Nina Todd Has Gone

by Lesley Glaister

  ‘Don’t,’ he said and I saw my foot was going. I pressed it to the floor.

  ‘What do you think of the place then?’

  ‘Not what I imagined,’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought it would be more … that there would be more things.’

  We gazed out at a long sweep of pale beach lipped with frilly waves. The sun was still high, and glinting on the wet sand.

  ‘Doesn’t get dark till late here,’ he said. ‘We get amazing sunsets.’

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘You wait. This is good beer, try it.’ He pushed his glass towards me.

  ‘I’ll stick to wine.’ I peered through the window. I could make out a huddle of sluglike lumps just at the edge of the waves. ‘Seals?’ I asked.

  ‘Grey seals,’ he said, ‘there’s a colony of common a bit further along. Tomorrow, when I’ve done my stuff, I’ll take you to see. You can get up really close if you’re quiet and slow.’

  ‘Done your stuff?’

  ‘I’m on breakfasts.’ He looked past me. ‘Hi Tony,’ he said and I turned to see this Tony, but there was only a scruffy woman there, the same one that had jumped into the back of the Land Rover. ‘This is Nina,’ Charlie said. ‘Nina, Toni.’

  She was tall and thin, bare-footed with a tatty sweater that reached her knees over frayed jeans. Her hair was long and toffee-coloured, wild as if she never brushed it.

  ‘Nina,’ she said. She gave me a long look, then shrugged, grinned and held out her hand. ‘I’ve been hearing all about you,’ she said in a lilting Scottish accent – the first I’d heard since I’d been here – and with a kind of mischief.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, thinking I’ve heard nothing about you.

  ‘I’ll get a beer. You two all right?’ she asked. She walked like a duck, her bottom sticking out, and I was glad of that. I watched Charlie but he didn’t follow her with his eyes.

  ‘Short for Antonia,’ he said.

  ‘Was it her that rang you?’

  ‘Yup.’ He swigged back his beer. ‘Want another?’

  I shook my head. I’d hardly taken more than a sip. People were coming in the bar, the couple from the plane wearing identical hand-knitted sweaters with robins on the front, and a family with two children of about nine or ten. Charlie stayed at the bar serving them and Toni sat down opposite me.

  ‘Half an hour off before we eat.’ She opened a bag of peanuts and put it between us. ‘Help yourself.’ She took a long swallow of her beer and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ‘Needed that. Charlie didn’t say you were coming.’

  ‘No, it was sort of a surprise.’

  She gazed at me as she chewed a mouthful of peanuts. Her eyes were slanting, green-flecked blue. ‘Good trip?’ she asked.

  ‘Bumpy,’ I said. ‘But the views—’

  ‘Awesome eh?’ She stretched her arms back and I heard her vertebrae click. ‘You’re lucky it was clear, you see fuck all when it’s cloudy.’

  ‘You work here?’ I said.

  ‘Six months voluntary,’ she said, ‘same as Charlie.’ I noticed the way she said his name, her accent caressing the R sound. ‘Only I’m more than half done,’ she added, ‘I’ll be away at the end of August. Hi,’ she smiled over at the family, settled down on the table beside ours, the parents sharing a bottle of beer, the children bickering over Pringles.

  ‘What do you normally do?’ I asked.

  ‘Teach.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Wee ones. Supply up to now but after this I’ll find something permanent. I dunno. I’d rather run away and join the circus.’ She grinned again. It was a huge grin that stretched her dry and flaky lips and showed far too many uneven teeth.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Office work,’ I said. ‘Don’t like it but—’

  ‘It pays the bills.’ She took another handful of peanuts. ‘Tell me about it!’

  We ate dinner at a long table, guests, family and workers all together. I sat down, expecting Charlie to join me, but he went off into the kitchen to help. I was next to one of the twitchers.

  ‘See the godwits?’ she said. I could only shake my head. Ruth, Charlie and Toni served the food, a chicken casserole with beans; ice-cream and pears.

  ‘No, you stay put,’ Ruth said when I tried to get up and help.

  ‘We do all muck in,’ Charlie explained, ‘but you’re a guest.’ He didn’t say ‘just’ a guest but that’s how it sounded. I didn’t want to be just a guest. I was tired. I wanted Charlie to myself. I’d pictured the two of us alone in a cottage on the edge of a cliff, a tiny room with a fireplace, a bed under the eaves, not this bright endless chatter and clatter.

  At last we were able to go upstairs. We undressed and lay together between the crisp wind-scented sheets. We started to touch. I ran my hand along his side, his cool fuzzy thigh, curve of his hip, round to the warm small of his back. I moved in to kiss him and felt wetness on his face.

  ‘Sorry.’ He rolled away.

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said. I put my arms round him and felt him shudder and gulp trying to get back in control. ‘I’m here,’ I said soothingly, ‘I’m here now.’ We had not drawn the curtains and the last traces of orange sunset glinted on the varnished ceiling, maybe reflected from the sea.

  Chapter 34

  ^

  I rang Green’s next day, which was a week to the dot from when we’d spoken, and was told she was off sick again. Sick my foot. I drove to Chestnut Avenue and sat in the car under the tree but hours went past and dark came and there was still no sign of anyone. She didn’t know what thin ice she was skating on. It got to midnight, the lights out in all the other houses in the street. Rain was coming down on the car window and it was hard to see. I got out and went to the front door. The key was under a stone by the doorstep – you’d think a criminal would have a better idea of home security.

  I put the light on in the kitchen and it made the budgie jump. I took a look in his cage – the water had all spilled out of his feeder. I topped it up for him and gave him a bit of Trill. He got stuck into that water like there was no tomorrow.

  I drew the curtains so that nobody would think it amiss as I went from room to room. I used the bathroom, then started my search for clues as to her whereabouts. The house was all done up in an old lady’s way, and I twigged that it was really Mrs Martin’s but she’d been relegated to the cellar. I’d like to have put it to Charlie then, man to man, how could he treat his mother like that? Where was his respect?

  In the bedroom was a wooden bed, a duvet with a design of clouds, not my taste and more modern than anything else in there. You could tell which was her side from the nightie under the pillow – a baggy pink T-shirt, not the sexy type. I got in the bed and pulled the duvet over my head to get the smell of her. There were bits of dyed hair on the pillow and lower down some of the fair and curly ones.

  I took my time then, going through her things. On her bedside table was a white china lamp; a couple of paperback novels (unread by the look of it); an alarm clock set for seven-fifteen; a box of tissues, soft peach. On his side were a bird book and a couple of wildlife magazines. There was anti-wrinkle cream by the mirror and a photo of Charlie on a bridge.

  The wardrobe was an old dark job with carving on the door. I went through her clothes: size ten and a few twelve. I picked some out to take for her: the nightie, a warm jumper and some undies; white with lace; navy with red dots; silky beige. Two bras, 34B, one white, one black. I took all the personal items out of her undies drawer. Underneath was flowery lining paper that gave off a bit of a scent, which I thought a nice touch, and underneath that an envelope.

  Inside the envelope was a piece of paper entitled Licence. Crime Sentences Act 1997. And it went on to say: The Secretary of State authorises the release on licence within fifteen days of the date hereof of Karen Mary Wild who shall on release and during the period of this licence comply with the following conditions … and so on and then a list of the conditions including supervision by a probat
ion officer which I already knew, but still, it felt like treasure. It was my first piece of written proof. I put it in my pocket.

  There was Tampax in the bathroom and I took it in case she had the need. Isobel used Tampax. It seemed to me one of the special and secret things about girls. Once I took one from the box hidden in her room. I opened the papery casing round it and it was a white telescope with a cotton tail. I thought it a beautiful thing, so white and innocent, but that was before I knew about the blood.

  All the time I was in her house a voice was nagging at me, saying, What if you’ve lost her? What if she’s gone? I searched for clues but there was nothing – then I remembered the old lady who’d come right into the kitchen without knocking – which I took to mean she was a family friend.

  That is why I’d followed her the week before. There always is a meaning for these things though sometimes you have to wait to find it out. I switched off the alarm clock, got into bed and slept for the rest of the night. It was not a bad mattress and I was woken by the rattle of the milk float. Funny that she must have been woken in the mornings by that sound when I was the milkman and had no idea she was here. I walked about till it was a decent time, went round to the bungalow and rang the bell. She was aware of security and kept the chain across at first, talked to me through a gap.

  ‘Didn’t I see you round at Fay’s? Charlie and Nina’s rather?’

  ‘I’m a friend. Very sad about Fay.’

  I could see half her face round the door. ‘Didn’t I see you at the crematorium?’

  ‘Paying my respects.’

  ‘But not back at the house?’

  ‘Didn’t want to intrude.’

  It was the right thing to say and she stepped back to let the chain off.

  ‘Come in.’

  When I got into her lounge I could have laughed out loud when I saw the cactus and the picture on the wall, a desert scene, maybe actual Mexico, and, despite the sun outside, the gas fire blasting out a desert heat. As if her deécor was telling me I was on the right track here. She saw me looking.

  ‘You a fan of cacti?’ she said and she gave me a spiel about the different types before offering me a cup of tea which I turned down.

  ‘I was just wondering if you knew where K …’ I turned it into a cough. ‘Beg pardon, where Nina’s got to?’

  ‘I expect she’ll have gone away with Charlie,’ she said, then looked up at me in a way that you might have termed flirtatious from a younger woman. ‘You’re a tall chap, aren’t you? Would you mind changing the landing bulb?’

  She flicked the light on and off to check it was working and then we were back in the lounge again. ‘Sure you won’t have a cuppa? Do sit down.’ She lowered herself on to a chair and waited for me to do the same. We sat there for a minute, her dabbing her eyes in a spot of reminiscence, me waiting for the lines to come.

  ‘How well do you know Nina?’ she said.

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘She’s rather …’ she tailed off. A cunning look came across her face and you could see she was fishing. ‘Well, it takes all sorts.’

  ‘She is rather …’ I began and she leant forward but I was stuck.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ she said at last, ‘between you and me, I wonder if Charlie didn’t rather go up there to get away from her. Fay always said it had gone too fast, her moving in almost the moment they met. She never really took to her, you know. She thought her a bit of a closed book.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘That’s her to a tee.’

  ‘What do you know about her?’ she said.

  ‘She’s had a troubled past.’

  ‘Ah yes … that makes sense. Why don’t I put the kettle on?’

  ‘I can’t stop. I know she had an unhappy childhood,’ I said, ‘foster homes and suchlike. What you’d term insecure.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ She thought for a minute, then gave me a sharp look. ‘What was going on that day in the kitchen?’

  ‘Nina’s hand?’ I was ready for this one. ‘I only just arrived a split-second before you did and was I glad to see you? I can’t stand the sight of blood.’

  ‘Champagne, at that time in the morning!’ she said. I could see it all pass across her face as she considered whether to believe me or not and I think she did. ‘And now she’s trailed off after him,’ she went on. ‘Fay was all for him going, you know. Before he met Nina he’d had the plan, well you’ll know all about his ornithology, I’ve got a bird table myself. Then this bird-warden job came up just when he needed it.

  ‘Where?’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t he say?’

  ‘I haven’t wanted to intrude.’

  ‘Ah, that’s a mistake people make, dear,’ she said. ‘If he’s your friend you jolly well should intrude, go so far as to make a nuisance of yourself so he knows he’s got the support. Better too much than not enough.’

  ‘True,’ I said, ‘you’re absolutely right.’

  She sighed. ‘It has such a romantic ring, doesn’t it? Orkney. Mind you, I’d rather go somewhere hot. Fay and I had a little daydream …’ I could tell by her voice that she was getting into her stride now so I got up and looked at my watch.

  ‘Better be off.’

  ‘Sure I can’t tempt you? I’ve got a lovely bit of cake.’

  But I was out of there.

  Chapter 35

  *

  I started awake in the night from a nightmare, a hollow inside me that never can be filled; a black circle in the dirt of my mind. Only a dream, only the dream. Didn’t know where I was till against the window I saw the silhouette of Fay’s urn. Light moving, moonlight tattering – a migraine coming. The pills in my bag but couldn’t move, Charlie’s leg heavy across mine. Didn’t want to wake him, peaceful now, breath rasping quietly in and out like waves.

  I tried to get my mind in order by going back through the day: taxi, train, plane, plane, plane. And now I lay beside him and he slept and I didn’t know what next, what to do. There was nothing. I may have left some complications behind but the migraine was right there with me, squatting on my head. I had to wake him. He fed me pills and water. When the sun rose he got up and closed the curtains. He came in and out during the day.

  ‘What a waste of your visit,’ he said. ‘What a shame.’

  Bruno put his head round the door.

  ‘Need anything?’ he said.

  I mumbled that I’d got my pills. I just needed to keep still and quiet.

  ‘It’s a bugger, migraine,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Give us a shout if you need anything.’ He was whistling ‘Summertime’ as he hammered down the stairs. I lay and listened to the voices of people, birds and sheep, and the wind bundling itself against the building, until late afternoon when the worst was over. Charlie brought me tea and biscuits. He opened the curtains as a flock of white birds shrieked past.

  ‘They’re getting worse,’ he said. ‘Or you’re getting more. I wonder why?’

  ‘The accident,’ I said. Gingerly, I hauled myself up to sitting and it was all right, the nausea was passing off. I nibbled the edge of an oaty biscuit.

  ‘Toni says her mum gets migraine. She takes feverfew.’

  ‘I’ll try it.’

  ‘Lots of people coming tomorrow.’ He sounded almost nervous. ‘The place will be full. We’ll have to move out of here …’

  ‘I’ll be OK tomorrow.’

  ‘Back to the byre,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want special treatment.’ I sipped my tea. ‘I was thinking,’ I said, ‘of maybe staying.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I could muck in. I could serve dinners and answer the phone and that. There’s nothing hard, is there?’

  ‘Nina!’

  It made me jump the way he said my name. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m a volunteer. Where’s the money going to come from?’

  ‘It’s yours now, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  A sharp crumb of biscuit stuck in my throat and made me cough, mad
e my eyes water. I had to drink more tea before I could continue.

  ‘The house, the whole house. You could let it and live off that. Or even sell it. If you sold it we could buy something else.’

  The way he stared at me, I could tell he had not even thought of that.

  ‘We could even buy a house up here,’ I said. He picked at the frayed cuff of his sweater. There was dirt ingrained in his fingers and one of his nails was broken. I reached for his hand and stroked it.

  ‘What have you been doing today?’

  ‘Fixing a fence.’

  I could hear the thin bleat of a sheep. ‘Or anywhere,’ I said. ‘We could start again.’

  ‘Things have conspired to cut me free,’ he said.

  ‘Conspired?’ I said, and then, ‘That’s what I mean.’

  ‘I’ve got to go and help,’ he said. He looked at me, eyes soft with their starry lashes. There was stubble round his mouth and I felt the prickle of it as he leant in and kissed me on the forehead, the way I think a father might kiss a child.

  The following morning started pale and grey. After breakfast, I watched Charlie ringing a bird that had been caught in a trap. The trap was a long tunnel of mesh that ran along a fence so that the bird would creep inside but be unable to find its way out. It was a stonechat, Charlie said. Grey feathers with a dash of black across its wings. He held it with the wings folded firmly against its body, and with a device like a pair of pliers snapped the ring on. I flinched; the sound was like the snap of a tiny bone. The bird’s wiry claws clutched his finger and stabbed at it with its beak.

  ‘OK,’ he murmured, ‘off you go.’ He opened his hand and the stonechat flitted away light as a spark.

  ‘Fancy a walk?’ I said. ‘You can show me round.’ But he had to wait for the plane in order to pick up the guests.

  ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he said. ‘You’ll soak up the atmosphere better on your own.’

  ‘I wandered into the kitchen where Ruth and Toni were chatting and rolling pastry. Too hot and bright and peopley in there. I walked up the track, away from the observatory, and tried to imagine belonging, even living, here.