by Alys West
“I know, love. But Robbie thinks it’s the only way. He knows Charlie Tait. He pops in here for a quick one after work most nights. He’ll have a word with him, ask if he’ll see you. Maybe do you a bit of a discount.” When Rachel began to protest, Debbie put her hand over hers. “We were all fond of Paul. What happened to him was terrible, love, just terrible. But you don’t have to do this all on your own. Folk want to help. They really do. But you have to let them.”
After saying goodbye a little while later, Rachel walked slowly through the fog-filled streets. More than the usual Sunday quiet filled the town. The mist dampened sound as well as obliterating the view over the harbour and across the voe.
She could blow it away if she wanted. If she called on air, she could create a wind that would tear the fog to shreds in moments. But she wouldn’t. She wasn’t safe. The fog would have to stay and she had to confess to Sarah. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to hope Debbie was right and that Sarah would help if she let her.
***
“How’s Duncan?” Jenna asked as she rested her fiddle on her knee. They’d just finished playing a set of reels and she may have picked up the tempo a little more than was strictly necessary.
“I don’t remember those reels being so fast.” Hal flexed the fingers on his right hand. “Duncan’s getting better, last I heard.”
“And Amy?”
“Doing alright. She and Kenny popped in last night. Brought a take-away so I didn’t have to cook.”
“That was nice.”
“Yeah. It was.”
Deciding that was as good an in as she was likely to get, Jenna said, “I’ve got something to ask you. It’s something that came out of reading Mum’s letters. They mention a girl, Rachel, in her late teens who’d shown an interest in herbalism and—” this was the hard bit, she had to hope he didn’t spot the enormous leap “—something Mum said made me wonder if it was the girl Kenny was seeing before Amy?”
“Could be.” Putting his tea on the floor, Hal curled his long legs into the beanbag. “I didn’t know she was interested in herbalism. But then I only met her a couple of times.”
He’d not told her she’d got the name wrong. Did that mean it was the right girl or were they talking about two different Rachels? “Do you know if she and Kenny were together when Mum was alive?”
“I don’t know how long it lasted. Quite a while, I think. I remember them splitting up a couple of years ago because it all got a bit ugly.”
“Why?” Jenna plucked hairs from her bow which gave her an excuse not to meet his gaze. “What happened?”
“Amy was Rachel’s best friend.”
“Oh! I guess that’d lead to some ugliness.”
“Especially as Kenny was seeing both of them at the same time for a while.”
“Really? Do you know how long?”
Could Winston be onto something? Not only an ex but a seriously pissed off ex? The image of Amy arriving at the Cathedral, drenched to the skin, her hair ruined popped into Jenna’s mind. Rachel had made that happen. And if that wasn’t spite then she didn’t know what was.
“Long enough,” Hal said. “I never got the full story, just picked bits and pieces up from what people said.”
“Was Rachel from Stromness?”
“She might have been. She worked at The Commercial at one point because Kenny dragged me over here for a night out. That was years ago though.”
“Do you remember her surname?”
“No.” Hal frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
However angry she was with him, lying to him was hard. Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she said, “I thought I might ask if she’d have a chat with me about Mum, that’s all. It’s clear from her letters she was spending quite a bit of time with Mum before she died. I wanted to ask about the Nethertown development. I know it’s a long shot but she might have an idea why Mum was so opposed to the plans.”
“I thought you were going to ask Pippa Lloyd.”
“I am. There’s a meeting about the new development on Tuesday evening, I thought I’d ask her then. But will you ask your gran if she remembers Rachel’s surname?”
“Didn’t your mum keep records of this kind of thing? Couldn’t you look there?”
“All the records were destroyed during the break-in on the day she died.” Jenna laid her fiddle in its case and tucked the bow away.
“I’d forgotten about that.” Hal picked his guitar up, tightened the G string marginally and sounded it. “I’ll ask Gran when I see her next. And I’ll come to the meeting with you on Tuesday, if you like?”
That offer would have thrilled her two hours ago. Now it only reinforced the pit of emptiness inside her. “There’s no need. I’m sure you’ve plenty to be doing here.”
“I said I’d help and I will.”
Jenna flipped the clasps shut on her fiddle case and stood up. “Okay, thanks.”
After he’d got to his feet, Hal gave her a long steady look. “You spoken to your dad yet?”
“This evening.” Jenna swung her fiddle onto her shoulder. “I’m going there next.”
Chapter 28
Arriving at Birsay, Jenna said a quick hello to Dad in the tearooms. He was cleaning the cappuccino machine as the last customers sat, finishing drinks and chatting over empty plates. Fog filled the windows, blanking out the view.
In the bungalow, she called for Jet and as he bounded towards her, tongue lolling to one side, grabbed his lead from the hook by the door. It was a far from ideal day for a walk but she needed space. Jet plodded quietly by her side as they walked through the village. Houses loomed briefly into focus. Sounds carried eerily, the cries of sea birds a too loud counterpoint to the constant murmur of the sea. They turned left at the junction and carried on along the narrow road to the Point of Buckquoy. There were no cars in the parking area. It was nearly high tide and the causeway to the Brough of Birsay was closed.
Leaving the road, Jenna let Jet off his lead and walked along the coastal path. As the dog nosed in the undergrowth, searching out vibrant and interesting smells, she stopped and stared out to sea. Only the rocks beneath and white-tipped waves rolling into shore were visible. She didn’t mind. If she couldn’t see anyone then they couldn’t see her.
Tears came slowly, dredged up like rocks from the well of grief. Because this went way back, back to when she’d left Hal to come home. It was the hardest decision she’d ever had to make. It’d hurt like hell. She’d missed him so much but she’d never told him. Because somehow in the midst of grieving for Mum and worrying about Dad and trying to keep the tearooms open she’d lost the ability to talk. And because of that she’d lost him.
She brushed the slick of tears from her cheeks as Jet nudged her legs. Crouching, she wrapped her arms around him. “I got it all wrong,” she whispered against his fur. “He doesn’t care about me like that. Not anymore.” Jet turned his head and licked her cheek. With a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, she wiped it off. “At least I know you love me.”
***
The waiting was killing her. Rachel picked her mobile up again and pressed the email icon. Nothing. Like there’d been nothing when she’d looked about five minutes ago.
Writing the email had been exactly as hard as she expected. Sarah had believed in her. She hated letting her down. She should have come clean at the beginning. It’d have been way less hard to never be part of the mentoring programme than to be thrown off it now.
Switching on the television, Rachel tried to find something to watch. Anything that would distract her. After flicking through the channels, she settled on a film about a dystopian future but she couldn’t concentrate on it. Her mind kept coming up with questions like if everyone was so poor and the world had run out of natural resources how come the heroine had salon perfect hair? When the ad break came, she switched it off.
Perhaps there’d be someone she could chat to on the Crystal Goddess site. She’d not been on there since she sta
rted working with Sarah. Once she’d opened her laptop and logged on, she saw a notification and clicked on it. Someone called Brigid had replied to her post about the spell she’d done at the Cathedral. Reading the reply, the knot of anxiety tightened. If Sarah threw her off the programme then this is what she’d go back to. Begging advice from strangers hoping someone, somewhere, would help her.
Almost without thought she clicked to open her email account. Only a promo email from Amazon. She shut the laptop. Pacing to the window, she looked out at the fog that continued to cling to the town, drowning out the light. The itch to dispel it, to bring in a wind that would blow the mist to tatters was intensifying.
Grabbing her coat, she headed out the door. There was hardly anyone around as she walked through the town. By the time she reached the golf course she was entirely alone. The path followed the coast but the fog transformed it, blanking out the view over Scapa Flow to Hoy. Trying to calm her thoughts, she concentrated on the action of walking, of putting one foot in front of another.
She was sweaty and a bit tired when she reached Warbeth Beach. It was as empty as she’d hoped. Sitting on the bench, she tugged off her trainers and left them, neatly paired, socks stuffed inside, on the wooden seat.
The coldness of the pebbles shocked her feet. She half slid, half walked down the shelf of stones stacked up by the tide and reached the sand. A thin film of water crept across it. She rolled up her jeans, walked along the water’s edge.
It wasn’t enough. She stared out at the waves mesmerised by the movement and the sound. She wanted the shock of the cold on her skin, the tang of salt on her tongue, the buffeting of waves against her body. More than anything she wanted to feel something other than worry, anxiety and the constant knife edge of suppressed panic.
She looked around. There was no one in sight. And even if someone came, the fog would hide her. Stripping down to her bra and knickers, the air hit her clammy skin and she shivered. This was insane. She didn’t even have a towel. And yet her feet propelled her to the water’s edge, her legs waded further and further in. It was unbelievably cold.
As she glanced back, a larger wave hit her, spraying water up her front and into her face. Laughing with the shock, she licked salt water from her lips and waded deeper.
***
“Dad,” Jenna said, as she was helping him clear away after tea. “You know the Nethertown development?”
“What about it, love?”
“When I saw Uncle Andrew last week he was telling me about all of the changes he’d made to the proposal and how he thought Mum would have approved of the new plans.” Finishing wiping down the kitchen worktops, Jenna leaned against them. Outside the window, the mist was thinning. She could see the dim outline of Marwick Head. If it kept on, then Winston should get back tonight. No matter how annoying he was, she was happier when he was here. Then, if Rachel tried something, there was at least one person on the island with the power to stop her.
“That’s as might be but last I heard he was still planning to build on the land next to the cemetery.”
“So that’s why Mum was against it? Because of the site?”
Dad glanced at her before returning his attention to stacking the dishwasher. “She thought it was going to be an eyesore on that pretty bit of coast as well.”
“Andrew says he’s dealt with that, more landscaping or something.” Jenna handed him a dirty pan. “But I don’t understand why Mum felt so strongly about where it was being built. It’s not like Granddad and Granny are buried there.”
“She felt for the folk whose family are buried there.”
It sounded so simple the way Dad said it and if she hadn’t read Mum’s letter she’d have accepted it. “There wasn’t anything else? Anything that Andrew said or did?”
“Why do you ask that?” Dad bent to put a couple of plates into the back of the dishwasher.
Unable to see his face, Jenna hesitated. “I thought I remembered something Mum said, that’s all.”
After sliding the cutlery rack into place, Dad closed the dishwasher door. “You’d be better off asking Pippa Lloyd, love. She was the one who worked with Nina on the campaign.”
He couldn’t have said more clearly that he wasn’t going to talk about it. She’d expected it but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Dropping teabags into the teapot, she nodded. “I’ll do that.”
***
Rachel checked her email one last time before she went to bed. Seeing Sarah’s name, her stomach plunged. The feeling intensified when she opened it and saw how short it was.
Rachel,
I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked that you would keep this from me. How can I trust you and allow you to continue on the programme when you’ve not been open with me? We need to talk. I have your mobile number. I will ring you tomorrow evening at 7pm.
Sarah.
She stared at the words, read them again. She’d thought it’d be bad. But not this bad. Sarah was going to throw her off the programme. That was why she was ringing tomorrow. What the hell was she going to do then? She wasn’t safe. She had to find someone to help her in case she did something even worse. What if she lost control on the ferry? Folk could die and it’d be all her fault.
The panic was starting again. The same tightness in her chest, pounding of her blood she’d had on Thursday. She had to stop it. She couldn’t go through all of that again. She’d only just got the water switched back on.
In the bathroom cabinet, she found the diazepam Dr Lloyd had given her when Dad was first ill. Knocking two back, she got ready for bed.
***
Jenna intended to leave straight after tea but then Dad put the television on and as they watched Countryfile it felt like the Sunday evenings they used to have. She’d been frustrated by it back then. But this evening the familiarity was a comfort. She was dreading going home. In her little flat, there’d be too much time to think and far too much space for the tears to flow. She was so tired of crying and yet there always seemed to be another reason for it.
When Dad decided to watch a programme on the history of Scottish rugby union, she cleared away the empty mugs and took them through to the kitchen. Outside the window the sun was sinking towards the sea in a blaze of orange and pink. All traces of the fog had gone. The wind had picked up. It was teasing the branches of Mum’s shrubs and flattening the grass of the lawn.
She missed Mum every day but it felt worse this evening because she really wanted to talk to her. Mum would have known what to say about Hal. She’d have asked a few questions, listened, asked a few more and then come out with something that if it didn’t make it better, at least helped it to make sense. Whatever Jenna brought to her, from fallings out with her childhood friends to worries about work or fretting about boys, Mum had always done the same. She’d not valued it at all, had simply taken it for granted until it was too late and Mum was gone.
Leaving the kitchen she crossed the hall and picked up the key for Mum’s room. Holding the smooth hag stone in her hand, she left the bungalow and walked down the path around the side of the building. After unlocking the door, she stepped inside.
She selected a CD, putting on Paolo Nutini’s Sunny Side Up which Mum had played obsessively in the last months of her life. As the music started, Jenna sank into the chair by the window and hugged one of the cushions to her chest.
Folding her fingers around her pendant, Jenna closed her eyes. “What did I do wrong, Mum?” she whispered. “I’ve lost Hal and I can’t bear it.” And then the words poured out and she didn’t try to stop them. “And I was horrible to Winston when all he was doing was telling me the truth and I wouldn’t listen and I don’t know how to find Rachel or what to do about Uncle Andrew. Whatever he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to have his house wrecked. And I’m missing something. I know I am because there’s got to be something else. Something which connects all of this…”
An image appeared in her mind of the clay model of Thor. She opened her eyes, se
arched the bookcases for it. It was on the edge of the middle shelf, the one the grimoires were hidden behind. Except she’d not been able to return the other two to the hidden shelf after Winston’s visit and had simply stuffed them at the back and stacked the other books in front of them.
Crossing to the bookshelves she picked it up. She could almost hear Winston laughing, saying ‘Does it really have three legs or is this an enormous willy?’ That couldn’t be it. Mum wasn’t trying to get her to think about Winston and willy in the same sentence, was she? Because if she was, crossing to the other side had seriously messed with her powers.
Removing the books, she put them on the floor and reached in for the two grimoires. Winston had looked through these, hadn’t he? Although now she came to think of it, she couldn’t remember him opening the larger of the two. She carried both books over to the chair by the window. A small cloud of dust burgeoned out as she opened the bigger one.
Nina had inherited this book from another spellworker but had added to it, writing notes in the margins, inserting her own spells on pieces of paper. It was about the psychic elements of spellwork; incantations to use prior to divination, spells for manipulating memories, exercises to improve intuition.
A red leather bookmark marked the pages on psychic protection. Jenna’s throat tightened. She’d brought it back from a trip to Stirling with her grandparents when she’d been eight or nine. She turned it over in her hands, feeling how worn the leather had become, how the gold line drawing of Stirling Castle had faded. Once, when she was old enough to see the bookmark as a bit tacky and touristy, Jenna had asked Mum why she continued using it and she’d replied simply, “Because you gave it to me.” Mum wouldn’t have left it in the grimoire and forgotten it. Which could only mean she’d marked these pages shortly before her death.
Turning the page, a sheet of paper fluttered out and fell at her feet. Bending to pick it up she saw that it was a flyer for the march through Stromness to protest against the Nethertown development. “Needs power of new moon. Fennel on its own isn’t strong enough. Tried Bay and Elder as well with more positive results,” was scrawled on the reverse side in Mum’s handwriting.