Eve

by Beverley Hughesdon

  When I’d finished my resumé of the herring trade Mr Parton said, ‘That was very helpful, Eve – and explained most clearly.’

  As I glowed with pleasure Horseface said to him, ‘I told you there’d be no problem with language. On the contrary, since girls from Gaelic areas learn their English at school they actually have a better command of grammar than the non-Gaelic speakers.’

  Ah – warning bells rang – perhaps it was time to drop some of that tell-tale grammar before it gave me away. After all, Mr Henderson could be his solicitor – Horseface’s – whose name I hadn’t yet picked up because Mr Parton was one of those men who instead of using a person’s name just said, ‘Old man,’ or ‘Old chap.’ Not that Horseface was particularly old – I turned to run an eye over his body – and was momentarily disconcerted to discover that he was doing the same to mine. Then thankfully I remembered that I was wearing Jeannie’s full-length skirt and that my hair was tightly coiled up into a bun – so, I was in no danger from that quarter. When his eyes finally arrived back at my face, I smiled at him. He smiled broadly back.

  Mr Parton raised his head from his note book. ‘Now, Eve, perhaps you could take us through your part in the process?’

  ‘Well, the herrings have tae be salted before they’re tipped in the farlins – that’s what we call these troughs – sae they’re no too slippery tae handle. Now, ye see those baskets?’ They both nodded obediently. ‘The shallow one, in front of each girl, that’s for the guts – fish guts are used for fertilizer, sae nothing’s wasted. If ye follow me ye can see—’

  Oh yes, I really was full of myself. And as we both know only too well, over-confidence so often precedes a fall. This time I noticed Morag watching us, her face green with envy, and couldn’t resist a patronising aside: ‘That’s Morag, she comes from the Western isles – they speak a different sort o’ Gaelic there.’

  Behind me a deep bass voice murmured, ‘Cigars, Fred.’

  And Mr Parton asked in his slightly squeaky tone, ‘So you don’t come from the West Coast yourself, Eve?’

  Oh, curses! I shook my head while attempting to distract him with a, ‘Now, I daresay ye’ve been wondering—’

  But he wouldn’t be distracted. His interruption was diffident, but clearly expecting an answer. ‘So, er, where exactly do you come from?’

  I had to think quickly – very quickly. Now, if I were still in Lerwick I’d answer, ‘Frae beyond Wick.’

  At this reply Mr Parton gave a small smile of triumph as he looked sideways at Horseface – who said casually, ‘I didn’t know they spoke Gaelic on the north coast’

  My response was prompt – and accurate. ‘They do in Reay.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Horseface, ‘That’s not a place I’ve ever set foot in.’

  Me neither – but even at a distance the ground there was distinctly shaky, so i employed rapid diversionary measures. ‘Look, I’d best tell ye next how ye size and grade a herring.’ Without pausing for breath I continued loudly, ‘Since your book’s about Scotland I’ll tell ye the Scottish system – it’s more complicated than in England – in Scotland ye’ve got seven types: mattie, mat full, medium, filling, full, large full and spent. Have ye written that down? “Mattie” with two “t”s and “ie” at the end.’ He was scribbling away nicely by now, so I was able to slow down a trifle. ‘Now, sizing’s obvious – each herring’s got tae be a certain length or more.’ I rattled them off, ‘9"; 9¼"; 9½"; 10¼"; 10¼" again; 11¼"; only 10".’ As soon as he’d finished writing I explained, ‘But grading, that’s different. Grading’s tae do with how close a herring is tae spawning. Ye ken what spawning is, do ye?’

  Mr Parton stuttered something I took to be an assent. Horseface said with a smile, ‘I think I do have a grasp of the general principles of that – ah – activity.’ Which I also took to be an assent.

  So I set briskly off again, ‘Before it spawns a herring starts filling with roe – folk say hard or soft roe – but soft roe’s not really roe at all, it’s milt.’ I explained helpfully, ‘Milt’s what males spawn with – we call it “mealc” in the Gaelic, I’ll spell it for you.’ I did, but Mr Parton didn’t write it down. In fact, he seemed to be getting distinctiy flustered – some people are squeamish about innards.

  But Horseface clearly wasn’t one of them. ‘Pass me your pencil Fred, and I’ll jot it down for you. Now, young woman, let’s have that spelling again – we don’t want to get any crucial details wrong, do we?’ He winked, and I, though not best pleased about that ‘young woman’, winked back – the way one always does.

  Having spelt “mealc” for him I said, ‘Actually, for curing a herring it doesna really matter whether a herring’s got milt or roe – it’s its condition that’s important, and that depends on whether the herring’s filling, or already full.’

  I ran across to the nearest farlin, and returned with a fish in my hand. ‘Now, look at this mattie, here.’ They duly looked. ‘Matties are prime young herring, nice and plump – mattie comes fra ‘Maatje’, that’s a Dutch word as means “fat”. Now, matties are still filling, but—’

  Horseface finished smoothly, ‘But a mat full is all ready to shoot, eh?’

  I smiled at him, pleased with my pupil’s quickness. ‘That’s right. And the same with the others – medium and filling are still filling, and full and large full are ready tae spawn.’

  With only the briefest of glances at his notes Horseface continued, ‘And, of course, “spent” is – er – spent?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right – I’ll show ye the difference.’

  Returning with an appropriate specimen I held the thin, bony herring out to them for inspection. ‘Ye can see he’s nae much use now, is he?’ I tossed it aside. ‘No-one wants a spent.’

  At which Horseface retorted, ‘Especially not a lively girl like you.’ And neighed.

  What an odd remark – and he was looking at me in a way I didn’t altogether like, so I decided to get my own back. I said, ‘If ye were a herring, I know what grade you’d be—’

  ‘Do you indeed—’

  Eyeing up his tall, well-muscled frame I said, ‘Och aye – ye’re a large full, ye are.’ And laughed. it was a moment before he replied. Then one eyebrow rose as he asked, ‘And how do you feel about them, pray?’

  I had no problem with that question, replying confidently, ‘Och, I like large fulls – ye can tell their condition soon as ye get your hand on them.’

  His braying laughter was louder than ever this time. So at least he could take a joke against himself. Grinning up at him and said, ‘So now ye ken all about grading herring.’

  ‘Ah yes, we were talking about herring, weren’t we?’ What on earth else did he think we’d been talking about? ‘Mm, your discourse has been most enlightening, young woman.’

  That ‘young woman’ again. I frowned. ‘Ma name’s Eve.’

  ‘Ah yes, you’re Eve Gunn – “Gunn” being a classic east coast name.’

  I didn’t rise to his bait. ‘Now, I’ll take ye over for a word with Bridget – she’s the packer in our crew.’ I kept firm hold of the conversational reins as we walked over to the packers. ‘All herring has tae be gutted, cured and packed within twenty-four hours o’ being caught – that’s the law. Sae when we had big catches up in Lerwick we just had tae keep working – here’s Bridget now, I’m sure she’ll be pleased tae tell ye all about the packing.’ lt was clear when Bridget’s head emerged from the barrel that she was not at all pleased. We had a brisk exchange in Gaelic. ‘Eve, I’m busy – I can’t waste time talking.’

  ‘They’re going to tip us.”

  Straightening up she turned to my two companions with a smile, ‘What can I dae for ye then, sir?’

  Bridget was far from stolid today, she took them through the whole procedure, her account nicely spiced with ‘sirs’ and smiles. Especially when Mr Parton said sympathetically, ‘Having to bend over constantly must be very hard on the digestive system.’

  ‘Oh it is sir.’ He
was rewarded with another smile – she was a good-looking girl, Bridget – when you caught her in the right mood. A brief discussion on the relative merits of bismuth and bicarb. ensued. ‘I’ll try that sir, thank you, sir.’

  I was getting bored, and so obviously was Horseface, who said now, ‘Fred, we still haven’t decided who’s buying those cigars.’

  Mr Parton looked surprised. ‘But I thought we had, old man.’

  Horseface shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’ He smiled. And there was something about that smile of his – it made him look not so much like a horse as like a tiger – those big strong teeth…

  I almost didn’t hear Mr Parton’s next question – he’d noticed that Bridget’s fingers were bandaged differently from mine. I explained, ‘Packers only need tae bandage the tips,’ – and speaking of tips, I added, ‘Sir.’ Bridget was no fool about money, she’d obviously decided they were worth a bob or two, so I’d play along too. ‘And that was very quick of you to notice – sir.’

  There was a sort of ‘harrumph’ from Horseface at my elbow, so I decided I’d better not overdo it – I’d only ‘Sir’ Mr Parton – who was, after all, writing the book, and so presumably the one providing the tips. It was Horseface, however, who leant over to inspect my bandages more closely. I explained to him, ‘We put them on every morning, and we only take them off at night – afore we eat we just wash with ‘em still on.’ His big-nosed face remained bent over my hands, studying them intently, as if he really was interested.

  Then he looked up again. ‘Pretty sharp, those knives of yours.’ Not smiling now, his face was serious.

  I told him, ‘They need tae be. But we dae cut ourselves, sometimes.’ I tugged at the bandage on my left forefinger to show him where I’d nicked myself in the hilarity over Morag’s bishop. He bent down to look again, then said, ‘That must be quite painful – with all the salt you have to work with. You really must take care, you know.’

  His voice, sounding concerned, speaking in Apa’s clipped accent – for a moment it was as if – Then I got a grip on myself. Don’t be stupid, Eve – this man’s voice is much deeper. I shrugged my reply, ‘Och – it’ll heal. Now, these empty barrels, all brand-new they are, they have tae be for curing. The coopers make them, over the winter.’

  Horseface turned to his friend, ‘Parton, why don’t you go and speak to the horse’s mouth on this one?’ I barely managed to suppress a giggle as he went on, ‘One of those cooper johnnies will take you through that side of things. And in the meantime I’ll stroll over there into the sun – and smoke a cigar.’ Those concluding words of his being added after just the briefest of pauses.

  Mr Parton looked anxious at his proposed defection. ‘But won’t they think it rather odd if—’

  I jumped to his rescue. ‘I’ll take ye over and introduce you.’

  ‘And then come back and keep me company.’ A command from Horseface.

  I turned to smile up at him. ‘Aye, I will.’ Curses – I’d forgotten the ‘Sir’.

  I escorted Mr Parton over to the coopers, warning him, ‘Ye’d best not take too long – it’s nearly dinner time – sir.’ I’d remembered that time, at least. Having handed him over to Iaian with appropriate instructions, I turned to look back at Horseface, who was now standing by the lower railings. Gosh, he was huge – and almost there was a moment of recognition – Don’t be daft, Eve, it’s because he looks like a tiger – except that tigers don’t smoke cigars.

  Nor, as it turned out, was he – just a cigarette – as I spotted when I vaulted over the final barrels to arrive beside him.

  He was admiring of my agility. ‘Quite a leap, that.’

  I grinned. ‘Thank you – sir.’

  ‘You know, you really are a rather fine young filly, Eve Gunn.’ He was comparing me to a horse – when I’d been calling him one! I started giggling.

  He raised one eyebrow. ‘What’s the joke?’

  I knew I was being cheeky, but I couldn’t resist it. ‘You calling me a horse – sir. Tickled ma fancy it did – sir.’ Then, ‘Shall I jump over those barrels again for ye – sir?’

  He didn’t reply for a moment, but his eyes narrowed against the smoke of his cigarette and I was fascinated to see that the tips of his ears had gone red. Then ‘My friend will be providing the tip, not me, so you can cut out the “Sirs” – which are, as it happens, not wholly appropriate.’

  Probably not, the way I’d used them. But I couldn’t resist it, I exclaimed, ‘Oh, thank ye, s-,’ then I noticed the expression on his face and decided perhaps I could resist it, after all. I repeated, ‘Thank ye,’ and grinned up at him.

  He smiled back before saying, ‘In any case, I don’t feel that servility comes naturally to that lively tongue of yours – any more than that lively body of yours,’ I smirked, ‘Comes from Reay.’

  I was suddenly still. He continued, ‘You don’t, do you? Come from Reay?’

  Adopting a defensive position I said, ‘I didna actually say I did.’

  ‘No – I noticed that. In fact, you seemed more than a trifle evasive about the whole question of where you do come from.’ I retorted sharply, ‘I dinna see as it’s any o’ your business.’ He could forget the ‘sirs’ now.

  ‘Let’s just say that I have a slight pecuniary interest in the matter.’ Mr Henderson was bribing him to trap me? ‘However, it it makes you happier I could try deduction instead.’

  I relaxed slightly; I’d given him no clues and Bridget hadn’t said anything. He continued, ‘If, perhaps, one happened to be standing at, say, John o’ Groats, “beyond Wick” could, of course, mean due south of Wick.’ No, not a tiger – a big tom cat, playing with a mouse – me. I kept my mouth firmly closed and my face blank.

  ‘Let me think of some places south of Wick, then – Lybster?’ I tensed.

  ‘Dunbeath?’ My muscles softened – he’d be south of the Ord any minute. ‘Ah, but I’ve forgotten that big cllft between them – the Gob, isn’t it called? The Gob of Helspie. You must know it – why, a lively, energetic girl like you might even be tempted to scramble up it, or,’ a deliberate pause, ‘Perhaps – down?’

  And all at once I knew – and exclaimed, ‘It was you! You were the big man on the yacht who shouted out tae me!’

  He neighed. ‘So it was you. I was sure I’d seen that curtsey before!’

  He started laughing, and so did I. I was giddy with relief – he was nothing to do with Mr Henderson, nothing at all.

  He said, ‘My friend was on the yacht, too – but when I said you must be that girl he was convinced that I couldn’t possibly have recognised you at that distance—’

  I confided, ‘Just now, I nearly recognised you.’

  ‘Did you, indeed?’

  ‘I should have done, sooner.’

  He laughed. ‘In all fairness, you had your eyes on the cliff – whereas I had them on you.’ Where they rested now. ‘Well, well – just imagine my seeing you again.’

  ‘Aye, it is a coincidence, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mm – perhaps not so much as all that, since the two events are not wholly unconnected. You see, it was as a result of that trip that my friend had the idea for his book – after we’d pulled in at Wick, and seen all the activity there.’ He grinned. ‘And I must say, you herring girls are a fine body of young women.’ His eyes dropped to my body, ‘And yours is one of the finest!’

  I glowed. ‘Thank ye.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ His smile broadened. ‘And so ever since that trip I’ve made a point of coming to view you girls at work before the cricket festival gets under way. And since I’d persuaded Mr Parton to accompany me this year, I suggested that he resurrect his original literary scheme.’ Thus giving me the most awful shock – still, they weren’t to know that. ‘And I offered to come along with him this morning to select a likely-looking Scots lassie for him to interview – and lo and behold, there was the girl from the Gob of Helspie.’

  I frowned slightly. ‘So that’s why ye chose me – ju
st because of the Gob?’

  ‘Oh, I think I’d have selected you in any case. In fact I’m sure of it.’ Gosh, was I flattered. ‘However, trying to discover if you were, indeed, the Helspie girl has added an extra – shall we say, spice – to the encounter. You know, even though I now realise you were somewhat older than we thought then – and very much more female,’ he grinned, ‘I must say, coming down that cliff was an impressive feat – it’s pretty high.’ Not as high as the Himalaya – but I couldn’t tell him, I simply couldn’t. Suppose Mr Henderson was his solicitor, too?

  And as if on cue he said, ‘What I am puzzled about, young woman, is why you’re so anxious to conceal your Helspie origins—’

  Quickly I interrupted, ‘Now ye ken, will ye promise to no tell anyone?’

  ‘Mm, you are anxious, aren’t you?’ Oh, curses – now I’d made him even more suspicious. He continued, ‘Looking at you, I’d guess there’s a man at the bottom of that little mystery.’ I flushed scarlet. ‘Ah ha, so I’m right, there is.’ There certainly was – two men, in fact, both of the Mr Hendersons. Horseface smiled, knowingly. ‘Tell you what, I’ll make that promise,’ I could feel my face light up, ‘If you’ll do something for me in return.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Turn a cartwheel. Several cartwheels, I think.’

  ‘All right.’

  Swinging the upper half of my body round I raised my arms – but laughingly he gestured them down again. ‘Not quite so fast – let me explain. I had a small wager with my friend,’

  Oh no, suppose Mr Henderson was Mr Parton’s solicitor – Anxiously I asked, ‘D’ye think he’ll agree tae—’

  Horseface’s interruption was reassuring. ‘I’m sure he’ll promise too. Now, our stake was a box of cigars, my winning of which rested on your being the Helspie girl – which indeed you are – but I think it will be more fun if instead of just telling him—’

  ‘—I show him, by cartwheeling again!’

  ‘Exactly. But – er – can you cartwheel in those great, clumsy boots?’