Nina Todd Has Gone

by Lesley Glaister

  The sun shone the fields to lemony green and sizzled on the old-fashioned hay stooks. Birds shrieked and cried in the distance and chirruped and snicked from the tall weeds at the edges of the track. A crow hopped on to the road ahead of me and jabbed its beak into the corpse of a rabbit. It was all so open, nothing hidden, the air bristled with living sounds, the bleatings of the sheep travelling up from the beach.

  I stopped to watch the little plane come in. It was low enough for me to see the shapes of heads through the glass. I imagined them peering out for their first glimpse of the island, and seeing me, bright yellow in my borrowed cagoule, seeming to belong.

  Across the fields the sea was almost motionless and I realised that there was not a breath of wind. The sea was stunned into such metallic stillness that the clouds were mirrored. That was why the sounds were so sharp, a voice now, someone shouting, and the bellowing of a cow, maybe miles away.

  I heard the plane fly away again and saw the Land Rover when it was still distant, like a Dinky toy sliding along the road towards me. As it grew closer I could make out two figures in front, Charlie and Bruno. I stood and waited till they drew level. Charlie rolled down the window.

  ‘ ‘Fraid we’re chocka,’ he said. ‘You OK walking? Bruno’s just finished surgery.’

  ‘How many patients?’ I asked.

  ‘Two today. Quite an epidemic!’ Bruno beamed, his red cheeks bunching up above his beard. ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  ‘Enjoy the fresh air.’ Bruno leant across Charlie and peered at me. ‘Best medicine,’ he said.

  Charlie smiled. ‘Enjoy yourself then. See you later.’

  I watched them drive away. The back of the Land Rover was crammed with people; there was a rare bird everyone had been raving about over breakfast, Siberian blue robin or something. I lifted my arm to wave but it froze in the air. Rupert was in there, face against the glass, smiling.

  The sun was warm. I was clammy inside the fleece and cagoule Charlie had made me borrow. The air smelt of hay and seaweed and a faint flowery something from the roadside weeds. I needed to cool down and I needed to breathe. Of course it wasn’t Rupert. How could it be? I took off the cagoule and unzipped the fleece so that the air could flow in and cool my skin.

  I climbed over a gate in the dyke and walked fast along the hard white sand. A flock of the wild little sheep scattered and trotted off, strings of seaweed draped from their jaws. The sea made quiet, contented sounds like a baby suckling. My feet swapped over and over in the sand and I was lulled by the soothing rhythm. The beach was longer than I’d thought. I stopped to catch my breath and looked back at my footprints. The heels of my shoes had dug regular little pits along the wavy trail of my walking. I needed some proper boots. There was a uniform up here: boots, jeans, cagoules, wind-chapped cheeks and tangled hair.

  At the end of the beach the sand gave way to rocks. I almost tripped over a seal – a pup, though it was huge. I don’t know which one of us was more startled, but I remembered what Charlie said and backed off slowly, sat down on a jut of rock. The seal stared at me but I looked away. You’re not supposed to look animals straight in the eye, they see it as a threat and I know what they mean.

  I gazed into a triangular rock pool, clear water magnifying the stones and shells, a floating strand of weed, a colourless crab scuttling. The seals were the same shades as the stones. Once I’d seen one I saw that there were many more. I could feel their eyes on me, gentle and wary. Sleek black masks lifted from the water to peer. As they shifted, the basking seals made little personal grunting sounds. They moved like people inside sacks, heaving and lumping themselves about. The pup closed its eyes and began to snore, nostrils fluttering open and shut. I went into a kind of dream, soothed by the blubbery softness, a lovely, solid, gentle company. But when I got up to move they panicked, humphing and galumphing off the rocks in a commotion of churning water.

  My legs ached as I walked back along the curve of sand; I wasn’t used to walking so far or so fast. The tide had come in and was lapping at my footprints, smoothing them back down. The sand glittered as if there was light inside every single grain. I pocketed a couple of tiny shells: hinged in the middle like pink butterflies. There was a splash – one of the seals swimming along beside me. I stopped and it stopped too, put up its doggy head and stared. The peaked roof of the observatory gleamed in the distance. Of course it wasn’t Rupert. I was getting paranoid.

  I resolved to go back and help. If I wanted to stay I’d have to get stuck in, show willing. I could strip beds and fry bacon, hang washing on the line. I could be useful, part of a team. I could live in tattered jeans and grow my hair. If that’s what it took, I could do it. I could work up some interest in the birds. I’d already learnt a new one today: stonechat.

  Toni and Charlie were hanging sheets on the line. I stopped to watch. She was slightly taller than him, her hair tied up in a high scruffy ponytail. When she raised her arms to peg the sheets, her T-shirt rode up to show a slim tanned midriff. Charlie laughed at something and she pushed him. A playful push. Her hand rested for a moment on his arm. He poked her, one finger in the middle of her chest. I heard her voice, ‘Hey, watch it, buster.’ And then they resumed their pegging. White sheets and blue sheets cutting up the view of sky and sea. Sometimes they vanished behind the sheets. I heard Charlie laugh and it was a sound I hadn’t heard since I don’t know when.

  They walked back on the far side of the line, I caught glimpses of them between the slabs of white and blue. Toni carried a red plastic washing basket under her arm. When she saw me she lifted her hand.

  ‘Hi Nina, good walk?’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said.

  ‘Make the most of the weather. Gale forecast,’ she said. I looked disbelievingly at the mild milk of the sky.

  ‘How far did you get?’ Charlie asked as we walked towards the house.

  ‘End of the beach. I saw seals.’

  He began to say something, then Toni touched his arm. ‘Hey …’ She pointed.

  It was only a bird, a middle-sized brown bird. But they went in fast to get their binoculars leaving me with my feet just where they were.

  Ruth was alone in the kitchen when I went in. She was scribbling something on the back of an envelope, phone scrunched under her chin. Her pale hair was a rat’s nest and there was a pencil stuck behind her ear that I’m sure had been there ever since I’d arrived. She nodded at the kettle and mimed drinking.

  ‘Saturday, then, look forward to meeting you.’ She put down the phone and winced, stretching her neck sideways till I could hear a ratchety click.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked.

  ‘Hang on. Tea.’ She opened her laptop, squinted at the screen and keyed something in. She looked up at me. ‘Nice walk? Did Charlie say, you two are in the byre tonight, if that’s OK?’ She snapped the laptop shut and laughed. ‘Or even if it isn’t.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  She leant back in her chair and squinted at me. ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about that,’ I said. ‘Teabags?’

  She nodded at the cupboard in front of me.

  ‘Fire away,’ she said. ‘I’d better get the lamb out.’ She got up, groaned and rubbed her hip. ‘Bugger. Wonder if I’m getting sciatica.’

  ‘I was thinking about staying,’ I said. I couldn’t look at her. I put my palm on the hot side of the kettle, kept it there until it got too hot. It was a chrome kettle, smeared, a warped kitchen, with me in it, reflected in its curve.

  ‘You mean here?’

  ‘If that’s all right.’

  ‘Does Charlie know?’ She scratched her head and the pencil fell out. ‘He never said.’ She opened the door of the freezer and brought out a bag of frozen meat. ‘I’ll stick you on the rota then,’ she said. ‘We could do with another pair of hands.’

  ‘Really?’

  The calm warm feeling that had started with the seals welled up in me as the
kettle boiled. I poured water on to the teabags and squashed them against the sides of the mugs.

  ‘How are you at peeling spuds?’ Ruth said. ‘Fifteen for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘Steady on!’

  I put her tea on the table. Amongst the clutter was a dead bird on a saucer. Tiny and brown, stiff claws clutched the air.

  ‘Wren,’ she said. ‘Daisy found it.’

  She opened a giant biscuit tin and pushed it towards me. I dipped an oaty biscuit in my tea, took a sweetly softening bite.

  ‘Yes, these are good for dunking,’ she said. ‘Just the right consistency.’ She ran a hand over the paperwork on the table. ‘Been catching up with the admin,’ she said. ‘Well, catching up’s putting it a bit strong.’ She laughed. The phone rang. ‘You see my problem?’ she said.

  There was a picture on the table, DAISY written in felt tip on the top. It was a house done in bold wonky paint: a house with a chimney and smoke, a smiling sun and trees. There were no trees here, no square houses like that with chimneys in the middle. It was just the happy home of everyone’s dreams that even a child could draw.

  Toni came in. ‘I’m putting some of last night’s grub in the mike for Charlie and me. Join us?’ she said.

  ‘Not me,’ Ruth said, patting her belly. ‘I’m on the biscuit diet. Oh by the way, Nina’s staying.’

  ‘Staying?’ Toni widened her eyes. ‘How come?’

  She turned away and began foraging in the fridge. In the gap between her T-shirt and jeans was a tattoo of a bluebird.

  Ruth went out and I watched Toni tip a sticky heap of casserole into a bowl and push it in the microwave. She turned to me and cleared her throat but Ruth came back in. ‘There are folks in the bar,’ she said. ‘Why not go and serve them, Nina? Prices on everything. It’s more or less self-explanatory.’

  I went through. The family man came up to order Coke and crisps for the children. They were sitting at a table squabbling over a board game. I asked their name and wrote the amount on their account as I’d seen Charlie do. It was easy and felt good to be behind the bar, in charge. I looked round at all the different malt whiskies. I didn’t know that there were so many. I began to read the labels: Glenfiddich; Glenlivet; Glenmorangie; Glenmore. Someone came into the bar and I turned round, a smile starting on my face. And it was Rupert.

  ‘Which do you recommend?’ he said.

  Charlie came in then. He stood beside Rupert, half a head shorter, red-faced, his hair rough and spiky. The lunatic white thread in his eyebrow curled down over one eye.

  ‘Could you recommend a malt?’ Rupert asked him.

  ‘I’d go for Highland Park,’ Charlie said. ‘That’s the local one.’

  ‘Highland Park it is then.’ Rupert nodded to me. ‘Have one yourself. Been here long?’ Rupert asked, as I turned away to struggle with the optic.

  Charlie came behind the bar and showed me how to work it. ‘Press up like that,’ he said, hand over mine. A sharp and peaty scent was released into the air. I had an urge to knock it back in one hot gulp.

  Rupert took the drink, swirled and sniffed and sipped it. ‘Mmmm,’ he said, ‘smooth. How old?’

  ‘Eighteen years,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Practically a lifetime,’ Rupert said.

  ‘A very short one!’ Charlie said.

  ‘Yes.’ Rupert looked at me, sleek-eyed. ‘What brought you here?’

  ‘Dunno,’ I said.

  Charlie frowned at me. ‘What about you?’ he said.

  ‘Oh …’ Rupert took a slow considered sip. ‘Curiosity. Someone I knew came here.’ He lifted his glass. ‘No doubt I’ll see you later.’ He walked off and settled himself by the window, the profile of his smile sharp against the glass.

  ‘You’ll have to be more friendly than that if you’re going to stay,’ Charlie said quietly, ‘which Ruth has just informed me.’

  ‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘Charlie, sorry but it just came up, Ruth said she needed another pair of hands and—’

  ‘You keep doing it,’ he said and though he was trying to keep his voice down it rose in pitch and the little girl stopped shaking her dice and looked up at us. I lifted the corners of my mouth at her. I don’t know what was the point of coming all this way to sit in a bar and play board games. A sudden gust of wind hooed against the window.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll go if you don’t want me here.’

  He went out, banging the door behind him. Rupert had opened one of the bird books that were lying around and was turning the pages steadily and smiling. The dice rattled in its cup. ‘That’s not fair, Dad, she’s cheating,’ said the boy. The sky was darkening; not that clouds were gathering, it was more as if something thick was soaking through the blue.

  The father got up and sauntered across to the window. ‘Looks like we’re in for it,’ he remarked to Rupert, and to me. ‘Mind if I switch on the light?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Rupert came across to the bar.

  ‘Another.’ He slid his glass towards me.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ I said.

  ‘I might be here to see someone else,’ he said. ‘Charlie, for instance.’

  ‘Your turn, Mum.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Look … we’ll speak later.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ he said.

  Toni came into the bar behind me, wiping her mouth on her hand. ‘I’ll take care of this, Nina. Ruth says you should get your stuff over to the byre. We need the room.’

  ‘One Highland Park,’ Rupert said to Toni and as I left the bar I heard him say, ‘And one for yourself.’ ‘What a gent,’ she said and then the door swung shut. I stood in the hall with my heart thudding. I saw then one of the drawbacks of being on a small island. There’s nowhere to run. I did not know how to move until Charlie came out of the kitchen, my bag over his shoulder.

  ‘Come on then.’

  ‘Charlie …’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll go if you want.’

  ‘Since when have you cared what I want?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on.’ He pushed open the door and the wind lifted my breath away from me. A plastic football fidgeted about the yard, dribbled by invisible feet. I followed him down a slope towards the byre. The sheets were snapping and straining on the line. I wondered if they ever blew away.

  We went into the byre, a converted building that smelt of raw wood and fresh paint. He opened a door into a room with four bunks and switched on a buzzing neon light. A pair of green velvet jeans dangled from one of the top bunks.

  ‘There’s someone in here,’ I said.

  ‘Toni,’ he said. ‘That’s her bed.’

  ‘We’re sharing with her?’

  ‘It’s where the volunteers sleep.’ He put my bag down. ‘It’s OK really. Good shower just next door. So.’ He indicated the bunks. ‘Top or bottom?’

  ‘Can’t we squeeze in together?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think that’d be a bit … you know, with Toni here.’

  ‘But she knows we’re together.’

  ‘Still. Top or bottom?’

  ‘Don’t mind,’ I said and sat down on the bottom one.

  ‘I’ll go on top then.’ He laughed. ‘So to speak!’ It didn’t sound like him, the way he said that, it sounded like the influence of someone else.

  ‘Not much privacy,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not that sort of place. You can put your stuff in here.’ He opened a narrow cupboard, already crammed with his clothes. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’ He went for the door.

  ‘Charlie,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.’

  He turned and looked at me.

  ‘But I can make myself right for this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just need new clothes, that’s all. Walking boots and everything.’

  He spoke quietly. ‘Do you r
eally think it’s as easy as that?’ He went out. The concrete floor was muddy; I thought how horrible to walk on that in bare feet. There were dead flies on the windowsill. Through the window I watched him open the door and go back into the observatory.

  I climbed the ladder to look at Toni’s bed, a jumble of messy duvet, grubby T-shirt, box of tissues, dent still in the pillow, book half under it. I pulled it out: Shrikes Around the World. I checked inside and it was from me to him. To Charlie, Happy Christmas, with all my love and more, Nina and about a hundred kisses.

  I removed the book, tidied up Charlie’s things and put mine in the cupboard beside them. I put my toothbrush in the shower-room where the floor was even muddier, and wet. On the toilet cistern was a packet of tampons. The shower plug was snarled up with long toffee-coloured hairs and some of Charlie’s caught up in the wet trap they made. A horrible kind of intimacy in the mixing of those hairs. I knelt and scooped it all from the plughole, pulled out a long gloop of soap scum, skin cells and hairs and flushed it down the toilet.

  I looked out of the window and saw the visiting family come out, dressed as if for a climb up Everest. The Land Rover pulled up and Bruno jumped out. Despite the howling wind he was wearing a T-shirt and I could see the muscles in the thick tops of his arms. He gave the trickling football a kick and scratched his bum as he started in through the door, then he stopped to make way for someone – Rupert on his way out. Rupert stood looking around as if wondering which way to go and then Charlie emerged and they began to talk. I went out.

  ‘I’m giving Rupert,’ Charlie nodded to him, ‘a lift to the top of the island.’

  ‘Mind if I tag along?’

  ‘You can show me the sights,’ Rupert said.

  ‘It’ll be the blind leading the blind,’ I said, freezing my eyes at him.

  ‘Jump in,’ Charlie said. ‘But, Nina, you ought to borrow that cagoule.’

  We drove along in silence, the wind buffeting us sideways, Charlie’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. As we approached the lighthouses, a silver confetti of gulls swirled against the dark sky. Charlie stopped in the lighthouse car-park.

  ‘You need to be back by about five, Nina, to peel the spuds. You’ll have to walk pretty fast.’