by Jane Davitt
Josh didn’t need to ask why she’d hidden the bag, even without hearing her thoughts; though the drinking age in Scotland was eighteen, the adults on the island probably didn’t like it much when their kids drank, and for good reason. Josh had learned a long time ago that regular kids ‑‑ by which he pretty much meant everyone else, everyone who couldn’t read other people’s minds ‑‑ were willing to take all kinds of chances he wouldn’t. Sometimes it made him feel about a hundred years old.
“So,” Josh said, because it seemed awkward not to try to make conversation. “You’ve lived here your whole life?”
“God, yes,” Caitrin groaned. “And I don’t mind telling you it’s like torture. It’s all well and good to come to a place like this for a visit, but more than a week or two and you’ll be half out of your head with wanting to get somewhere a bit more civilized.”
“Yeah.” Josh reached out a hand in offering. “Can I carry that for you?”
She gave him a disbelieving look as she gave him the bag. “Talk about civilized. Here the boys are more likely to ask if they can take off your top, and as if they’re doing you a favor.” At the expression on his face, she quickly apologized. “God, sorry. Sometimes I say things I shouldn’t.”
>From Josh’s point of view, of course, it was better that she said them out loud. “No, it’s okay. Is it really like that here? I’m going to seem like the biggest geek in comparison.”
“Not at all,” Caitrin said. “You’ll put some manners into the rest of them.” She unbuttoned her sweater as they stepped off the road and into the grass, following a path that was invisible as far as Josh could tell. Beneath the sweater, he noted, Caitrin was wearing a low-cut top in a dark, shimmering fabric.
“So do you have a ‑‑ I mean ‑‑ are you seeing anyone?” he asked, feeling awkward about the abrupt question but wanting to know. If she had a boyfriend, he’d back off once they got to the beach and do his best to socialize without causing trouble.
She gave him a sidelong glance and he caught a flicker of interest as if she was reassessing him. Too late, he realized how his question could be interpreted and he cursed himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive, because he did. Hell, she was like a sparkler, all fizz and spit and energy, and her thoughts and speech meshed in a way he didn’t often see. She wouldn’t lie or soften her words, and that appealed to him as much as the dark pink of her lips and the strong, supple body inside the tight jeans and clinging top.
But he was only here for a short visit.
“Not right now,” she said after a moment. “And no, you won’t get punched by a jealous ex if you happen to put your arm around me to keep me warm later on.”
Josh smiled, feeling relieved in ways he probably shouldn’t have. “But you must have had boyfriends before,” he said. “I mean…well, you must have.”
“A few,” Caitrin admitted. “But remember what I was telling you about it being a small island? The ones that are here I’ve either never been interested in, or I was but it passed for one reason or another. What about you? You must have a girlfriend back home.”
“Not right now.” Josh found it easier to echo her choice of words. “Not for a while. After this summer, I’m going off to college, so it didn’t seem like it would be fair to get too involved.” It was a lot more complicated than that, of course, but she didn’t need to know the details.
“University? You’ve that look about you, I suppose.” Caitrin’s tone made it clear that she didn’t necessarily think that was a good thing. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”
They cleared a rise, and down below, still far off, Josh could see some sandy beach, a brightly flickering fire, and the dark shadows of people moving around it. “Not that smart.”
“Smart enough,” Caitrin said shrewdly. “Now, I’ll warn you that you’re likely to be asked a few dozen questions about Americans. Try not to be offended.”
Josh laughed. “I won’t. And I promise not to retaliate by asking them what they wear under their kilts or anything stupid like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You should hear some of the summer visitors. It’s like we’re animals in a zoo.”
“They probably don’t mean to be rude,” Josh said. “They see the houses looking like they’ve been here for centuries, and they probably assume that if the land and the houses haven’t changed, neither have the people.”
“Some of us haven’t,” Caitrin said, sounding bitter. “My mother, for one.”
“No, she’s just being a mom,” Josh assured her. “I mentioned going to a New York university and my mom freaked; she wants me close enough that I can come home more than once a semester. And when I’m ready to move out for good, she’ll be the same as your mom, I bet.”
“But you’re doing what a good boy’s meant to.” Caitrin gestured at the ground. “Careful on these rocks, they have a habit of shifting underfoot.”
“Thanks.” Josh was glad he was wearing his new sneakers as they navigated the rocky patch. “Why don’t you just do what your mom wants? Just for a few more years, I mean. It’d get her off your back, at least.”
“Believe me, you’re not the first person to suggest it. I just can’t. Maybe I’m stubborn, I don’t know, but the thought of doing something just because it will please her makes my skin crawl. And the pity of it is, that I’d like to do this essay; I love writing and I could see myself being an author, just like your brother ‑‑ when I’ve seen the world a bit, of course ‑‑ but the more she nags…” Caitrin tossed back her hair and grimaced. “Oh, let’s not think about it now.”
As they got closer to the fire, a girl with long, wavy blonde hair raised her hand in greeting. “Cait! And who’s this you’ve got with you?” The girl sounded cheerful, but underneath that, Josh could hear her internal voice cursing Caitrin out for dragging along a stranger and what she suspected was a tourist.
“Didn’t Alec tell you?” Caitrin called back. “This is our Josh ‑‑ he’s Uncle Nick’s brother, here from America and staying at Rossneath for a couple of weeks.”
Josh felt her annoyance ease and watched interest bloom in her eyes. “Oh! I expected, well, someone a lot older.”
“We’re half brothers,” Josh said when they’d gotten a little closer, so he didn’t have to yell it out. “Hi.”
The girl scrambled up, showering the boy beside her with sand. He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment, settling for brushing the sand off his jeans with one hand, a bottle of beer clutched in the other. “Hello, yourself,” she said brightly, “and welcome to the island. I’m Lindsay, Cait’s best friend.”
The boy at her feet squinted up at Josh, his face screwed up against the smoke from the fire, which was mostly driftwood by the look of it. “And I’m Rory, like you care. Give the Yank a beer, someone, before he gets out a gun and shoots us all.” He aimed a finger at the half dozen people around the bonfire and mimed firing it. “Bang, bang.”
“I’m not a ‑‑” Josh broke off. Explaining that he was from the Southern states, where that word was more of an insult than a description was probably pointless. He put a friendly smile on his face and said, “You know, a beer sounds good.”
“Have one of mine,” Caitlin said, directing all the ice in her voice at Rory. “Here.”
Josh grabbed the cool, slippery bottle and murmured a thank you. He tried to twist the top off and failed.
“Don’t they have beer openers where you come from?” Rory asked, a little more friendliness in his voice. Josh had noticed that before; give someone a reason to look down on you and watch them like you better.
“Mostly, the tops twist off.”
“That’s not a bad notion,” someone called. “But you’re here now, so you’ll need one of these. Catch!”
Josh put up his hand automatically and snagged the metal opener out of the air. “Thanks.” He opened the bottle and slid the cap into his pocket. The sand was littered with caps, some new, some rusty, along with cigarett
e butts and other debris, but he couldn’t bring himself to blend in by adding to it. The boy who’d thrown the opener walked around to reclaim it. He was a few inches shorter than Josh, but solidly built, his face as deeply tanned as John’s by wind and weather. “Nice jacket,” he said, reaching out to finger the scuffed, soft brown leather. Josh had found the jacket in a thrift store and bought it over his mother’s protests that he didn’t know where it’d been. He didn’t, but he would’ve liked to; it was vintage, good quality and well-worn. Inside one of the pockets, he’d found a quarter and kept it for luck. “I’m Steve.”
“Josh.” He handed over the bottle opener and they shook hands.
“Be careful with that one; he’ll get you drunk,” a new voice said from off to the right. “Cait said she was bringing an American. She didn’t say you were so tall.” The guy coming toward the fire, his arm around the shoulder of a girl so pretty she almost looked like a porcelain doll, was obviously the star of the group ‑‑ everyone’s attention was on him almost instantly, and he knew it. And liked it. “I’m Alec.”
Starting to feel like he was some kind of oddity on display, Josh shook hands with the other guy, who was about his height.
“This is Sarah. She’s a bit shy, but don’t let that fool you.” Alec kissed Sarah’s temple, and she smiled.
Josh didn’t ask what the shyness was supposed to fool him into; he could tell right away that Sarah, while probably sweet, wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, so it wouldn’t have been fooling as much as advertising.
They all got settled around the fire on some driftwood logs that had been there for some time if the way they were embedded in the sand was any indication. Caitrin sat with Josh, with Steve on the log next to theirs.
After easily fielding a few questions from the group, cheating slightly by tailoring his answers and tone to what they wanted to hear, he was reprieved by Alec, who directed the conversation to himself with a smoothness Josh had to reluctantly admire. Content to listen and stare out past the rising sparks of the fire to the darkening sea, he drank his beer, tepid now, and weaker than he was used to, and soaked up the heat from the fire and the warmth from Caitrin beside him. The smoke smelled sweet, catching his throat, and when he licked his lips, they tasted more of salt than beer. He scooped up a handful of sand, white and cool, and let it pour through his fingers.
“So, are you like your brother, then?” Rory asked. His tone wasn’t combative, but there was enough of an edge to his thoughts that Josh tensed slightly and felt an equal uneasiness from Caitrin.
“I guess we look similar in some ways,” he began.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then suppose you tell me what you do mean,” Josh said, keeping his voice light and friendly. The temptation to add, “I’m not a mind reader” was there, but he knew if he said that, he’d grin, and that wouldn’t be a good idea right then. Inside, he was shaking his head in amazement. Nick had thought that what people didn’t like most about him was his choice of partners, but that wasn’t the way this guy Rory felt; he was terrified by the idea of seeing dead people, his mind a jumble of sickening images culled from what Josh hoped were horror movies and not reality.
“What I mean is, do you see spirits, or whatever it is your brother sees?” Rory was frowning.
“No.” It was nice to be able to answer the question definitively and without lying. “I’ve never seen a ghost, and believe me when I say I’m much happier that way.”
His response seemed to reassure Rory. “I just don’t like thinking about it. It’s fucked up, that’s what it is.”
“It’s not as if there aren’t dozens of stories about things like that happening here on Traighshee,” Caitrin said, her voice low. “What about the Lennox brothers?”
“Who were they?” Josh asked, curious despite himself.
“Ah, Cait, don’t go telling tales,” Steve said. It was the first time he’d spoken up since they’d all sat down. “That’s nothing but a story, and you know it.”
“I don’t know any such thing, Stephen Ramsden!” Caitrin said, sitting up straighter and glaring at him. “Your grandparents weren’t even alive back then, let alone you, so how do you know it’s not the God’s honest truth?”
“Because it’s crazy,” Steve said. “Ghosts haunting the island? Who in their right minds would believe something like that?”
“Aw, go on, Cait,” Alec encouraged her. “Steve here’s just afraid he won’t be able to sleep tonight if you go telling ghost stories, but the rest of us can take it. Can’t we?” There were murmurings of agreement from around the circle.
“I’d like to hear it,” Josh said without being sure why. Maybe because of Nick? Except Nick probably already knew about every ghost story the island had and knew which were true and which were a whole lot of nothing based around a long-forgotten, easily-explained incident. He moved away from Caitrin to sit on the sand so that he could watch her face as she spoke.
“Well,” Caitrin began. “It was like this…”
The sun wouldn’t truly set for a long time; the longest day was approaching, and the island was lit with a deceptive, chancy light until close to midnight at this time of the year. Nick had told him that once, a long time ago, about how he’d sat outside reading without a flashlight until bedtime. Josh, who’d been about twelve at the time, had been intrigued. He’d looked it up and come away with his head buzzing with latitudes and orbits and solstice traditions.
In this strange mixture of shadows and reflected light from the sea and the pale sky, Caitrin was a single, fixed point, her long hair loose and tumbled, a dark frame for her animated face.
“The Lennox brothers ‑‑ two of them, Blayne and Toran, their mother Elspeth’s only children ‑‑ left the island two hundred years ago and went off to make their way in the world when they were in their early twenties.” Caitrin stared into the fire as she spoke. “No one ever expected to hear from them again. But they came back late one night, and the next morning their mam was dead. They’d murdered her, you see.”
Fascinated, Josh listened, barely breathing as he concentrated on her words.
“Everyone knew they’d come back wanting money. The islanders were furious, of course, and when Blayne and Toran realized they’d been found out, they made a run for it, down to the sea. They were caught near the caves, and the islanders pushed them inside one while they thought what to do next.” Caitrin paused and looked at Josh. “But the tide came in, quick as anything, and the men were drowned.”
Everyone was quiet, even though the others must have heard this story a hundred times.
“I don’t know,” Josh said softly. “It sounds to me like they got what they deserved.”
“Aye,” Caitrin said. “They must not have agreed, though, because their ghosts rose up and haunted the villagers who’d stood arguing on the sand while they were gasping their last breaths. It went on like that for a year or more before the villagers found a witch to do a spell to keep the spirits trapped where they belonged.”
“And everyone lived happily ever after,” Alec announced, clapping his hands. “You won’t have nightmares over this, will you, young Josh?”
“I don’t think so,” Josh replied easily. “But it’s a hell of way to go; seeing the water rise and knowing there’s no way out; rock at your back and ‑‑” He broke off, frowning and suddenly suspicious that they were playing a joke on him. “Hey! Why didn’t they just swim out? The villagers wouldn’t have stuck around if the tide was coming in and they’d have stood a chance, at least.”
Caitrin laughed. “Good point! But you’ll wish you hadn’t asked; that’s the part that freaks me out the most. They were tied, see, hand and foot. Some say they were tied with ropes made of brambles that tore at their skin when they tried to free themselves, so the water ran out of the cave red with blood that night, and still does on the anniversary of their deaths, but that’s just there to make the story spookier.”
“Like
it needs it,” Rory muttered.
Josh wondered if Nick had ever gone to this cave, and if he’d seen anything if he had. He’d heard, from both Nick and John, what it was like for Nick to see ghosts the way he did, and he knew it was no walk in the park. In comparison, it kind of made his own talent seem pretty innocuous. “I guess all that’s missing is for you to tell me that tonight is the anniversary and you think we should go check out the cave.” It was sounding more and more like some kind of setup.
“Nah.” Alec shook his head; Sarah was looking up at him worshipfully. “If the stories have any truth to them, it was around October. Water must have been cold as ice.” Sarah murmured something Josh couldn’t really hear, and Alec rubbed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetheart; it’s just a story.” To the rest of the group, he said, “Let’s talk about something else, yeah?”
The conversation drifted after that, and Josh, yawning again because of the three beers he’d drunk as much as the jet lag, let it wash over him, joining in only now and then. He was half asleep, watching the fire dreamily when Caitrin elbowed him in the ribs. “The fire’s dying down and I’m getting chilly. Want to walk me home?”
“What? Oh… sure.” Josh scrambled to his feet. “Sorry, I’m still not over the flight, I guess.” He looked around. People had split into pairs and were doing what pairs of teenagers usually did when they were tipsy and in the dark. He watched Alec tip Sarah’s chin up with one finger before kissing her throat and felt his body respond predictably. It’d been a while since he’d kissed someone and felt warmly fragrant skin against his hand. His own skin, sure, not that he’d jerked off since he got here.
When he looked away, Caitrin was smiling at him, her eyes promising him a kiss at least once they were alone. He smiled back and followed her through the dunes, the sky still palely lit above them.
Chapter Six