2004 - The Reunion

by Sue Walker

  It looked to Innes as if Abby was really warming to the subject of Alex. Not surprising, really. Alex Baxendale was perhaps the most intriguing—probably because she was the hardest to read and therefore impossible even to begin to understand.

  Abby seemed to read her thoughts on that one. “See, with Alex, there’s never, ever any ‘give’ with her. You never feel that she can be normal, friendly, nice even. Christ, I’ve even seen Carrie crying with Simon at the bottom of the garden once or twice. And Simon himself has been near to breaking point in Dr Laurie’s sessions. At least you get to see something a bit…a bit more…human with everyone else. But Alex is…what does Dr Laurie say? Oh, yeah, he says to Alex in group therapy that she’s ‘shut down’. And it’s true. You never see a chink in that tough exterior of hers. A good while back, me and Simon overheard the nurses talking about her one night. They were going on about how it was vital to break down her ‘psychological barriers’. They were wittering on, saying stuff like it was the only way to make her better. Cure her…her ‘psychopathy’. Si’s got a psychology dictionary and we looked it up. It means she’s pretty mental. But, as Si pointed out, he reckons that all of us could be described in the same way, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, there’s no way the staff have broken through with Alex. Not a chance.”

  Innes nodded and broached something that had been on her mind. “And those scars? On her arms?”

  Abby shrugged again and restarted her gentle swinging. “Oh, those. She did them herself. ‘Self-mutilation’ they call it. Strange stuff. And you’ll have noticed she likes looking like a boy. She’s like Nurse Sarah in that respect. Know what I mean?”

  Innes shied away from pursuing that piece of gossip. The girls and girls, boys and boys, thing was all a bit weird. She quickly moved on to another subject. “And what about Danny? He raped someone when he was fourteen?”

  She felt Abb/s change of mood instantly. She was so obviously comfortable with the subject of Alex and the others, but not with this. Innes felt foolish. And worried. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up Danny. It was obvious there was…well…something between them. But Abby smiled back at her, only her tightening hands on the swing chains giving away that she was tense. “Yeah, well, there’s more to it than that. Apparently the girl led him on. And looked much, much older than she was. It was all a misunderstanding. I don’t think Dan should really be in here. Anyway, tell me more about you? You know. Your stuff?”

  Innes accepted the clumsy subject-change and moved behind Abby, giving her regular, gentle pushes. “Well, I didn’t go to school for a year. I wrote my own sick-notes and forged my dad’s signature. I had sex with men twice my age in my mum and dad’s bed. I threw a lab stool at my biology teacher and spat at my maths teacher. And I was expelled. I went up to a Children’s Panel and was deemed ‘out of control’.”

  Innes stepped back as Abby stopped the swing and turned round to look at her. In astonishment? Admiration? Confusion maybe.

  “Wow! That’s amazing. But why?”

  “Why did I do it? Probably because my mother’s a mad, domineering psychotic who truly, and I mean this, hates me. Laurie actually accused her of it the other week. Said it right out, in that gentle ‘killer’ way he’s got.”

  “Mrs Haldane, I believe that you are jealous of your daughter. Jealous of her and of the life opportunities that lie before her. Opportunities that you never had. Unlike most loving parents who wish the best for their offspring, you do not wish that for Innes. Perhaps you should look at that. Very carefully. And honestly. To hate your own daughter is a strain on all the family. And Mr Haldane? I believe that you are intimidated by your wife. Understandable. But this is having a catastrophic effect on your daughter. Indeed that is why she is here.”

  “Anyway, she scares Dad. But she doesn’t scare me.”

  NINE

  “Mind and stop at Scaris’ta. The beach is beyond your dreams. In fact, see them all. It’ll take you no time. Then about half a mile inland from the turning point at Scarista you’ll see a sign for Scarista Lodge. lan Gallagher lives there. Good luck, lass.”

  She nodded to herself as she replayed in her head the words of Danny’s nearest neighbour, a Mrs Rena Mackay. A friendly woman whom Innes had left that morning after a fruitless chat about Danny. According to Rena Mackay, he’d seemed to be a loner, giving little or nothing away about himself.

  Innes stopped and stared at the colours. The vistas. The very existence of such things here of all places made her stop the car. She’d been told about these by previous visitors, friends who’d holidayed here, but thought their claims exaggerations, tourist hyperbole.

  The journey from seeing Danny’s neighbour in Lewis, across the winding isthmus into the territory officially known as the Isle of Harris, had taken her to the beaches. Each and every one had it. Caribbean turquoise sea. Bahamian white sand. Breathtaking. Even the sun stayed out for her. Although the Atlantic Gulf Stream passed through here, the waters that splashed over her paddling feet were icy. She watched in wonder at the sleek, cigar-shaped bodies of the plummeting gannets executing their perfect dives, and resurfacing with their silvery, wriggling prey. Back inland, she scanned beyond the dunes and along the length and breadth of seemingly endless pale shoreline. Not a human soul.

  She trudged back to where she’d left her shoes. Time to follow Rena Mackay’s second piece of advice.

  “You were right to leave it till after four. That’s when I finish. But I need to take the dogs out. Down to the beach. You’ll have seen it on your way here.”

  Innes laughed. “Oh, yes. Unmissable. I’ve just been for a paddle.”

  “Well, you can have another, if you fancy.”

  Deja vu it was, but this time she didn’t go as far as a paddle, preferring to stroll barefoot along the hard-packed white sand. lan Gallagher was tall, slim, about mid thirties she guessed. Celtic dark colouring. Irish by name. Irish a little by accent, clearly cutting through the well-educated tones as he gave a potted history of his adult life.

  “I’m half Irish, half Welsh. My mother was born in Swansea. Anyhow, I did my stint in London. Read art history originally, at Trinity, then left Dublin and gravitated towards London, scraping a living from some highly prized but poorly paid gallery jobs there. Packed that up. Did some very lucrative art dealing for a few years. Then couldn’t bear another moment in London.”

  He cast a supervisory eye over his two liver-and-white Springers, gambolling their way across the sands, appeared satisfied at what he saw, and went on.

  “My sister, Sian, had been coming to the Hebrides for years on and off. She fell in love with them. I did too. So much so that I bought the lodge up there. Still keep my hand in with art deals, toing and froing between London, Edinburgh and Europe now and again. But for the past five years this has been home. I also have a part-time contract with Scottish Heritage as a curator, checking on their monuments. It really is the good life here.”

  They walked on in silence. She sensed that he was ready for her to go beyond their initial introduction, when she’d reprised the story given to Rena Mackay, namely, that she was ‘an old friend’ of Danny.

  But she felt the need to add some embellishment. “I’d been meaning to holiday here for ages actually. Hearing about Danny was a real knock-back, but since I’m here I thought the least I could do was talk to those who knew him. Those who liked him. I suppose suicide is always a bit unbelievable, except in cases like terminal illness or indescribable emotional misery. It’s funny, the Danny I knew…ah, well, it’s silly, really. That was so long ago. But, it depends if you believe in certain aspects of personality staying the same, immutable…I’m sorry, I’m waffling. What I’m trying to say, is that it’s hard to believe that the Danny I knew would kill himself.”

  Without her noticing he’d led her to a gentle dune, where they both sat down, staring out at the endless shore, and the lolloping spaniels, yelping in play. He was picking at a long strand of grass and gouging his t
humbnail along its edge. “I do know what you’re getting at. I’ve known two other people in my life who killed themselves, including a former partner of mine who became HIV positive in the days when that meant a certain death sentence. I could understand, why he did it. Almost But in many ways suicide’s always going to be a puzzle to the healthy and the relatively happy. The thing about Danny Rintoul was that be was a puzzle. I think that’s what attracted my sister to him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to commit himself about anything, let alone a relationship. That suited Sian. She’d had a messy—I mean very messy—divorce a few years ago. Freedom is what she wanted. That’s why she’s gone travelling to God knows where now. Yes. Freedom. Danny and she were the same in that respect”

  “She must’ve been devastated by his death, though.”

  He nodded at the strand of grass. “She was. And surprised. Totally. Though she hadn’t been seeing as much of him before his death. They went through these phases of ‘cooling off’, you know. I reckon it’s when they thought that emotional dependency was on the way, one or other backed off. They both may have had other lovers during those times. I don’t know. Fascinating relationship. Seemed to work, though. I envied it. Good old Danny. I miss him. He was a real mate. Totally accepting too of my sexuality. It just wasn’t an issue with him. And he could keep the information to himself. I have a partner on this island, but we have to be careful. It’s a beautiful place here but not a liberal one. Yeah, I doubt I’ll meet another like Danny as long as I live here. I miss the bugger.”

  Innes felt mildly surprised that this man had automatically assumed that she too was trustworthy, and felt touched by what she took to be a compliment. But she sensed something else in lan Gallagher. A hesitation? A need to go further? She offered him a gentle prod. “And?”

  He looked at her for a moment, and then back to his grass. “If I’m to be honest, I wasn’t completely surprised at what Danny did.”

  “Really?” This was unexpected.

  He checked on his dogs again. Then went on, his voice measured, almost to a whisper. “No. You see. I had a habit of dropping in on Danny for a ‘wee dram’ now and again. A few weeks before his death I stopped by his croft. I usually just walked in after a knock. Everyone does that around here. This time his door was locked. But he was in. I heard him. On the phone. He was talking to someone. A man. Well, I think it was a man. He was calling him ‘pal’. They were quarrelling. No…that’s too strong. The person at the other end was asking him something again and again. Danny just kept saying, “Please, take it easy, everything’s all right, honest.” Wheedling sort of. It was odd. I left him to it. I was never alone with Danny again. He always avoided going for a drink, or mixing with me, with anybody as far as I know. Became more of a recluse than he normally was.”

  “And did you tell anyone about it? About what you heard that time?”

  “I told Sian. That’s all. She didn’t have a clue what it was about. Thought it might’ve been Danny quarrelling with his landlord. There had been a rent hike around that time. But that was so unlikely. Dan always paid in advance. Scrupulous about money, even though he was perpetually broke. Crofting’s a bloody hard life up here.”

  At her prompting, they stood up and began to stroll back. She smiled as the dogs bounded up to them, the soft hair of their underbellies dripping with sea-soaked fronds. She found herself absent-mindedly petting the overexcited beasts, thinking through what she’d just heard. She wanted to know one more thing. And tried to put it as tactfully as possible.

  “Danny’s name came up at another suicide inquest, in London. A woman called Isabella. She apparently knew him. Do you know about that?”

  He pouted, a puzzled look on his face. “Yeah. I heard a bit of talk about that, and it’s a complete mystery. No one, and I mean no one, Sian included, knows anything about her. Maybe there’s been some cock-up. Actually, I thought it was that maybe she…this Isabella woman, was going to buy a place here. Danny occasionally did some building work on the side. Maybe she got his number from someone else, to ask him to do some work for her? Could be they didn’t know each other at all.”

  Innes nodded and lied. “Could be, could well be.” She continued walking up to the road in silence, cursing herself for the lie.

  Could be nothing. Danny and Isabella had only known each other since 1977.

  TEN

  The swing was there in the moonlight. Moving slowly with the sway of the surrounding trees. A pendulum. Then she was on it. Back and forth. Back and forth. Head up to the stars. Head down to the grass. The wind was warm. Sweet smelling.

  La-la-la-dee-da. La-la-la-dee-da. The humming was in her head, but her moudi was closed. How? She stopped the swing. No. The humming was outside her head. Coming from behind.

  “Hello?”

  “La-la-la-dee-da.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “La-la-la-dee-da.”

  She twisted round, the straining swing chains grating in her ear. “Hello?”

  He was there. Smoking.

  “Danny. What you doing?”

  “Nothin’. Thought you wis Abby.”

  “C’mon, we’d better get back. It’s almost ten.”

  “Okay, Innes. But let me give you one more swing.”

  She smiled a ‘yes’ at him. Then he was behind her, gently pushing her shoulders. Then a bit firmer. Then harder. Then too hard. “Danny? Not so much. Stop it! Stop!”

  Then he nudged a final time at her back and she heard him wandering away. She jumped off, stumbling to keep her balance. “Danny! What’s wrong? Danny!”

  He turned round. His face had changed. Bloated…rotting…hideous. “I’m dead, Innes. Can’t you see? I’m dead. Drowned…”

  “Wh—Oh, Christ!” She clawed at the phone, desperate to cancel its infernal ringing, falling back on her pillows. Sweaty and sick. She had that momentary ‘Where-am-I?’ feeling, and then, within a second, recognized the comfortable surroundings of the only decent hotel in Lewis.

  She dragged the phone to her ear. “Yes?”

  “Ms Haldane, good morning, it’s reception here. We’ve got a package for you.”

  She weighed the thing in her hands. Quite heavy. The small white envelope attached to the parcel contained a simple postcard. A delicate watercolour of Scarista Beach.

  Herewith, Danny’s ‘effects’—left to my sister, Sian. She took what she wanted ages ago. Said there’s nothing else she wants. Would have told you about them when we met but wanted to think about it for a couple of days. I’m pretty sure you’re a true friend of Danny. And, as the cliche goes, I hope you find what you’re looking for. In any event, it’s obvious that you rated Danny as much as I did. Ciao.

  Ian G.

  She slumped back, smiling. And feeling guilty again. She’d lied to this kind, gentle man. Secured his trust. Got information out of him. That’s what delving into this past of hers meant. Lie after lie. Just like she’d lied to her husband of twelve (and, for her, unsatisfactory) years. Just like she’d lied to friends, lovers, colleagues. She’d rewritten her childhood, her adolescence. She redefined and redesigned herself as an apparently ‘together’ adult. And they’d bought every bit of it. Her husband had, certainly, if the occasional but passionate letters he wrote to her from his new life in Canada were anything to go by, as he clung on to a love she was now sure she’d never fully reciprocated. And her friends, lovers, colleagues—all seemed satisfied to relate to the two-dimensional version of herself that she put out into the world. That’s what lies bought you. Half-relationships. And here she was lying to this man lan Gallagher. A stranger, but nevertheless a kind man who’d cared about Danny.-She had to admit that lies came very easily to her, even if she hadn’t been conscious of that fact until now.

  Indeed, she had to admit that basic personal ethics were gradually taking a back seat. It was her ghosts from more than half a lifetime ago that were more important, more alive to her than anything else just now. And lying seemed a small price to pay for
pursuing them. A month ago it would have been inconceivable for her to have swanned off from her work, her career. But Abby and Danny lived for her now, in death, as much as they had when they were all together, alive, in the Unit. She didn’t need her therapist, whom she hadn’t seen in an age, to explain that one. She didn’t believe for one minute that the deaths of these people weren’t in some way linked. They had to be. The link was the Unit. And that, whether she liked it or not, involved her.

  She turned her attention to the package, ripping off the thick brown paper. What lay inside immediately caught her eye: a mahogany casket, about twelve inches by ten, with a brass hasp and unlocked padlock.

  The first glimpse inside immediately struck a chord, hurtling her back through the decades. She remembered the afternoon the photograph had been taken. The last day of the holiday. It was mild for November. And sunny. Lydia had been crying for the best part of two days because she’d grazed her knee on a monkey rope that had refused to take her weight and plunged her to the ground. The big white bandage took pride of place in the middle of the group portrait.

  She worked her eyes along the three rows of faces, a soft smile giving way as she reached those she had cared about. And those she hadn’t. First the staff. Ranj, Anna and Sarah. They were all okay in their own ways, she supposed, especially Ranj. Although, in retrospect, Anna had been a good professional. Sarah she’d never been sure about. Had never had much to do with. Then the patients. Sour-faced Carrie. Impressionable Simon. Hard-nut, impenetrable Alex. And then she saw them. Side-by-side-by-side. A twenty-six years younger version of herself was standing between them. Isabella and Danny. And, staring at the youthful faces, she noticed something that had never struck her before when she’d last seen this photo, decades ago. It had been a happy day, Lydia’s whingeing apart. They were going back home, or at least back to the Unit, after what had been a pretty unsuccessful ‘holiday’. So why were so many of them looking…depressed? Tense? Uneasy?