Emotional Geology

by Linda Gillard

  ‘Yes. A few.’

  ‘Don’t ever show them to me.’

  ‘No. No, I won’t.’

  Rose picks up her sewing again and peers at her stitches. She lays the work aside and rubs her eyes. ‘I can’t see. I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Mum—’

  ‘I don't want to talk about it any more, Megan. It’s been a hell of an evening, what with one thing and another. I’ve had enough. I’ll leave you to turn out the lights. Goodnight.’

  ~

  At 4.00am Rose abandons the struggle to sleep and sits up in bed, her head throbbing, throat parched. Shivering, she gets out of bed, pulls on a dressing-gown and opens the wardrobe door. Taking a battered buff envelope from a box she returns to bed.

  The envelope contains photographs of various sizes, some of them dog-eared, some mounted in card folders. She skims through them quickly. She pauses at a creased black and white photo of a little girl in an elaborately tiered and be-ribboned party dress. The girl wears shiny black shoes and drooping long white socks. She stands proudly beside a new bicycle.

  Rose’s tenth birthday. She remembers that the bicycle was blue and silver. The dress was pink, as were the ribbons at the end of her auburn plaits from which her frizzy corkscrew curls were already beginning to escape. She had hated the dress, loved the bicycle. To her child’s mind the bicycle had seemed like a reward for having to wear the pink dress.

  Rose continues her search. When she reaches the last photograph she repeats the process, slowly this time, examining each photo carefully. Eventually she is satisfied.

  There are no photos of Gavin.

  She knows there are no photos of Gavin because she destroyed them all, deliberately, systematically and without exception. But Rose hoped she might have missed one, that two photos might have stuck together, that Gavin might appear, faint, out of focus, uncharacteristically self-effacing in a wedding group perhaps. But Rose was thorough. Gavin is conspicuous by his absence.

  On top of the pile is a photo of Megan in hill-walking gear, striking a triumphant “Hillary pose” on the summit of Ben Nevis, having completed her first ascent, aged fourteen. Gavin had taken the photo of Megan smiling into the sun, her eyes screwed up against the bright light.

  Rose leans forward and holds the photo closer to the bedside lamp. On the ground in front of Megan is a shadow. A man’s shadow. The photographer’s shadow thrown by the sunlight into the foreground of the picture. It could be anybody but Rose knows it is Gavin. She can in any case just discern the serrated shadow of his hair; she recognises the angle of his tilted hips.

  It is Gavin.

  She thought she had destroyed every last trace. She had meant to. Rose stares at the photo for a long time, her stomach churning. She presses the shadow briefly to her lips. Fighting waves of nausea and self-disgust, she shuffles the photo back into the middle of the pile then pushes them back into the envelope. She drops it onto the floor and turns out the light.

  Staring into the darkness, she waits for sleep.

  ~

  The following morning Megan wakes early after a fitful night’s sleep. She lies in bed listening out for the noise of traffic, dogs barking, children playing. There is nothing. A wall of silence except for the hush of the sea.

  Irritated, she gets up and makes herself a cup of coffee. There is no sound yet from Rose’s room. Megan pulls on her trainers and heads for the beach where there will at least be gulls for company.

  ~

  Chilled and miserable, Megan is considering turning back for the consolations of a cooked breakfast when she sees a familiar figure running along the beach. She waves. Calum waves back and jogs towards her.

  ‘Good morning, Megan! You’re up early.’ He stands panting, hands on hips.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep. Too much booze I expect.’

  ‘Is there such a thing now? I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Are you in training?’

  ‘No, I just like to run. It helps me think. Energises me. And it’s a great morning for it. Will you just look at that sky!’

  ‘Yes, it’s very beautiful,’ Megan says, without much enthusiasm. ‘But I don’t know how you stand the quiet.’

  Calum grins. ‘Is the lack of nightclubs beginning to get to you? If you're wanting a bit of excitement, have a word with my sister. She could take you along to her ceilidh-robics class - if you think you're up to it.’

  ‘Ceilidh what?’

  ‘Ceilidh-robics. It’s the next big thing. Well, on Uist anyway.’

  ‘You have to be kidding.’

  ‘Honest to God. Ask Shona. Fridays at eight. Don’t be late.’

  ‘I think you're having me on. I may be gone by Friday anyway.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m going to Skye to see a guy about a job at the outdoor centre on Raasay. Mum said you might know something about it.’

  ‘Aye, I worked there for a while. I used to live on Skye and I did a season teaching at the centre.’

  ‘Climbing?’

  ‘Aye. And water sports - kayaking, windsurfing. It's a grand way to spend a summer. What’s the job?’

  ‘Climbing instructor. Just beginners. Kids mostly, on single pitch routes. Hill safety, rope management, just basics. They’re looking for more female instructors.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you climbed.’

  ‘Gavin taught me. Much to Mum's disgust. Then I got bitten by the bug, as you do. I got bored doing Highers, dropped out of school and bummed around a bit doing dead-end jobs for money. Now I’m wondering if I can make a career out of my hobby. I can’t decide whether to go back to college and try and get some qualifications or to get work experience somewhere like Raasay.’ She pauses and looks up at him.

  Calum looks surprised. ‘Are you asking my advice?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

  ‘Well, now - that's a tough one. Raasay would be very good experience and I’m sure you’d love it, but...’ He shrugs. ‘Och, I’m a teacher and you know what I’m going to say.’

  Megan pulls a face. ‘Go back to college.’

  ‘Raasay will always be there! The jobs will always be there. Outdoor education is a real growth industry. You’ll not enjoy college if you’re the oldest student on the course and the longer you stay out of fulltime education the harder it will be to return.’ He shakes his head and sighs. ‘Tragic, isn’t it? The way dynamic, young teachers degenerate so rapidly into boring old farts.’

  Megan laughs. ‘You certainly haven’t! I wish you’d been teaching me English - I probably wouldn't have quit.’

  ‘Don't be deceived. I make my pupils’ lives a misery with my relentless enthusiasm.’

  ‘That’s not what Mum says. She says they adore you.’

  ‘Unlikely, but if they do it’s probably because I explain the smutty bits in Shakespeare. You’re shivering. Shall we jog for a wee while? The going’s good on the wet sand.’

  ‘Yeah, great.’

  ~

  When Rose finally draws her bedroom curtains and faces the morning she is surprised to see two figures running side by side along the fringe of the sea. She is about to pick up the binoculars she keeps on the windowsill, then realises she doesn’t need them. She knows the figures are Calum and Megan.

  ~

  Calum is skimming stones.

  Megan sits on a rock, counting the bounces. ‘Four. Best score so far.’

  ‘I’m just warming up. The next one will make it to St. Kilda.’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘She is a group of islands. Out there, forty-five miles to the west. At the edge of the world. You can just about see them on the horizon today.’ He points.

  ‘Does anybody live there?’

  ‘Not any more.’ Calum skims another stone. ‘But there were folk living there until 1930.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye. They used to come here for the night life.’ Megan lobs a shell at him. Calum ducks. ‘Ah, the bright lights of Loc
hmaddy... Except that in 1930 they weren’t that bright because we didn’t get electricity until the ’60s.’

  ‘How on earth did people survive out there?’

  ‘On St. Kilda? Bird-hunting. The men-folk used to climb the cliffs in their bare feet to rob nests of eggs and young birds.’

  ‘Why bare feet?’

  ‘Better grip. But many died in the attempt. The community survived until they aroused the interest of Victorian missionaries and tourists. The islanders started to barter for goods and they lost their economic independence. Then their number was reduced by imported diseases. They had no resistance to mainland bugs. Eventually the population got so small that living there was no longer viable. The last few islanders were evacuated in 1930 at their own request.’

  ‘Have you ever been there?’

  ‘Aye, once, when I was a boy. Angus the Post - have you met Angus yet? - his mother was born there. He took her back for a visit. She wanted to see the old place again before she died. Angus took my parents and me along for the ride. He had his own boat. I was that excited, I was sick before we even put to sea. And I was plenty sick while we were at sea. It’s a hell of a journey.’

  ‘What was it like when you got there?’

  ‘Beautiful. Eerie. And the noisiest place on earth.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘The bird colonies. There’s two hundred and fifty thousand pairs out there. Gannets, puffins, fulmars... That's half a million birds. You can't hear yourself think.’ Calum skims another stone out towards St. Kilda. ‘Och, maybe that’s no bad thing...’

  ~

  Calum and Megan walk along the shoreline side by side, hands plunged in coat pockets, collars turned up against the wind.

  ‘Did you tell Rose where you were going?’

  ‘No. I thought I’d just be out for a few minutes. She was still in bed.’

  ‘Should you be heading back, maybe? She might be worried about you.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Though I must say she does seem a lot more relaxed here than she did back in Fort William. She thinks this place is Heaven. She feels she’s finally got away from Gavin, I suppose.’

  Calum is silent for a moment. ‘That’s not my impression.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. She may be physically distant from him and distant in time - she hasn't seen him for five years, right?’ Megan nods. ‘But she’s still living with him. He’s in her thoughts, inside her head... I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually talks to him. No, I don’t believe Rose has escaped.’ He mutters to himself. ‘The mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Some lines by Milton. From the appropriately titled Paradise Lost.’ Megan looks baffled. ‘It seems to me,’ Calum explains, ‘that Rose carries her own hell around with her in her head, with Gavin starring as the Prince of Darkness.’

  ‘He really wasn’t that bad, you know,’ Megan says sharply.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he was. I was just telling you how I think Rose sees things. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s not as if Gavin was my dad. But my loyalties were always divided. She was hell to live with at times. I don’t know how he put up with it.’

  ‘He loved her I suppose.’

  ‘He must have. He did try to explain to her about the climbing, the expeditions. She was always so miserable and worried when he was away, convinced he was going to come home in a body bag.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s understandable. There’s a good chance of that when you’re engaged in the kind of high-risk stuff Gavin was into.’

  ‘He always said he would know when his time was up, would know when to quit.’

  Calum laughs softly. ‘Aye, we all say that.’

  ‘Gavin was so confident. He never even thought he might fall, let alone die. He said you could tell, you got a feeling who was not going to make it, who wouldn’t be coming back. Sometimes it was obvious - some guys became obsessed, you know? Really out there on the edge. Gavin said that type was “too committed to survive”, it was only a matter of time... He laughed at men like that. He laughed at the whole bloody thing. Nothing seemed to touch him - cold, pain, exhaustion, injury. Even the death of his friends.’

  ‘It’s a survival mechanism. You tell yourself you’re invincible.’

  ‘Gavin thought he was. But he was wrong.’ Megan turns away from Calum and looks out towards St. Kilda. ‘He couldn’t handle the split with Mum... and what happened to her afterwards. He couldn’t laugh about that. He couldn’t put it behind him and move on. I think it broke his heart. Which came as a terrible shock to Gavin Duffy, climber, athlete and super-stud,’ Megan says harshly. ‘Because up till then he hadn’t realised he had a heart.’

  ‘Gavin Duffy?’

  Megan looks back, surprised. ‘Yes. Did you know him?’

  ‘No... I think I may have met him once. Well, I met a guy called Gavin Duffy. Maybe it wasn’t Rose’s Gavin.’

  ‘White-blond hair, blue eyes. Very good-looking. Shorter than you. He was covered in freckles in summer.’ Calum is nodding his head slowly. ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘I don’t remember... Climbing on Skye most probably. Megan, you won’t mention this to Rose? I think it might upset her.’

  ‘You must be joking! I would never mention Gavin in Mum’s presence.’ Remembering her blunder of the previous evening, Megan says hurriedly, ‘I think I’d better be heading back. Rose will be wondering where I’ve got to. Do you want to come and have some coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m supposed to be playing football later with my nephew who will undoubtedly thrash me. Shona’s giving me lunch as a consolation prize.’

  ‘Maybe see you later then?’

  ‘Aye. Will you thank Rose for me, for the supper last night?’

  ‘I think you already did that. Several times.’

  ~

  They are walking back along the beach together. If they look up now they’ll see me at the window and think I’ve been spying on them.

  Have I?

  Megan is turning off towards the house. She’s trudging up though the dry sand above the high-tide line. But Calum is standing at the water’s edge, facing out to sea. The wind lifts his hair and fills his billowing jacket like a sail. It must be a trick of the light, a distortion of perspective that makes him look so small, so dark against the white sand. He stands hunched, still, like a cormorant, black, waiting on a rock.

  CHAPTER NINE

  On Sunday the weather is too bad to consider even the shortest of walks. Rose offers to drive Megan around the island but her daughter shows little interest in sightseeing and settles down on the sofa with one of Shona’s paperback thrillers. Sitting with her sewing by the wood-burner, Rose breaks a long silence.

  ‘Megan, I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like I’m trying to get rid of you, but have you decided yet when you’re going home?’

  Megan looks up from her book. ‘No, not really. Am I getting in the way then?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Rose lies, ‘It’s just that there’s a party on Saturday night. It's Calum’s fortieth birthday and Shona’s throwing a surprise party for him. I wondered... if you’ll still be here?’

  ‘Well, I had been thinking about going at the end of the week,’ Megan says vaguely, ‘But I suppose I could stay for the party. Sounds fun.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. There’ll be all sorts of people there - neighbours, elderly folk and Shona’s children of course... There won’t be many young people. You might find it all a bit... dull,’ Rose says hopefully.

  Megan is not discouraged. ‘No, I'd like to go. It’ll be worth it to see Calum’s face when he shows up. You never know - maybe some of his climbing mates will come.’

  ‘Shona’s certainly invited them. The ones on Skye might come over on the ferry. I don’t really know who’s coming, I’m just hiding the booze. And I said I’d make
a big lasagne as a contribution to the food... What’s wrong?’

  Megan is chewing her lip and looking worried. ‘I’ve got a problem.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry if you can’t spare the time. I’m sure Shona doesn’t really expect you to come. You’d probably be very bored anyway.’

  ‘No, it’s not that, it’s just that I don’t have anything to wear. I wasn’t expecting to have to socialise. Could I have a look through your wardrobe? You might have something I could borrow.’

  ‘My clothes will all be much too big for you.’

  ‘I could wear one of your shapeless, hippy things with a big belt.’

  Ignoring the slur, Rose replies tartly, ‘I don’t think I have any big belts.’

  ‘Well, a scarf or something?’

  ‘I’m much taller than you, Megan. My clothes will be too long.’

  ‘I could borrow some high heels. We take the same size.’

  ‘I don’t have any! I gave them all to Oxfam knowing I wouldn’t need them here. Uist isn’t exactly the last word in trend-setting fashion, you know. But by all means, ransack my wardrobe. Be my guest! I’m flattered you think I possess anything that you’re prepared to be seen dead in.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Megan fails to notice Rose’s air of patient martyrdom and returns to her book.

  After an uneventful day spent reading, dozing and eating the food that is put in front of her, Megan claims she needs an early night and retires to her bed in the workroom. Sitting up late with her sewing, Rose wonders - not for the first time - what has brought Megan to Uist.

  ~

  On Monday morning Shona appears at the back door and beams at Rose, her eyebrows mobile. ‘Rose,’ she hisses, ‘Could I have a wee word?’ She looks anxiously over her shoulder.