by V Clifford
The road to the isles now meandered through a stunning landscape where Munroes stretched their compulsory 3,000 feet above lochs that glistened like mirrors. Still dark water reflected gnarled, lichen-covered trees stunted and battered by the prevailing wind. Ancient people had made their homes on crannogs in the middle of these lochs. Secret causeways beneath the waterline were the only way to reach them, and were known only to a privileged few. There was all manner of speculation about why people had chosen to build homes in such inhospitable places. Damp sites with plagues of midgies – insects that descended to fight a battle more fierce than any human could provoke. Archaeologists had found evidence of domestic habitation, which put paid to the notion that they were ritual sites. Clay cooking pots, even a round of cheese had been preserved by the peaty waters of the loch, and the telltale charcoal of fires meant habitation over a significant time. If this lot on the bus thought they were in for a tough weekend they should at least be grateful that Goretex had been invented. Winter days with howling winds and driving rain weighed down by woollen plaid couldn’t have been much fun for the early settlers in this part of the Highlands.
Frances, who was in the seat in front and opposite glanced up from her book and turned to Viv. What was it with overly blue eyes? She reprimanded herself for being cynical. Then nodded and said, ‘Good book?’
‘Not bad.’ She exposed the cover of a thriller. ‘Passing the time really. So what do you think this weekend will be like?’
‘Have you been on an outward-bound course before?’ Viv asked.
Frances shook her head. ‘No. I’ve done some of the stuff we’ll be expected to do, I mean we’ve all been to Tulliallan right? Seems a bit of an indulgence if you ask me.’
Viv snorted. The weekend would be many things but indulgent wasn’t how she’d imagined it. ‘How much time did you spend at Tulliallan?’
‘The usual. Initiation training then the odd top up. Not counting our health check, they fairly put us through our paces this year. You? What is it that you do?’
‘I did some stuff at uni.’ Suitably vague.
‘Yes, but what are you doing here this weekend?’
Viv looked right and left, then in a low voice said, ‘There’s some funny business at this centre. I’m just an extra pair of eyes.’ The bus screeched to a halt then reversed. Robbie had missed the turn-off.
Eventually the minibus bumped onto a track and began a slow descent over rough ground. The view out to sea took in Islay and Jura, but a bleak landscape stretched for miles on either side of the track. Acre upon acre of heather and bracken, with the occasional rock breaking the surface, looked benign. Everywhere seemed benign when the sun shone.
The bus rocked and jerked for about a mile before it slowed and changed to a lower gear for an even steeper descent, until it shuddered to a halt outside a large wooden building with a moss covered roof. Viv glanced back to where they’d come from but couldn’t see anything except heather. They were hidden in a dip. A crescent of white sand nestled beneath steep cliffs in the distance. Off to the left lay an open sided shed with outdoor equipment stored in racks. Moss was obviously the in thing, since the shed roof also blended into the landscape like the accommodation block.
Canoes and kayaks in bright colours were stacked in racks one above the other, and the back wall was hung with yellow safety vests. Viv guessed they would be using those.
Everyone piled off the bus and stretched. The first yawn went round like a Mexican wave, missing Viv and the female with the thriller. Either they were too distracted, or both sociopaths. Viv’s rucksack was last on so first off. She walked toward the building but turned briefly to check what Mac was up to. She stared transfixed when she caught Archie running his hand down Gordon’s back. It was over in a second but she didn’t imagine it. Mac was on his knees with his head stuck in the hold so she continued.
A person with the most incredible head of reddish-blond dreadlocks, wearing khaki shorts, a navy polo shirt and a ring in her nose stood just outside the door holding a clipboard with a list pinned to it. She allocated Viv a room named Jura, and directed her to it. The tiny room had two single beds and an en suite shower with wc. Not the Ritz but not roughing it either. Hurrah to no communal washing. She stared out of the window. The view out to sea was spectacular. The surface of a horseshoe shaped bay with rocks circling its edges shimmered beneath the high sun. She recognised nothing from her trip the night before. Everything had looked entirely alien from the air and behind those goggles. No sign of any boats. Good time of day to swim.
She imagined they’d be split into groups to do domestic duties like making dinner. She lay on one of the beds checking it for comfort – perfectly good. The ceiling had a hairline crack right across the middle as if defining the boundary between the beds. It suited her to have her space clarified. What was she expected to do this weekend? One task for Ruddy with such a vague remit that what were her chances of succeeding? Slim, she thought. Bosses could shift their goal-posts, so unless she was absolutely clear what they were after she was bound to fail. And for Mac the NTF had perceived a mole, someone they believed posed a threat to ‘National Security’, and they’d tasked her with rooting them out. She felt her belly clench at the notion of failing in such easy tasks. Surely she was skilled enough to prise details out of the others. People always gave more away than they thought, especially if they were trying to conceal something. If she couldn’t discover anything suspect over the weekend she’d have to find a way to check out their consoles at Fettes – with or without Mac’s permission. She needed them to talk about themselves, and fortunately most people loved to do that, given the right circumstances. But first she’d have to snoop around. There had to be an office of sorts somewhere. With this thought she sighed and relaxed.
She was adjusting her pillow when the door opened and Frances came in. Viv grinned. ‘Not too shabby. Don’t even have to pad down the hall for a pee.’ She nodded to the door of the shower room.
Frances blew out a breath and tossed her pack onto the bed opposite. ‘Could be worse, I suppose.’
‘What did you expect? Butler service?’
The woman raised her eyes and shook her head. ‘No, but I can think of better things to be doing this weekend.’
‘Couldn’t we all? But our country calls.’ Viv was being facetious but could see that thriller woman wasn’t sure how to take her. ‘Chill, I’m kidding!’
The woman flopped onto the edge of her bed and began to pull things from her pack. Viv wasn’t one for unpacking and decided to leave her to it and have a nose around instead.
Once she’d got the layout of the building, noting that the office had no lock on it, she headed out the front door.
Mac shouted, ‘Oi, Viv! Where do you think you’re off to?’ His voice more stern than he needed to be.
‘Just thought I’d have a wander. Maybe a swim.’
‘You’ll get your swim soon enough. For now keep your eyes and ears peeled for Frances.’
An old-fashioned bell rang, the kind used in primary schools to call children in from playtime. Viv immediately revisited the memory of disappointment at returning to lessons. The woman with the bell, the same woman who had allocated their rooms, stood in the doorway looking as if she was relishing the task. Intrigued, she stared at the woman’s piercings, and consigned them to the realm of self-harm, ditto her dreadlocks. The idea of not washing her hair every day, having a good scrub of her scalp, freaked her out. She’d once had someone come to her who wanted rid of dreadlocks. No easy task cutting hair that had been matted for years. And the stench that rose when hot water hit the hair and scalp was as noxious as damp farmyard animals. Scalps are living breathing skins and don’t like confinement any more than other bits of the body. Some people did manage to sponge their heads regularly but it was no substitute for a good lathered up scrub.
Mac nodded and said, ‘Game on.’ He looked at Viv for confirmation.
She glared at him.
/> They went indoors to a large, long room with a wall of windows facing the sea, and a refectory table with benches on either side. A wood burner at the far end of the room would have been more welcoming if it had been lit, but instead it sat like a black mark against a stonewall. The outside of the building was clad in wood but it appeared as if an older stone property had been there first and the centre had grown up around it. A low door at the far end of the room, near the fire, led to the kitchen. A large wooden dresser, home to mugs and glasses, took up a chunk of wall. Right next to the dresser sat a large electric urn and a selection of herbal teas in boxes. The smell of the place reminded her of Henderson’s vegetarian restaurant on Hanover Street, with sea dampness added to the mix.
Mac coughed and took charge. ‘You’ll all have read the info in the folders that I gave you on the bus. Those make clear the objectives of the weekend.’
There was a loud grumble of dissent.
‘It’s not as difficult as you think. But it’s good for us to do some team building, to be forced out of comfort zones.’ He pointed as he spoke. ‘The first task for you all is to swim over to that small peninsula. It’s cut off at high tide so you’ll become isolated.’
They all groaned.
He continued. ‘It’s not far. You’ll spend the night foraging for food and water. And Viv here is writing a piece for Police Scotland magazine, so you might want to keep in her good books.’
Noisy objections from the group rose and Viv eyeballed Mac. He didn’t flinch. No smirk. Complete deadpan. This was all news to her but there was no getting out of it and she knew it. They all knew it.
‘Shit,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Boy, will he pay for this.’
Mac continued. ‘Before you organise yourself for the trip I’d like you to pair up with a buddy.’ Now he did stare at Viv. ‘You may as well choose your roommate. The point is . . .’ Groans from the group continued until Mac put up his hands. ‘Calm down! You know there’s no way out of any of this so buckle up for the ride and enjoy pushing yourself to your limits.’
Viv shook her head. She couldn’t believe it was Mac speaking. He sounded as if he’d swallowed a motivational manual. She looked around for Frances, who hadn’t appeared yet. She glanced at Mac and raised her eyebrows.
He also looked around and approached the woman with the dreadlocks. ‘Can I use that bell you had earlier?’
She went into another room and returned with the bell. He took the bell and rang it again. Still Frances didn’t appear. If she was upstairs, Viv wondered how safe her things were. Might her roommate be going through her kit? Viv had nothing to hide that wasn’t on her person, although in her rucksack she had a little survival box with waterproof matches in it. It would be a pity if those went missing now that they were going swimming.
Mac said, ‘Viv, could you check the room? Let’s see what she’s up to.’
When Viv opened the door of the room she grinned. Frances was lying on the bed with her eyes closed and ear-buds in, oblivious to the bell outside or Viv’s entry. She touched her leg. Frances kicked out, missing Viv’s knee by a hair’s breadth.
‘What the f . . .’ She hauled the ear-buds out.
Viv headed back out the door gesturing with her thumb. ‘Downstairs. Roll call.’
Mac eyeballed Frances, but said to the whole group, ‘I shouldn’t need to remind you that you’re here on a team building exercise. No man is an island and all that.’
Frances whispered to Viv, ‘What’s happening?’
Viv pointed to the bay. ‘That’s what’s happening. We’re swimming over there and spending the night.’
‘No way.’ Shock written all over her face.
Viv snorted. ‘Yes way.’
‘Any questions?’ Mac said.
Gordon said, ‘Back here for a fry-up in the morning, then?’
Mac said, ‘No such luck. You’ll route march over the island, find canoes that were left earlier, you’re lucky the weather’s fine, but don’t dally because there’s a storm forecast for tomorrow.’
Gordon said, ‘Since when have you known a forecast to be right?’
‘I’m just letting you know what’s possible.’
Viv was about to wander back upstairs to collect her things, but made a detour to the kitchen to see if she could find large bin bags. She’d like to get to the other side with some spare dry clothes. Gordon obviously had the same idea and had found them already.
‘Every man for himself, eh, Viv?’
It was too early in the weekend to get het up about gender-biased language, so she just accepted the roll of bags and pulled a few off.
As she turned to leave he said, ‘What’s this about then? Why are you really here?’
She feigned ignorance and shrugged.
‘You think I’m buying that?’ He held up crossed fingers. ‘You and Marconi are like two peas in a pod.’
She wasn’t sure where he was coming from since Mac was his team leader, his boss in other words. Viv wasn’t even staff. Asking him what he meant would only lead to further questions, so she laughed and said, ‘Nobody’s ever called me a pea before but I’ll take that as a compliment.’
He followed her out of the kitchen then hesitated before turning towards the men’s corridor, leaving her to go upstairs and retrieve her stuff.
The Goretex rucksack she’d brought was a serious bit of kit, but for a night in the open she’d need something warm. She hauled out spare trousers, socks and underwear and left them on the bed. This made little difference to the weight. Everything was essential, especially the sealed box of survival things that included the waterproof matches. She’d found them in an outdoor shop in Callander, the only useful thing to come out of her last visit. She had a ball of string, a midge net, probably more important than any of the other stuff. No point in taking tissues but she’d keep the tiny first aid kit as a just-in-case. It was only for one night after all.
Chapter Six
On her way to the shore Viv caught the others huddled in a conversation that hushed as she drew close. She continued towards a rocky edge on the shore and stripped down to her swimsuit. Gordon and Archie began kicking about in the shallows further to her right. With her rucksack on her shoulders and her boots tied in a bag she tiptoed across the rocks and peered into the water. There was no way to tell how deep it was. Even in August the seas around Scotland were unforgiving. She slipped off the edge. When her toes touched the surface she caught her breath and a painful chill ran up her limbs reaching her breasts before her feet touched the bottom. No going back. She struck out.
The sea was calm and from the shore she reckoned it would take fifteen minutes, but that was only a guess. Now that she was in the water it seemed much further. This was the first test of mind over matter. If she were in the pool at Warrender baths she’d swim hard for thirty minutes without stopping and think nothing of it. The business of not being able to touch the bottom or make it to the side was the challenging bit. Best not to over-think and keep moving.
She’d had a look at a Harvey map before setting off and hoped that the beach on the other side was pebbled, but she had no way of knowing if there was a rocky shelf to negotiate before she got that far. She kept up a steady rhythm and besides one large jellyfish, which she spotted in time to swim around, the sea was clean and invigorating. It would have been a whole lot easier without the rucksack but the option of wearing every item was not a wise one.
She thought she heard someone call out, but decided it was a trick of her mind. Then a head bobbed up in front of her but immediately disappeared. She was gently bumped from below the water. She gasped, her imagination working over time. There were basking sharks on the west coast and although they wouldn’t attack they were huge creatures, up to fifty feet long. She swallowed again and put more power into her strokes. The creature bobbed up again then swam beneath her and surfaced with its head only a couple of feet in front. It made eye contact. She was face to face with a seal. It seemed to want
to play, and as much as Viv was relieved and delighted to see the animal close up, she wasn’t in a position to oblige. The rucksack was cumbersome; she couldn’t hang about. It continued to swim beneath her, round her, ducking and diving and nudging her with its nose. It was unbelievable, a once in a lifetime experience. The seal, possibly disappointed in her, disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
Her sights fell on the far shore. Even on a hot day in Scotland the sea temperature was never going to be much above fourteen degrees. Cold bore deep into her bones.
She picked up her pace. Numb thighs were a bad sign. Before long she sensed the water getting warmer, which either meant it was shallower or she had the beginnings of hypothermia. She pushed on until it was easier to walk than to swim, then dragged herself without dignity onto a silver pebbled beach. Puffing and shivering she shook the water off as best she could then foraged in a bin bag from her pack for a fleece. All the while looking out to sea.
With the fleece on she rubbed her arms and hopped around vigorously before putting the rest of her kit on. Essential to keep moving. Although it was the last thing she felt like doing, she forced herself to run up over the pebbles onto a stretch of machair, where she star jumped and ran on the spot. She took off at a sprint for as far as she could, a couple of hundred metres, before turning and repeating it. What were the chances of swimming with a seal? If the rest of the weekend turned into a disaster, she’d always have that memory to treasure. There was no sign of her little friend on the horizon and she began to wonder if she had imagined it.