Death on a Shetland Isle

by Marsali Taylor

  We strolled across to the green mound with its boat-shape surround of stones and reread the interpretative board, then sat down on the soft turf by it, looking out over the shining water, faces sideways on to where the camping böd sat above its beach. I was glad of the rest; this soft life on board a tall ship had made me less fit, and my legs were aching. The grass in this field had been cropped short by sheep, and it was sprinkled now with curly dodies, the lovely spotted orchids, pyramids of pink with puce-trimmed petals.

  We sat in silence for ten minutes. Now, I told myself, now was the time to break this barrier between us. I wanted to tell him everything. Rafael was Alain, who was dead and had come back to life … but if Alain didn’t know it himself, surely he had the right to know first. I owed him that much loyalty.

  There was still no sign of movement from below us. Gavin’s head was turned away from me. ‘Cass?’

  His voice was rough. I waited, suddenly cold in the green summer warmth.

  His hand closed over mine. ‘Cass, on the way to Belfast, when you had that fall … you had heavy bleeding after it.’

  It was the last thing I expected. My breath caught in my throat.

  He still wasn’t looking at me. ‘And you didn’t eat any breakfast that morning.’ His fingers slid between mine, warm. ‘That’s not like you.’

  My tongue felt heavy. ‘Yes.’

  There was another long silence. A skylark soared up above us, twittering. At our feet, the clover smelt of honey.

  ‘I only just knew myself,’ I said at last. ‘At least, I thought … I hadn’t done a test or anything … I was just feeling sick in the mornings, and I felt bloated, and not right.’

  He’d thought it through. ‘The week we were together in the fjords?’

  I nodded. ‘Seven weeks.’ Dammit, I’d cried when I’d lost the baby. I wasn’t going to cry again. His arm came round my shoulders, tilting my head against his cheek. ‘I wanted it to live,’ I said, into his chest. ‘I didn’t know how we’d manage, but I wanted it to live.’

  ‘I’d have wanted it to live too.’ His words breathed warm in my hair. He held me for a few minutes longer, then set me away from him and took my hand again. ‘Weren’t you going to tell me?’

  I shook my head. ‘It was too bad to share.’

  His fingers tightened on mine. ‘Nothing’s too bad to share.’

  Silence fell again, but a gentler silence, with his shoulder warm against mine. We sat there, hand-fast, and watched the sunlight play over the sea, and listened to the waves mouthing the pebbles. The grief that filled the empty space within me was comforted. Some day, please God, I would meet my child. And from that earth, and grave, and dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.

  My thought was broken by the snick of a latch across the bay. At last, the böd door opened. At its first movement, Gavin turned his head towards Houbie, rose, gave a leisurely stretch, and said, ‘Well, shall we get along?’

  ‘I suppose,’ I said, and made an equally slow pantomime of getting up and dusting myself down. ‘Lunch is calling.’

  ‘In the hall, isn’t it?’

  I nodded. ‘But I want to fetch Cat first, d’you mind? Half a mile further, and back.’

  ‘No problem.’

  We sauntered along the road, the wind gentle on our faces, blowing our voices back to the tall figure on the road behind us. He walked with a reluctant air, as if he’d wanted to linger longer at the böd but didn’t want to have to explain his absence. I chose an innocuous topic. ‘Did you put in for the hnefatafl contest?’

  ‘I did. I saw your name too.’

  ‘I’m not chess-minded. I expect to get knocked out in the first round.’

  ‘It’s the best of three.’

  ‘Three chances to get slaughtered,’ I said cheerfully.

  We chatted on, keeping a wary eye behind us. Daniel kept following, and much as I wanted to discuss what he’d been up to, I bit my lip and speculated instead. He could have been hiding something to be retrieved later, or picking up something that someone else had left … no, why would he have needed to stay so long for that? He could have been expecting to meet someone – Oliver, who’d established his presence on board, but who could then have got on a shuttle boat any time after all the other trainees had left.

  Oliver, or the woman in the yellow oilskin jacket. If she’d been the extra passenger, she’d had time to go along the road, ambush Laura on the headland. She could have gone back to the böd to wait there until it was time to make her own way to the mainland by ferry, rather than risk coming back aboard our ship. I was wondering when the ferries were – that is, if there were any on a Sunday – when my brain caught the implications. Ambush Laura on the headland. I thought of the blood-smeared heather, and my stomach lurched. I’d had enough of violence.

  We left Daniel behind at the hall. He met a group of trainees going up from Houbie just as he arrived at the turn-off, and went in with them. I felt like someone who’d just manoeuvred a net around a hooked fish. ‘Got him.’

  ‘Don’t be too quick to impute sinister motives,’ my policeman warned. ‘He could just not have wanted to gooseberry with us, but didn’t know how to avoid us without looking rude. Or perhaps he needed the toilet. There’s an awful lack of handy bushes round here.’

  I hadn’t thought of that. I hesitated over a reply, and his fingers caught mine. He was laughing.

  We’d just reached the pier when a boat curved out from the ship with several passengers on board. I went down the slip to catch her prow, and found it was the stay-aboards coming ashore for lunch. Oliver was among them; he greeted me cheerfully as he headed for the shuttle bus. The driver leant out to us. ‘I can come back for you, if you’re just going across to the ship and back.’

  I considered how Cat would feel about being bundled into a minibus and suspected he wouldn’t like it. ‘No, we’re fine,’ I called back. ‘Thanks.’

  We chugged the inflatable over. Gavin held it against the ship while I fetched Cat, muttering darkly about being disturbed from his sleep, even if I said it would be fun once he got ashore. I let him off his lead at the pier and we strolled slowly along. Cat bounded ahead of us, grumpiness forgotten, pausing to chase waving grasses, then turning to check we were still behind him. I hauled a piece of string from my pocket and trailed it when he showed signs of boredom. Even with Gavin stopping to murmur blandishments at the grey Highland pony in the field next door, we still made it to the hall on the stroke of one.

  It was like most Shetland public halls, a new extension built around the original hall, with a wind turbine below it to provide year-round background heating. The entrance was on the short side of the building, at the car park. Gavin motioned me in ahead of him, I called Cat to heel, and we walked together into a most delicious smell of soup.

  The Fetlar folk had done us proud. There was a hand-painted banner with WELCOME TO THE CREW OF SØRLANDET above the stage. A Shetland flag hung on one side of it, and a Norwegian flag on the other. They’d set out tables for us, laid with mugs, spoons, and central dishes of bannocks. The hall was already half full of trainees, all rosy-cheeked from the sun and wind, with Daniel among the ones he’d joined. I couldn’t see anything in his expression to tell me what he was feeling; he was joking with the girl beside him. Then, as she turned away from him, his face clouded over into a brooding frown, as if he was puzzling over something. He glanced out of the window towards the bay, then, as the girl turned back to him, he pinned the smile on again.

  I looked round for Oliver. He’d joined the two older sailors from my watch, but he glanced up at the door as we came in, then looked away when he saw it was only us. I gave a slow look round the hall, checking every face.

  Laura wasn’t here.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Captain Sigurd was presiding over the top table, on the stage, with Agnetha on one side and Henrik down at the table foot. There was no sign of Magnie; I had no doubt he had a crony in the village that he was visiting. �
�I think we’re above the salt,’ I murmured to Gavin, and led him towards the officers.

  Captain Sigurd indicated Gavin and me to the seats beside Agnetha, giving Gavin Nils’s place. Cat slid under the table as we sat down. He was used to being persona non grata at eateries, and had learnt to keep out of sight until someone took an interest in him, at which he’d rise, swish his tail, let himself be admired, and show readiness to accept anything interesting which came his way.

  One of the local women bustled over in a hall-issue pinny, blue and white check with Fetlar Hall sewn on the bib, and offered us choices.

  ‘Now, then, welcome to Fetlar. We hae reestit mutton soup or lentil, that’s suitable for vegetarians, all made wi’ home-grown vegetables, and o’ coorse the mutton’s from the sheep on the hills here. Reestit mutton, that’s a leg o’ lamb that’s been soaked in salt water, then hung up over the Rayburn to dry in the air and get a peaty flavour from the smoke.’

  Two other women, equally be-pinnied, followed her, trundling a trolley bearing two doublehanded black cauldrons with a ladle handle sticking out of each. They were serving up the soup with speedy expertise honed over years of dances, weddings and funerals. I opted for the reestit mutton, then dug the tin of tuna out of my pocket, peeled the lid back, and put it down for Cat. The woman peered under to see what I was doing.

  ‘Now, there’s a beauty. And wi’ a harness, an aa’. I’m never seen that on a cat afore. He’s no’ really allowed in here, but he looks as if he’ll behave. I’ll hae a look for a saucer o’ meat scraps, after we’re finished serving. Or maybe he’d like some cream?’

  I thought he maybe would. She bustled on to the next table and explained reestit mutton all over again. Captain Sigurd said grace for our table, and we launched in.

  The reestit mutton soup tasted as good as it smelt. It was thick with lumps of tatties, carrots, and chunks of the smoke-dried meat. The triangular bannocks that accompanied it were home-baked, with a slice of saat flesh in them – salted roast beef. I was just launching into one when my eye was caught by a movement on the road up above the hall: a flash of yellow. I nudged Gavin and gave a tiny tilt of my head towards it. He looked up sharply. Someone in a dark jumper was walking swiftly along the road, with that momentary flash of yellow again from a jacket bundled under an arm. We saw the figure for just a moment before it rounded the bend that led down into Houbie. I wanted to rush outside to see where it went, but you didn’t leap up from Captain Sigurd’s table.

  I finished my soup, brooding, and reached for another bannock just as the woman returned with a plateful of beef trimmings. She slid it under the table. Cat did his courteous back-arch, sniffed at it, and tucked in. I could see I’d be carrying a half-eaten tin of tuna back to the boat.

  While I ate, I kept an eye on Daniel and Oliver. Daniel was eating away and chatting to the people on each side of him; Oliver was increasingly uneasy, with constant glances at the door. I nudged Gavin and glanced at Oliver. Gavin looked, nodded, and returned to his second helping of soup, but I knew he’d been watching too. Alain, alerted by my movement, raised his head and gave Oliver a steady stare, then turned to me. His tone was carefully judged as two of the ship’s officers talking to each other, excluding Gavin as an outsider. ‘That’s the one on your watch who stayed aboard?’

  He knew perfectly well it was; he’d been officer in charge all morning. I nodded.

  ‘Doesn’t he have a sister, blonde?’

  He knew that too, and her name. I remembered all the times I’d come home, knackered from a day of waitressing, and collapsed into an early night while he went off to the students’ union with tall, golden girls like Laura. He gave a long look round the hall. ‘I don’t see her.’

  ‘She isn’t here.’

  ‘That seems to worry him.’

  ‘She’s an adult,’ I retorted, ‘and capable of deciding she prefers a picnic on the open hill to lunch with her brother.’

  Alain rolled his eyes and included Gavin in the conversation. ‘I won’t argue with my superior officer.’

  I thought of saying, ‘That’ll be a first,’ and bit the words back. Whatever Alain was playing at in this alpha male contest with Gavin, hovering on the edge of provocation, I would make it clear I wasn’t being part of it.

  The women came back to take our orders for the sweet: sherry trifle, sticky toffee pudding or rhubarb crumble, served with Fetlar Blue Coo ice cream or custard. While the rest of the table was deciding, I slipped in a quick question. ‘We passed the camping böd along the road. Do you have many people staying just now?’

  ‘Yea, yea, we get a few in over the summer. Young folk, mostly. The TV Shetland series, you ken, it’s brought a lock o’ visitors. There’s a couple now, and a lass expected today – did she come wi’ you, now?’

  I shook my head, heart thumping.

  ‘Oh, well, she’ll likely have been on the half eleven, or coming on the four o’clock.’

  I wished I had a copy of the timetable. ‘I didn’t think there’d be any ferries on a Sunday.’ Under the table, Gavin’s knee pressed against mine. I took it as a warning.

  ‘Oh, yea,’ she said, ‘there are five, though you have to book the first and last, or it doesn’t run. Seven thirty-five, eleven-thirty and four, like I said, and then seven thirty-five and nine-forty at night, so if you want to jump ship you’ve got several chances.’ I laughed, disclaimed and didn’t ask any more. She smiled, then looked round the table. ‘Now, what are you all decided?’

  Gavin went for the crumble; I ordered sticky toffee. When she moved on to the next table, I took the opportunity to excuse myself. I hurried to the porch and looked out, but the road running down into Houbie was empty. The person could have gone into the Interpretative Centre, or into any of the houses, or continued along towards the ferry. Four o’clock; time to catch them if Gavin thought we should.

  When I returned to the table, Alain leant across me to Gavin. ‘Are you taking part in the big competition?’ He glanced at me. ‘I’m not bothering to ask Cass if she is. Anyone less chess-minded …’

  Another giveaway; he couldn’t know that if we’d really only met three days ago. I didn’t react, though I suspected the times I’d beaten him at Scrabble were written clearly on my brow.

  ‘I thought I’d try it,’ Gavin said. ‘I’ve never played before.’

  ‘It’s very simple,’ Alain said. He didn’t quite make the words an insult, but ‘even for you’ was hovering in the background.

  Gavin gave no sign of having heard the provocation. ‘Good,’ he replied. He turned his head to look Alain squarely in the eye. ‘Are you playing too?’

  ‘Sure. May the best man win.’

  He wasn’t rattling Gavin, but I could feel my own temper rising. I slipped my arm through Gavin’s and smiled up at him. ‘Watch out. Lucky in love …’

  Alain scowled. ‘There’s no luck involved in hnefatafl. It’s just out-thinking your opponent.’

  Mercifully, the plates of pudding arrived at that moment. The sticky toffee pudding was a square of ginger sponge with a glazed fudge top, a generous dollop of caramel sauce, and an extra pour of cream. There was a saucer of cream for Cat, who polished it off in two seconds flat, then set to washing his whiskers with the air of a cat who sent his compliments to the chef. The sponge was most beautifully sticky, and when I’d finished it, Cat and I were at one in approving. Then came tea or coffee, and the morning’s walk had made me thirsty enough to drink two mugfuls of best Shetland tea, mahogany dark from having been stood on a hot ring to brew.

  Behind me, there was clattering of chair-legs on floor, and that preparatory chattering as people rose and headed out into the bright day again.

  Gavin set his mug down. ‘Half past two it starts, doesn’t it? Do you fancy a quick walk down to Gord? That was the other dig the Time Team did, just by the shop.’

  ‘The Viking house?’ Alain said. ‘I’d like a look at that too.’

  I turned the blackest of glares o
n him. ‘I’ll tell you where it is, when we get back.’

  He raised both hands in a fending-off gesture and leant back against his chair, laughing. I wanted to shake him. He was giving Gavin a totally unwarranted impression of intimacy between us. I didn’t know how I could explain it without explaining who he was, and I didn’t see how I could do that until I knew what he was up to. New loyalties, old loyalties, they were tugging different ways.

  The captain rose, making our table free to go. Cat had found himself a windowsill to sit on; I gave his lead to Agnetha, in case he got restless, and Gavin and I strolled back down the road towards the pier.

  ‘So,’ Gavin said, once we were safely clear of the hall, and I braced myself for questions about Alain – but they didn’t come. He looked as if he’d dismissed the whole thing from his mind. ‘A ten-minute stroll to Gord, a look, ten minutes back. That should clear our heads for intense mental competition.’

  ‘Have you ever played?’

  ‘One game with one of your trainees on the way here. I get the gist, though I can see keen players would evolve complicated strategies.’ His arm came up around my shoulders in a brief hug. ‘It’ll be fine.’

  I understood what he wasn’t saying. He knew there was something going on, but he trusted me. I hooked my hand up to take his and leant my head against his shoulder, then we separated again and walked on.

  The original shop would have been near the pier, of course, because goods came by sea. There was a new shop now, five minutes’ walk up the road. It was low and wide, with a roof like an agricultural shed. The house next door was labelled GORD B & B. Someone was watching us from a downstairs window; the owner, no doubt, checking that we stayed on the paths and didn’t damage her flowerbeds. I sympathised. It must be annoying having a TV-famous archaeological site in your garden. There was a curtain-twitcher upstairs too, a dark woman who was busy washing her hair in a sink at the bathroom window; I saw the wet drip of it as she raised her head, wrapped a towel round, then spotted us and drew the curtains against us. Dark … the woman I’d seen talking to Alain had had dark, glossy hair, and the person with the yellow jacket under one arm had come this way. But Daniel had been looking for someone at the camping böd. I shook the thought away.