‘Balance for what?’
Aileen narrowed her eyes. ‘He’s still a suspect, you know.’
‘No comment,’ Stella said.
‘There is money to be made here,’ Aileen said.
‘I’m not interested, thanks.’
Why had she added ‘thanks’? Bloody British politeness.
The woman leaned forward and tucked her business card into Stella’s jacket pocket. ‘Just in case,’ she said. ‘Times change.’ And then she actually winked.
As soon as the journalist had left the bar, Stella got up and followed her to make sure she was leaving. She stood underneath the porch canopy at the main entrance and watched Aileen get into a silver car. She started the engine, but didn’t pull away. Instead she hauled a bag across from the back seat and began looking through it.
The thick mist that everybody called ‘smirr’ had rolled in from the sea loch, and Stella felt her clothes soaking through with the freezing damp. The phone signal was strongest outside, so she tensed against the cold and, with one eye on Aileen, called Caitlin. ‘Did you give my name to a journalist from the Record?’
‘No,’ Caitlin said quickly. ‘’Course not.’
Aileen was tapping quickly with both thumbs into her smartphone. Stella wondered how long she was going to wait in her car, and whether she would go back into the pub and try to find other people to speak to about Jamie. ‘How did they know where to find me? Or what I looked like?’
‘She could have asked anyone,’ Caitlin said. ‘Everyone talks around here. Anybody could have pointed you out.’
Stella closed her eyes. ‘How did you know she was female?’
Silence. Then: ‘Sorry, Stells. I’m really sorry.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Stella managed. ‘Why?’
There was another pause. ‘Rob suggested it.’ Caitlin’s voice was very quiet. ‘You know money is tight and Rob doesn’t think much of Jamie—’
Something hit Stella. Her thoughts began to whirl. ‘Is this why you were so keen for me to come and stay. To go for this job? So that I could feed you stories to sell?’
There was another silence and Stella felt her world tilt.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ Caitlin began, but Stella stabbed the button to cut the call. She switched her phone off for good measure, her fingers numb and clumsy from the cold. She pushed the phone into her jeans pocket and bounced on the balls of her feet. A sudden rush of energy made her want to move, but the journalist, Aileen, was still sat in her car. Stella hesitated for a split second longer and then crossed the car park and rapped on the window. Aileen jumped a little, which gave Stella a moment of satisfaction. The electric window whirred as it opened. Aileen looked up, her expression pleased. ‘You want to chat?’
‘Not for any amount of money,’ Stella said. ‘Although I do have one thing to say.’ She leaned down, bringing her face close to the other woman’s. ‘Back off.’
Stella straightened and walked back to the pub.
Inside, the sudden burst of energy drained away and she sank into her seat, feeling shaky. Her half-full glass of red wine was still on the table and she took a long sip.
‘All right, hen?’ Stewart ambled across the room. He put a bowl full of ice cream on the table in front of him. There were at least three scoops, with whipped cream and little cubes of fudge sprinkled over the top. Whoever thought being teetotal was healthy clearly hadn’t met Stewart.
‘Not really,’ Stella said, blinking back tears. ‘Did you see that woman just now?’
‘Blonde one with the daft shoes?’
‘Yes. Please don’t talk to her about me. Or Jamie.’
He frowned. ‘I wouldn’t.’ He stopped. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Sorry. I know,’ Stella said. ‘She might offer you money, though.’
‘Journalist?’ he said, understanding dawning.
Stella nodded.
‘Well, I won’t, but I cannae vouch for everyone. Times are—’
‘Tough,’ Stella interrupted, thinking angrily of Caitlin. ‘I know.’
‘You want some of this?’ Stewart said, pushing the bowl towards her.
Stella put her hand on his arm. ‘Thank you.’
Stewart’s ears went pink. ‘It’s only pudding, hen.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Stella was hoping for a quiet morning and some more time to think things through before she saw Jamie. She was still reeling from the revelation that the Munro curse went back a very long way.
She knew it wasn’t helpful to think of it in that way, but bad news seemed to have stalked the family for a long time, and Jamie’s ancestor had been in such dark trouble that he had changed his name to try to escape it. It was a revelation that had kept her in the pub yesterday after the journalist had left. She felt sad, too, about Jessie. That her bravery had amounted to nothing. She had been stoic in the face of fear and pain and she had still died.
It didn’t matter how brave you were. It didn’t matter whether you wailed and cried or smiled nicely, your body did not care. You could do everything right and take every precaution and your body might still betray you.
While Ben and Rob and Caitlin were happily living their student lives, going to lectures and pub crawls, writing essays late into the night and holding fancy dress parties to celebrate the end of every set of exams, Stella had found it increasingly difficult to make the trip from her parent’s house into university. Her head felt fuzzy and the facts she so desperately craved seemed to pass through her mind, finding no purchase. She began to fall asleep while studying. And then on the train, during lectures, and at the family dinner table, waking with a start to see her parents exchanging worried glances. It had been so gradual that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when ‘a bit tired and breathless’ had become exhaustion. When the strange, stuttering beat in her chest had become a constant companion, and the dizzy spells no longer only came when she walked upstairs.
Lying on the bed in the warm, darkened room of the cardiac radiologist, with the whooshing sounds of the equipment and the jelly spread across her chest, Stella hadn’t felt frightened. Having survived heart surgery as a baby and having had her congenital heart defects miraculously fixed, there could not be anything else wrong. Fate could not be that cruel.
Of course, fate had nothing to do with it and Stella’s heart did not know or care what she was feeling. A valve that had worked extra hard while it was still growing had simply not formed quite as it should. It was flapping when it should have been firmly closed, weakly waving a distress signal. That knowledge was a few hours away then, though; it was something that Stella would discover in the bright light of her consultant’s office. As Stella lay in the dark and listened to the strange underwater Doppler sounds of her systole and diastole as the ultrasound probe pressed insistently against her ribcage, she passed the time by silently thanking her heart for beating, and hoping, hoping, hoping.
‘Are you all right?’ Jamie’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Stella had been making coffee, but now she realised that she had been stood holding the packet and staring out of the window above the sink.
‘Fine,’ Stella said.
Jamie looked as if he wanted to ask something else and Stella spoke quickly to head off the possibility. ‘How are you doing?’
He held up a hand, flat, and tilted it from side to side. ‘I want to know more about my parents’ accident.’
‘Right.’ Stella couldn’t look at him directly. Truthfully, she didn’t want to think about his father, not after everything she had heard in the village. But she didn’t blame him for turning his attention from James Lockhart.
‘Will you help me?’ Jamie sounded so lost that Stella found her resolve to stay away from him, away from the Munro family, dissipate like mist. It wasn’t his fault, after all. You couldn’t help what you were born with.
Stewart was meeting them at the lifeboat station and they parked in the centre and walked down to the harbour. After
the off-season quiet of Arisaig, Mallaig was full of hustle and bustle. Stella found herself thinking it was busy and laughed inside; the old Stella had been used to the crowds of London, would have thought Mallaig was a dead village.
The sky was a solid slab of grey cloud and the wind coming off the sea was bitterly cold. It ruffled their waterproof jackets like it was trying to find a way in, and Stella pulled on a knitted hat and put her hood up for good measure.
‘You look like an Eskimo,’ Jamie said.
‘Inuit,’ Stella corrected automatically, and Jamie’s smile grew wider.
‘Cute and clever. You are the complete package, right enough.’
Stella wasn’t sure if he was laughing at her or with her, but she smiled anyway, glad that he seemed in good spirits. He definitely seemed more comfortable with leaving the estate, had driven out in his monster four-by-four to walk through Glen Beasdale just the day before, but he still avoided populated places.
He seemed determined not to talk about the purpose of their trip and he kept up a running commentary of jokes and bits of local information. ‘That’s where the CalMac ferry comes in. We should go over to the islands sometime. You would love them.’
The RNLI station office was above a shop selling souvenirs and second-hand books in aid of the charity. It hit Stella how precarious the lifeboat service was. Not only was it run by volunteers who risked their lives every time they went out on the boat, but it was funded by donations.
Stewart had told them to ring the bell on the door next to the entrance to the shop, so that’s what they did. Moments later he opened the door, a paper bag with grease spots in one hand.
‘Come away in,’ Stewart said. The stairs were narrow and covered in thin industrial carpet that was peeling away from the edges. Attempts had been made on a couple of the steps to stick it back down with black tape.
The office contained an ancient-looking computer with a bulky monitor, a tall metal filing cabinet and piles of paperwork. Jamie had gone quiet and Stella chatted to Stewart, thanking him for helping them out.
‘We keep a log of all call-outs,’ Stewart said, sitting in front of the computer and bringing the screen to life. ‘But I’m not sure if they had moved to the computer system at that time. What was the year?’
‘2008,’ Stella said when Jamie didn’t answer.
‘Aye, should be here, then.’ Stewart tapped the keys and then said, ‘Got it.’
He stood up and gestured to the chair, but Jamie waved at Stella, indicating that she should take the seat. Stella sat down, conscious of Jamie standing behind her, and read the words on the screen. There was the date, the time of the call-out and a link to the report.
Stella clicked on it and then scanned the information. She had both hoped and feared the report, wondering how much detail would be recorded and how traumatic it might be. In the end, it was just the bare facts. The time the call came in. The time of the lifeboat launch. The time the mission was declared over. The time the boat returned to the station.
Stella looked at Jamie. ‘Does that help?’
He shook his head, his face tight.
‘Is that an unusual length of time?’ Jamie asked, his voice very quiet. ‘They were out for four hours.’
‘It’s a wee while,’ Stewart said. ‘But normal in a search scenario.’
‘Are there guidelines on how long to look before calling off a search?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Stewart said. ‘I’ve never done one myself, but they can go on for days. Different call-outs. And other agencies get involved, too.’
‘Why did they stop looking? It doesn’t seem long enough.’
‘Mebbe the coastguards took over. The lifeboat is an emergency service.’
‘You mean they weren’t looking for survivors anymore?’
Stewart looked uncomfortable. ‘People don’t last that long in the water. Not as a rule.’
‘And that’s them lost?’ Jamie said. ‘Forever.’
Stewart studied his Danish pastry for a moment, then he said, ‘They usually wash up eventually.’
‘My God,’ Stella said.
‘My folks didn’t though,’ Jamie said. He sounded perfectly calm. ‘That’s unusual then?’
‘I don’t know,’ Stewart said. ‘Debris gets caught in the tides around the islands, but not everything. Some things slip through and end up out in the ocean.’
Jamie nodded. ‘I suppose there will be a list of unidentified remains somewhere. Where would that be?’
‘Coroner?’ Stewart said. ‘But if your folks had washed up, they wouldn’t have stayed unidentified.’
‘How so?’
‘DNA,’ Stewart said. ‘Dental records. Clothing scraps.’
‘What if they’d been in the water a long time. Years.’
‘Well, then.’ Stewart shrugged. ‘I’m no expert.’
Jamie closed his eyes. ‘I hoped this would tell me why they went out.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She hated the water,’ Jamie said, his eyes still closed. ‘My mother would never have gone out in the boat. Especially not in bad weather.’
‘It might have sprung up. Unexpected.’ Stewart pointed at a printout on the top of a pile of papers. ‘The forecasts are good, like, but we can all get surprised sometimes.’
‘Is there a record of the crew on the first call-out?’ Jamie said. ‘Mebbe if I could speak to someone who was there.’
Stewart nodded. ‘I’ll check.’
Stella stood up and Stewart took the chair again. She wandered around the room, looking at the tide tables and the thank-you letters that were stuck next to the nautical navigation chart for Mallaig Harbour.
‘Rob Baird,’ Stewart said. ‘Well, he’s definitely still about.’ Stewart was smiling, pleased to have a positive result. ‘I had no idea he had been out on that run. Must’ve been still at school.’
‘Is that legal?’ Stella said, imaging a teenager out on the freezing cold sea, the waves high.
‘Seventeen for the boat crew, as long as they have parental permission. Young is good. It’s bloody hard work.’
‘Rob Baird,’ Jamie said. ‘I had no idea.’
Stella felt the sinking of her heart as she anticipated his next question.
‘Do you think he’ll talk to me about it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Stella said. ‘He’s not your biggest fan.’
Stewart finished the last flakes of his pastry and screwed up the paper bag, throwing it across the room so that it bounced off the wall and into the bin. ‘I’ll talk to him, if you like?’
‘Thank you,’ Stella said.
Jamie nodded, still looking preoccupied. ‘Can I have a printout of that?’ He indicated the screen with the list of timings from his parents’ accident.
‘Sure . . .’ Stewart began tapping at the keys again.
They left the harbour buildings with a single sheet of paper folded into a square, and a source who certainly wasn’t going to be in the mood to be helpful. Worse, Stella was worried that Rob might be harsh, and give painful details just to hurt Jamie.
She was shocked at that thought and she examined it in her own mind, turning it over. Did she really think Rob would do that? Maybe. He was full of surprises, after all.
Jamie was quiet, too. He held Stella’s hand, but seemed very distant. They had been raking up the past for the last few weeks but this, his parents’ accident, seemed fresh in comparison, like it had only happened a month or two ago. Stella tried to imagine what it must have been like to lose both of his parents in one go like that. And in such sudden, shocking circumstances. Jamie had said that he had been away at school and then university and that they hadn’t been very close, but still. Then it hit her.
Jamie was missing the most obvious source of information. ‘Have you asked Esmé about the accident?’
He didn’t answer her right away and Stella squeezed his hand.
‘She wasn’t there,’ he said. ‘She was at the house.’
‘I know, but she might have some insight on the background. Why they went out that day—’
He stopped walking. ‘You’re right.’ When he looked at her, his face was drawn, his mouth an unhappy line. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, why I’ve never thought to ask her . . .’ He trailed off.
‘Maybe you didn’t really want to hear the answer,’ Stella said. ‘Maybe you weren’t ready.’
Jamie nodded. ‘I am now,’ he said.
Stella walked up the path to Caitlin’s house and rang the bell before she could chicken out. She was angry with her, but it was a feeling that was mixed with sadness and loss. When Caitlin opened the door she was pale and tired and Stella felt her emotions twist again. Caitlin looked so awkward, she wanted to reach out and hug her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Caitlin said, her voice cracking.
‘Can I come in?’ Stella said.
‘Of course.’ Caitlin moved aside. Her bump had grown so much in the past couple of weeks and Stella found she couldn’t stop staring at it.
They went through to the kitchen and Caitlin stood next to the worktop, looking uncertain.
‘Sit down,’ Stella said. ‘For God’s sake.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caitlin said. ‘It was Rob’s idea, but I shouldn’t have gone along with it.’
Stella had known Rob for as long as she had known Caitlin. They hadn’t had the same closeness, but they had spent countless nights out in clubs and pubs and sitting around the living room of his student house, not to mention meals and parties and holidays in the years since. ‘How could you?’ Stella said. ‘Both of you? I thought we were friends.’
‘We are,’ Caitlin said. Tears spilled over and she wiped them away with the heel of her hand. ‘I’ve just been so worried about money. And Rob said that Jamie was bad news. It would get you away from him, too.’
‘But you guys sent me up there,’ Stella said. ‘If he’s so terrible—’
‘I know,’ Caitlin said. ‘But that was supposed to last a week. Tops. You were supposed to come back with stories of what a gigantic prick he was and we would laugh about it and that would be that.’
Beneath the Water Page 26