory of him standing distraught and naked, reciting names, a litany of death. Al... Hamish... Hugh... Jim... and Chris.
Chris.
I feel as if the ground is giving way beneath me. I sink my fingernails deep into the hideous dralon of Shona’s three-piece suite, grip the arms of the chair as if I too might be swept away by an avalanche. The room spins and I’m consumed by the need to see Calum, speak to him, touch him, but I’m uncertain whether I’m more likely to strike him or take him in my arms.
I stare at the clock on the mantelpiece and listen out for the sound of a taxi.
Just before midnight the taxi arrives having dropped Calum off first. I decline Donald’s offer of a nightcap and plead exhaustion. I insist on walking home alone but as soon as Shona has shut the door behind me I set off with my torch along the road to Calum’s caravan, walking fast, tripping in my haste over several large stones. As I approach the caravan I can see the lights are still on. I bang loudly on the door and walk straight in. Calum wheels round, spilling the contents of a glass of whisky. He looks startled and dishevelled - bare-foot, his Mickey Mouse tie hanging loose round his neck, his shirt unbuttoned. He blinks at me while I catch my breath.
‘The poem was no’ that bad, surely?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Calum?’
‘Tell you what?’
‘About Chris.’
He stares at me for a moment, then asks quietly. ‘Shona?’
‘No, of course not! I imagine you’ve sworn her to secrecy otherwise she’d have told me long ago. It was Eilidh. She showed me her bridesmaid’s dress. Asked me if I could make it into a new dress for her.’
‘Ah.’ He studies the dregs of whisky in his glass.
‘Why, Calum?’
He looks up, his face a pale blank. ‘Why did Chris die?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I did tell you.’
‘Don’t play games with me!’
‘I’m not playing games, Rose. I told you all you needed to know.’
‘But you weren’t being straight with me, you didn’t tell me the whole truth.’
‘And what, I wonder, makes you think you’re entitled to the whole truth? Shona doesn’t know what happened. Christina’s parents don’t. Nobody knows but me.’ He empties his glass and then his eyes scan the room, searching, I know, for the bottle.
‘I don’t understand... Eilidh made it sound like Chris had died in an avalanche.’
‘Aye, she would. That’s what she was told. But it isn’t true. The truth is worse than that. The stuff of nightmares.’ He turns and heads for the kitchen. I follow.
‘Will you tell me what happened, Calum. Please.’
‘You don’t need to know.’
‘Maybe I don’t - but I think you need to tell.’
He bangs his empty glass down on the draining board and stands hunched over the sink, his shoulders tensed. I wonder if he is going to be sick. ‘If I tell you, Rose, it’s on the understanding that we never mention it again. I don’t talk about it. I have never, ever talked about it, except to tell kindly lies to interested parties who had a right to know what happened. They don’t know what happened, but they think they do... and that brings them a kind of peace.’
He yanks open a cupboard door and takes out a new bottle of whisky. Ignoring me, he walks back to the sofa, sits and pours himself a shot with trembling hands. He raises his glass. ‘A’ Chairistìona... mo chridhe.’ He drinks, then, staring at the floor, he begins. ‘Christina was my wife’s best friend. She and I had a lot in common. We both climbed, both loved the outdoors, we both came from Uist.’
I sit down next to him on the sofa. ‘She was a local girl?’
‘Oh aye.’ He risks a quick look at me. ‘We’re not just talking personal tragedy here. Chris’ death was a loss to the whole community. And it was my fault she died.’ He tugs at his tie, removes it and tosses it aside. ‘My marriage was a mistake. Things started to go wrong almost immediately... Being married wasn’t the same as living together. There were fights over my climbing, there was a lot of stress at work and I took it out on Alison. And after a couple of years of marriage she started the baby blackmail. I knew it was over but I was too tired and busy to deal with it. And too cowardly... To begin with, Chris wanted to try and patch us up but... things changed. Eventually she was wanting me to leave Alison.’
‘Did Alison know about you and Chris?’
‘Not for quite a while. Chris got a job on Skye and I used to go and climb there and guide during the holidays. Alison didn’t realise I was sleeping with Chris while I was there. Sometimes Chris came to Glasgow, when Alison was away... In the end I told Alison I wanted a divorce. And why. She was appalled. I don’t know what hurt her most - my betrayal or her best friend’s.’ He looks at me with a sardonic smile. ‘It’s a shame you never met her, Rose - you’d have had a lot to talk about.’
He reaches up to a bookshelf and pulls down a photo album, flips it open without looking and hands it to me. A photo taken in what looks like Shona’s sitting room shows Calum with a tall young woman, dark, pale and blue-eyed like him. They could pass for brother and sister were it not for the look of mutual adoration. Festooned with coloured streamers, they raise champagne glasses to each other. They look so happy, it hurts. I close the album carefully.
‘That was taken in 1997 at our engagement party... People here were ecstatic. I’d come home to teach in the local school and we planned to set up an outdoor activity centre here. We’d bought a big house with a byre we were going to convert into a bunkhouse. We were to be married here and wee Eilidh was to be bridesmaid... As we were already living together we decided we wouldn’t have a honeymoon. We wanted to go climbing abroad one last time before ploughing all our earnings into the business. So we did. We went climbing one last time...’
‘Where?’
‘The Eiger.’
I wince automatically, thinking of the death toll exacted by that particular bastard of a mountain. Calum sees my reaction and nods. ‘Aye. Not the wisest of choices... and it was mine. But when the accident happened we were on our way down. It had been a hard climb but the descent should have been relatively easy... We had bad luck with the weather. We were tired... Too tired. And dehydrated. That impairs your judgement and your performance. That’s all I can say in my defence... We were descending on a lee slope and it was loaded with windslab. I knew there was a level of avalanche risk, but we needed to get down in a hurry. The weather was getting worse and I was worried about Chris who was already showing signs of hypothermia. I led out across the snow, roped up to Chris and it seemed okay. She started to traverse the slope, then there was a sound like a crack... then a great hissing noise... and we were travelling down the mountainside caught up in an avalanche. I used my ice-axes to brake and when I finally came to a standstill I thought I was little worse than winded, but when I tried to move, I realised I’d cracked a rib. I’d also broken three fingers on one hand. But I was alive... I didn’t know where Chris was but I could feel her whole weight on my harness, so I knew she hadn’t been buried in the avalanche, she must be hanging somewhere... I didn’t move to begin with, just hung on to the axes and waited for her to take her own weight. But she didn’t... I called out but she didn’t answer. That was when I started to think there was maybe a dead body on the other end of the rope...
‘I was getting very cold waiting, so I tried to move to a more secure position but as soon as I pulled out an axe I was dragged down the slope by Chris’ weight. I dug in again and waited some more. The light was fading and we were running out of time. It was hours since we’d eaten or drunk anything - another of my bad judgements. I slithered down the slope, braking with my axes, until I got to the ledge. At some point in my descent Chris started screaming. She’d regained consciousness, I suppose. I remember feeling this great rush of relief that she was alive... That was before I realised just how bad it was.’
Calum puts his head in his hands and threads shaking fingers through his hair, scraping it back from his forehead. ‘Rose, I can’t do this... Please - don’t make me.’
I say nothing, but lay a hand gently on the back of his neck, curving it round the base of his skull. He sits upright suddenly and turns towards me. I am shocked at how tired and gaunt he looks, wonder how long it is since he really slept. He looks at me silently for what feels like a long time, then looks away and continues in a monotone.
‘She was suspended in the air at the end of fifty feet of rope. She’d broken both her ankles. She’d have done that when she went over the edge. The rope was too long - another bad judgement. She’d have been flung over the edge during the avalanche. When she got to the end of her rope, she’d have swung back like a pendulum until she slammed into the mountainside. And she’d have taken the impact with her feet - it was that or die - and she’d have broken both her ankles... She’d also lost a glove in the avalanche. She now had a useless frostbitten hand... In other words, she was completely fucked.’