‘Heard you had quite an adventure,’ she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
How much had Molly told her?
‘Yeah.’
‘I didn’t even realise Molly was missing,’ she said, a tinge of guilt in her voice.
‘Well, we weren’t gone that long.’
It seemed insane to be talking about what they’d been through in such a matter-of-fact way. Presumably Molly hadn’t told her anything about what really happened, sticking to the crash story.
Ash looked at her watch. ‘If I wasn’t already half an hour late for my shift, I’d kick your sorry arse for getting my sister mixed up in a stupid fucking car crash in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘So count yourself lucky.’
‘Believe me, I do.’
She had her jacket on now and was past him, talking over her shoulder. ‘She’s inside, on you go,’ she said. ‘But don’t get her into any more shit, OK?’
‘OK.’
She was halfway down the street, walking backwards and shouting. ‘I mean it. Or I’ll fucking kill you.’
41
Adam headed into the hall. He heard a television on and walked towards the living room. Molly was sitting on the sofa with a blanket over her, the same one Adam had found draped over himself when he woke on that sofa yesterday morning. She was staring glassy-eyed out the window, a huge tumbler of amber liquid in her hand. A black-and-white film was on television, a posh-looking couple running across moorland, just like the stuff outside.
Molly turned her head to look at the whisky bottle on the coffee table. ‘Help yourself,’ she said, taking a large gulp from her tumbler. ‘Use Ash’s glass.’ She pointed at an empty glass, sticky residue lining the inside of it.
Adam walked over and picked up the bottle. It had a plain white label on it, Port Ellen. He’d never seen it before, it didn’t have the usual age or percentage information. He poured a large measure and nosed it out of habit, but he didn’t need an amazing whisky now, he needed an anaesthetic or a sleeping pill, something to erase the last thirty-six hours.
‘What is it?’ he said, lifting his glass.
Molly stared out the window. ‘Thirty-year-old, bottled in ’84. Completely unofficial. Never left the island, not for sale. Fell off the back of a lorry. It was part of my dad’s special stash.’
Adam had another big sip. He didn’t know what to say. Molly seemed in a trance. He stared at her. She looked exhausted and traumatised, but still pretty, her face still strong. An image of her bent over the barrel in the still with her jeans down flashed through his mind, the look on her face back then. He gripped his glass and screwed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He looked at the old film on the television. The couple were booking into an inn and looking suspicious.
Everything was ruined now, he realised.
‘I can’t sleep,’ said Molly, still looking out the window. ‘Isn’t that weird? Apart from crashing out for an hour at hospital, we’ve been awake for two days, walked and run for umpteen miles, been through hell, and still I can’t sleep.’
‘I’m the same,’ said Adam, feeling enormously tired all of a sudden, as if his legs would buckle. He eased himself down into a chair facing the sofa and stared at Molly. They couldn’t go back now, was all he kept thinking, they couldn’t ever go back. Why did it all have to happen to them?
‘How was your police interview?’ asked Molly.
‘A nightmare.’
She finally turned to look at him. ‘You stuck to the story though, yeah?’
‘Of course. But I think he knew we’d been there.’
‘Same with me. But they don’t know anything, not unless we tell them. They only suspect.’
They both drank, then Adam spoke.
‘They said forensics were on their way.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you think they’ll find?’
‘No idea,’ said Molly, her eyes seeming to clear. ‘The still was presumably pretty much demolished in the fire.’
‘What about our tracks around it? And up at the loch?’
Molly shook her head. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘How far do you think they’ll look?’
Molly didn’t speak, just shrugged.
Adam swallowed uncomfortably. ‘My clothes are lying on the floor in that farmhouse.’
Molly looked at him then pressed her fingers at her temples and scrunched her eyes shut. ‘Oh, Jesus.’
‘I know. What should we do?’
‘Is there anything identifying you?’
Adam shook his head. ‘Remember, Joe made us empty our pockets, so I had nothing on me. My DNA will be all over the clothes, though.’
Molly sat thinking for a moment, the corners of her mouth turned down. ‘We just have to hope forensics don’t get as far as the farmhouse, and that no one reports the break-in for a while.’
‘Is that it?’
‘We can’t do anything about it just now, the whole area will be crawling with police.’
‘Yeah, I know, but …’
‘It didn’t look as if anyone was living there for the winter. With any luck the break-in won’t be discovered till spring. In a few days, once this has all died down, I’ll go out there and get your clothes.’
‘Really?’
Molly looked away. ‘Sure.’
They sat in silence for a while.
‘Think they’ll find Luke?’ Adam said eventually.
‘Hopefully not for a while.’
‘So we just have to sit tight.’
‘Looks like it.’
They both drank again.
‘It’s unbearable,’ said Adam.
‘I know,’ said Molly, draining her glass and holding it out empty. ‘But we just have to bear it, don’t we?’
Adam struggled out of his chair, refilled both their glasses then slumped back down. He gazed at Molly. She’d hardly made eye contact since he’d come in. It broke his heart.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘OK.’
‘I mean after …’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘At least you got your revenge.’
Molly glared at him, locking eyes for the first time. ‘You think that helps?’
‘No, of course not, I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s not a matter of revenge.’
‘I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ He felt tears well up in his eyes. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry, I just …’
He could feel Molly looking at him as he started to cry, his eyes stinging with tears, his breath halting. After a while he recovered himself, wiped his eyes with his sleeves, took a hit of whisky.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t be,’ said Molly. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.’
There was a long silence, just the low chatter of the couple on television, who were now in a bedroom, handcuffed together.
‘So what now?’ Adam said after a while.
Molly sipped and shrugged. ‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’
‘You’re not seriously thinking of going in, are you?’
‘What else am I going to do?’
‘Surely they’d understand you’re in no fit state.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Molly. ‘Better than sitting around here.’
Molly looked at him, and he spotted a glimmer of the kindness in her eyes that he’d first noticed, the affection she had for him before all this insanity.
‘What about you?’ she said.
‘I’m supposed to stay on the island until the police get back in touch. Roddy presumably won’t be out of hospital for a while. Then there’s Ethan.’
He fell silent. Was he supposed to deal with Ethan’s body? Shit, what about Debs, he hadn’t even called her. Was that his responsibility? He couldn’t face speaking to her. It would’ve bee
n bad enough with a simple crash, but everything else, all the secrets and stupid lies they had to maintain, it was all just impossible. Everything was completely fucked up. How were they supposed to survive all this shit?
He felt a wave of immense fatigue sweep over him. He downed his whisky and rubbed at his face. He was stinking, he hadn’t showered in days. He noticed Molly was scrubbed clean, her hair still slightly damp.
‘Think I need to have a wash, get some rest maybe,’ he said, creaking out of the chair.
‘OK,’ said Molly, looking up at him.
Adam looked her in the eye. ‘Can I come back later?’
Molly held his gaze for a moment then looked away. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I don’t want to be alone.’
‘I don’t think it’ll do any good for us to see each other.’
‘What do you mean?’
Adam stared at her, his heart thumping. Serenity now.
Molly looked at him and he struggled to swallow.
‘I don’t think we should keep in touch.’
‘What, ever?’
Molly finished her drink and put her glass down. ‘We’ll just remind each other of it all.’
Adam gulped heavily. ‘So what?’
She looked at him. ‘I don’t want to be reminded of it. Any of it.’
‘But …’ Adam realised he didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t bear it. It was all so fucking fucked up. ‘So this is it?’
Molly looked at him kindly. ‘Sorry, Adam, I just think it’s for the best.’
‘But I want to see you again.’
Molly smiled thinly. ‘Maybe you will, if there’s a court case.’
‘God, don’t say that.’
Molly rubbed her chin. ‘Let’s just try and forget any of this ever happened, OK?’
Adam knew that was impossible, and he knew Molly knew it too. He looked her in the eyes for a long time until eventually she turned away to watch the television. He kept staring at her in silence, not knowing what to do or say. Eventually he just sighed and turned to leave, his body exhausted beyond words and his mind buzzing with miserable nightmares.
42
A police car was parked outside the B&B.
Adam felt the malt coursing through his veins. He’d had three huge drams in the last hour and felt dizzy, his tongue dry and rough, a drouth coming on. He stopped a hundred yards from the car and tried to think. What did it mean? Had forensics found something already? Had the coastguard found Luke? Were they taking him back in for more questioning? He didn’t think he could cope with that.
Maybe he should disappear. There was plenty of space on this God-forsaken island, he could merge into the landscape, live off the land for a while. He laughed at his own stupidity. He’d almost died after a single day in the wilderness. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. And yet he had no appetite, just rocks in his stomach, stones of worry rubbing away at his innards, eroding him from the inside out.
He could make out someone sitting in the car waiting for him. It didn’t look like the mainland inspector, the intimidating bouncer guy. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He had to face it sooner or later anyway, he had nowhere else to go.
Molly didn’t want him at her place, didn’t want to see him ever again. Part of him could understand that. He wasn’t being punished, it wasn’t his fault, his presence in her life would be too much of a reminder. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t upset about it. They’d been through so much together, he felt a part of her life now in a visceral way he couldn’t have imagined, and the thought of never seeing her again made his heart pound and his body shake. Or maybe that was the whisky and the exhaustion and the shock finally kicking in.
He righted himself and walked towards the car, trying to keep his legs going straight and his chin raised.
As he approached, the driver’s door opened and a figure got out. It was Eric. Adam attempted a smile, and Eric smiled back as he came round the car to meet him.
‘Something up?’ said Adam, trying to sound upbeat.
Eric’s smile faded.
‘Pack your things,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘And all your friends’ stuff too. You’re getting the next ferry back to the mainland.’
Adam was confused. ‘But that Ritchie guy said I had to stay on the island until he got in touch again.’
‘Never mind what he said. I’m all the law you need to worry about on Islay at the moment, and I’m telling you to pack up. You’re leaving.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘I’ll explain in the car,’ said Eric. ‘We don’t have much time, the ferry will be getting into Port Askaig soon.’
Adam stood there, swaying a little.
Eric put a hand on his shoulder. ‘If you don’t want your belongings, you can leave without them. Either way, you’re getting on that boat.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Adam.
‘You don’t have to.’ Eric was starting to sound annoyed. ‘I said I would explain in the car.’
Eric gave him a gentle shove towards the B&B and Adam started walking, frowning over his shoulder.
Eric called after him. ‘And don’t worry about paying your bill, it’s been settled.’
Adam headed up the stairs and into his room, his nose filling with the antiseptic stench of spilled whisky, his feet grinding glass shards into the thin carpet. He quickly threw all his stuff into his bag, then chucked all Ethan’s neatly stacked clothes into his suitcase. He stopped to glug some quarter cask from the bottle, throwing it into his bag. He had a quick check round the room, then went through to Roddy and Luke’s room.
He couldn’t work out what this was all about. Could he trust this Eric guy? Molly had said he was a good sort, but what did that mean? She’d also decided not to tell him the truth, so maybe he couldn’t be trusted after all. Or maybe she had told him. He certainly seemed a better bet than that Ritchie character, but that wasn’t saying much. Fuck it, he was too exhausted and too wasted to work out what the hell was going on. It was easier just to go with the flow and take what came his way.
He threw Roddy and Luke’s stuff into their bags. He felt ill as he saw Luke’s belongings and thought about the gaping head wound, the bullet, the feel of raw flesh and bone against his fingers. He wondered where Luke was now, whether he’d already washed up somewhere along the coast, or if he was bobbing miles out to sea, maybe heading all the way over the ocean to another continent. He wondered about the fish and birds that would peck and nibble at him, the terrible storms that would blow him about, helpless and cold in that vast expanse. He ran to the toilet and puked up single malt all over the bowl and the floor. Didn’t matter, Eric said the bill was already paid. He rinsed his mouth from the tap then lugged the two bags out the door.
He went back into his room. He got his bag and Ethan’s case, then carried all four of them down the stairs, banging off the banister and struggling under the weight, his legs unsteady. The landlady was nowhere to be seen. Where was she?
Outside Eric took the bags from him and threw them in the back, then opened the passenger door. Adam looked at him.
‘Just get in,’ said Eric, looking at his watch.
Adam looked at his own watch, broken since the crash, and wondered what time it was, what he was doing, how this was all going to end.
He got into the police car then reached in the back, opened his bag and took out Ethan’s Laphroaig. He unplugged it and took a swig. He could hardly taste anything, his throat raw from vomiting, just a massive hit of peat overwhelming his senses, a taste so familiar yet now somehow completely alien, as if he’d never tasted single malt whisky before in his life.
He pulled his seat belt on as Eric got in.
‘That quarter cask?’ said Eric, eyeing the bottle.
Adam nodded.
‘Mind if I have a wee dram?’
Adam handed it over. ‘Help yourself.’
Eric uncorked it, wiped the rim and took a big swig, smacking
his lips theatrically. He took another drink then recorked it and handed it back.
‘That’s a fine malt,’ he said, putting his seat belt on.
Adam felt numb. ‘Yeah.’
Eric started the engine and pulled away. They were heading for the ferry. As they climbed out of Port Ellen, Eric turned to Adam.
‘We know you were there,’ he said.
43
Adam looked at Eric driving. He had a kind face, weather-beaten but full of compassion, his thick grey hair swept back and his chunky hands firm on the steering wheel. He looked like he’d be a fantastic grandad to some little sprogs.
Adam turned to look out the window. They were driving back up the same stupid road he was sick of, stretches of ugly brown shrubs cowering in a sharp, squally wind that spattered the windscreen with dirty rain. The wipers scraped across with a nerve-shredding rhythm, struggling to keep the windscreen clean.
They were doing eighty easily, Adam feeling every bump and pothole judder through his bones thanks to the shit suspension. The heating was up full and he was suffocating, struggling to breathe. He glugged at the malt, but that only warmed him further, made his insides itchy.
‘What?’ he said finally.
‘I said we know you were there.’
Adam stared at him for a long time then looked out the window at the gloom. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Eric smiled. ‘Of course you do.’
‘I really don’t.’
Eric glanced at Adam. ‘Want me to spell it out?’
Adam shrugged. ‘Sounds like you’re dying to, so knock yourself out.’
‘Is that yes or no?’
Adam laughed despite himself. He looked at Eric. ‘That’s a yes.’
Eric kept his eyes on the road.
‘We know you were at the still last night …’
‘I already told Ritchie that’s bullshit.’
Eric held up a placating hand. ‘It doesn’t matter what you told DI Ritchie. I’m not Ritchie. Do you want to hear what I’ve got to say or not?’
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