The Seagulls Laughter

by Holly Bidgood

  ‘Are you going to Jeanie’s, hen?’ she asked.

  I nodded, and with a smile she bid me take a seat in the front of the car.

  We passed most of the journey in an amicable silence, accompanied by the sound of acoustic guitars and voices singing in harmony on the crackling car radio. My driver made some attempt at instigating a conversation over the music and the chug of the car engine, but I could give only one-word answers. She did not ask me where I had been, or give any indication that she had noticed my absence in the village. I realised that I had been gone for little more than a fortnight, though to me it felt like an age had passed since I had bid Martha goodbye. Perhaps I would find her in the little cottage in the fields, the one that Alastair, Neil and I had been fixing up. Perhaps Neil would be curled up there in his chair, hiding from the weather as usual. I had missed his company and his sense of humour, and how much he cared for Martha and her daughter. Though I knew that he loved her in the way that one loves a friend. He had told me all about that – about his interest in other men – and I had hoped he would not notice my blushing cheeks, for such things were not discussed where I came from. I wondered what Eqingaleq might have to say on this topic. I glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror – to where he was sitting in the back seat – but saw from his pained expression that his attention was fixed on the swerve of the car along the winding road and the nausea that it conjured.

  My stomach turned somersaults as the village came into view at last, and with it the grey, stormy plane of the North Atlantic – which stretched all the way to my own country, unseen over the horizon. I knew I would never set eyes on the frozen fjords of Greenland again, and although I ached with sadness at the thought, I could accept, now, that I was in the right place.

  As my sweeping gaze took in the landscape, I caught sight of a figure up on the hillside – the figure of a woman – and my heartbeat leapt up into my throat. It must be Martha – just as I had painted her – windswept, in the wildness of this place that seemed to suit her so well.

  ‘Could you drop me off at the post office?’ I asked my acquaintance. The best place from which to follow the path up the hill. We were there in a matter of seconds, and saying a rushed thank you and goodbye and see you again soon to my driver, I set off up the hill as fast as I was able.

  I heard the noise of the car engine rumble away into the distance – the only car for miles, it would seem. Martha must have heard it, too, for as I glanced up the hill I saw that she had stopped in her tracks. Although I could not make out her expression, I could sense her surprise and uncertainty as she watched me approach.

  Have you even thought about what you’re going to say to her? Eqingaleq wheezed from where he followed a short distance behind me, panting as he tried to keep up. But I did not turn to answer him; my feet continued on the mossy path.

  I dared not look ahead, for I feared seeing her expression. What if she were not happy to see me? I felt the beat of wings over my head, and I knew that it was Eqingaleq, flying past me in his raven form. I followed the swoop of his black wings from the corner of my eye and saw him alight a little way up the hill, behind Martha, and I realised with a rush of warmth and relief that she had walked down the hill to meet me. Within a few more steps we were standing face to face.

  My breath came quickly; my heart beat like a shaman’s drum.

  She brushed the flyaway locks of hair from her eyes and twisted them behind her ear. Looked at the ground, looked up at me.

  ‘Did you forget something?’ she asked. Her smile wavered nervously and her gaze flickered here and there, but I saw that her eyes shone unmistakably. And my heart gave a sudden elated leap within my chest for I knew then that I had followed the right path.

  Well? I heard Eqingaleq say. My eyes shot to where he was standing, just behind Martha’s shoulder and in his human form once more. He raised his eyebrows.

  Go away, I hissed under my breath. It was still a little ragged from the climb up the hill.

  But he did not move, only lifted the corners of his mouth in a mischievous smile. I’ll tell you what you forgot, he said, and he puckered up his lips and to my alarm made a lunge towards Martha.

  I moved quickly, pushing him away with one hand and placing the other on Martha’s shoulder – for I was not about to let him get away with such a stunt. He cursed as he stumbled on the mossy ground and immediately he had righted himself he gave me a shove back, towards Martha. I felt the warmth of her nearness, the tingling in my fingertips where they touched her shoulder, and before I knew it my lips were on hers. I forgot about Eqingaleq; I forgot about everything else except for Martha.

  As our lips parted, quite naturally, I caught sight of Eqingaleq’s on-looking figure from the corner of my eye, and Martha’s gaze fixed on me in a look of surprise. Disbelief, perhaps. I feared I had overstepped the mark.

  I swallowed. ’Sorry,’ I said. I let my arms fall back to my sides. My breath had slowed, but still did not come easily.

  Sorry? Eqingaleq shrieked. He jumped up and down on the spot. Don’t apologise to her! Why are you apologising?

  I did not know what else to say to her. Martha, too, appeared to be speechless. But she had not moved away from me, and we were still standing close enough together that the wind did not blow between us, and I felt giddy from the warmth of her.

  You should have had a drink before you got off the ferry. I heard Eqingaleq’s voice intrude upon the stillness of the moment. It would have steadied your nerves – it always worked before, remember?

  I tried not to listen to him. I noticed instead the gentle rise and fall of Martha’s chest with her breath, and the stray hairs that fell across her forehead and brushed against her lips.

  ‘Did you not find whatever you were looking for?’ she said hesitantly. ‘Up north?’

  I shook my head and looked to the ground. ‘Well, yes,’ I corrected myself, and my blood ran cold momentarily as I recalled my uncomfortable meeting with Snorri. ‘But I wish that I hadn’t.’

  As I spoke I heard the swooping cries of gulls far above us, echoing across the emptiness of the landscape. And below, the barely audible crash of the rolling tide.

  I felt the touch of Martha’s hand on mine, where I had let it hang hopelessly at my side, and the warmth spread wonderfully through my body once more.

  ‘Will you stay this time?’ she asked.

  I looked at her. Her eyes were shining. I nodded and took hold of her hand, pressed it tightly in my own.

  All at once I felt a rush of air as Eqingaleq – a raven again – swept his wings up into the air. I watched as he shot upwards with an elated cry – so loud that Martha must have heard him too, for I saw that she followed my gaze. The seagulls above us scattered, shrieking in alarm as the raven rocketed into their midst. And with its black wings outstretched it swooped and somersaulted in the slate sky.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my dad, Nigel Bidgood, for telling me so many stories about Greenland throughout my childhood. Your enthusiasm for the Arctic and the beautiful photographic slideshows of your expeditions, set to all your favourite music, are the reason this book has come about. Twenty years later I still think of Greenland whenever I listen to King Crimson or Jan Gabarek. And thank you for accompanying me to East Greenland for the first time, where all the stories became real.

  I would like to thank all the kind people who helped make my summer stay in South Greenland possible and so memorable. Notably, Narsaq Museum curator Karina Frederiksen and your lovely family, and my friend Karta Kristoffersen, who looked after me so well and gave me my first taste of whale meat! I would also like to thank my friends in Shetland – Francis and Outi, Raddi, Mary, and Chris the crofter. My heart is still in Shetland, and I hope I can make it back again one day soon.

  Many thanks go to Phil and Tracey at Wildpressed Books for believing in me and my writing. This book would never have been finished without your continued support!

  About
the Author

  Holly grew up in Derbyshire but has always been drawn to the sea. She has written from a young age. Her love affair with island landscapes was kick-started on a brief visit to the Faroe Islands at the age of eighteen, en route to Iceland. She was immediately captivated by the landscape, weather, and way of life and it was here that she conceived the idea for her first novel, The Eagle and The Oystercatcher. Holly studied Icelandic, Norwegian and Old Norse at University College London. She also studied as an exchange student at The University of Iceland (Háskóli Íslands) and spent a memorable summer working in a museum in South Greenland.

  She decided to start a family young, and now has three small children. Holly helps run Life & Loom, a social and therapeutic weaving studio in Hull. She likes to escape from the busyness of her life by working on her novels and knitting Icelandic wool jumpers.