by Sally Graham
As they crested the slope, Carrie looked down and saw that there was a small loch in the saddle of land between them and the next contour. In spite of the blue sky above, however, the water looked dark and unwelcoming.
“There’s bad vibes attached to this place,” Blake said. “It’s called the Black Loch. Apparently this is where wounded English soldiers were drowned after the Jacobite uprising to restore Bonnie Prince Charlie to the English throne.”
Carrie looked at the surface of dark water. “It’s eerie. And it’s quiet. I can’t hear any birds?”
“You’re right. I never spend too long here. It give me the spooks.”
Carrie took one last look at the slate black water, still as ice with barely a ripple, and followed Blake up the slope, keeping the tree line below them.
By now the cloud had lifted, and the sun was warming the air. Warmth radiated off the soft peaty ground and it wasn’t long before Carrie felt beads of sweat on her forehead. Blake didn’t talk much, pausing to point out a distant hill and orient themselves to Dundrannan.
“Why are we changing direction?” Carrie asked after half an hour’s walking, when she noticed that Blake was veering towards an outcrop of grey rock about a quarter of a mile away.
“I’ll show you when we get there - we can take a break for lunch then. I’m starving!”
Carrie was grateful for Blake’s admission. She was more tired than she thought, but she wasn’t going to show her feelings.
As they drew nearer Blake noticed that the outcrop of grey boulders was composed of three massive stones, slanted towards each other, surrounded by clumps of bracken and gorse. Romy ran ahead of them - and then suddenly disappeared.
“Where’s she gone?” Carrie asked, alarmed, as they drew nearer to the stones.
Blake slowed down, and stopped about fifteen yards from the rocks. Just then, Romy appeared from the side of the vegetation, as if by magic.
“There - d’you see?” Blake asked. “Behind the bracken.”
Carrie walked forward, and was almost on top of scrubby gorse when she saw a small dark opening behind the greenery.
“Wow - it’s a cave,” she shouted, pressing forward.
“Not a cave, exactly, but a great hiding place. And that’s what it was when highlanders who were trying to escape to Ireland after the rebellions were being pursued . Once you’re inside, you’re invisible. And look- ” Blake raised her arm and pointed down the glen. “You can see all around for miles. You can douse a fire quickly, and be invisible.”
Carrie shivered. “That loch was creepy - I don’t want to think of the suffering that has taken place in these parts. I wouldn’t like to walk here at night.” She looked around as Blake wriggled into the cave and disappeared. “What are you doing?” she called.
There was a muffled sound as Blake called back, and then a handful of wood and twigs was pushed out of the opening, followed by more branches. “I put wood in here when I was last up the hill,” Blake muttered as she emerged from the darkness and brushed herself down.”We can light a fire and brew some tea.” She smiled at Carrie, her eyes dancing against the blue sky. “You like?”
“Me like a lot,” Carrie answered, mimicking Blake’s lighthearted voice, suddenly conscious of a shift in their relationship, as if being outdoors, away from everything, had helped remove barriers that had existed around the house and the estate. She swatted a fly away.
“The heat brings them out, I’m afraid. After the rain last night the damp ground will be steamy in the sun. Flies love that. But once the fire gets going and there’s some smoke, they’ll disappear.”
“Can’t be too soon,” Carrie muttered, swatting another fly. “You’re right - it’s getting hotter.” She pulled off her jumper, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her bare arms. She glanced across at Blake who was building a neat pile of twigs and dry heather. “Aren’t you getting warm?Don’t you want to get rid of that jacket?”
Blake flushed, and went on putting the finishing touches to the fire before straightening up. “No,” she said shortly. “I’m fine.” Just then a small flame flickered, and she bent down to coax the fire higher, layering thicker pieces of wood until she was satisfied.
Carrie stretched back, torn between enjoying the peaceful beauty and silence of their surroundings, but intrigued by her companion’s changes of mood. She glanced at Blake’s reddening face by the fire. “She must be boiling in that gear,” she thought.
“You’ve thought of everything,” Carrie murmured appreciatively as Blake unwrapped fresh bread, cheese, and chocolate biscuits. “But where’s the wine?” she joked.
“I’m not having you rolling down the hill and have to carry you back to the car,” Blake replied.
Carrie paused. It was now, or never.
“C’mon - I’ve got girlfriends who would die to carry me anywhere,” she replied nonchalantly.
Blake carried went on cutting the bread as thought she didn’t hear. Then, “Did you say girlfriends?”
Carrie lay back and closed her eyes. “Ok, yes, I did. Just so you know, I like girls. That’s who I am. I’m gay.”
Somewhere she heard a buzzard’s high keening, and the sloughing of a light breeze through the clumps of long grass. Propping herself up on an elbow, she looked at Blake. “I’m sorry - maybe too much personal stuff. And we hardly know each other. Does it bother you? It’s not that big a deal. I mean- ”
‘What’s ‘gay’ got to do with it?” Blake interrupted. “You either like someone, or you don’t.”
Carrie was silent for a moment. Blake’s voice was low, and she couldn’t work out how she should respond. “I guess… I guess I’m saying that I am really attracted by the person you are,” she said carefully. “And if we were in London I would almost certainly ask you out to get to know you better.”
“And do you allow someone to say ‘No’?” Blake asked, as she poured the boiling water into the mugs to make the tea.
“Or course, but I don’t give up easily,” Carrie said lightly, taking the mug and cupping it in her hands.
They were both leaning against the lichen covered rock, side by side, looking down the glen. The sun was beating down and the wind had dropped; Carrie closed her eyes again and allowed herself to bask in the gentle heat, glad to have been able to declare what she felt.
Blake’s voice broke the silence. “I think we’re different types of people. I get the feeling that you like the chase and the conquest. I suspect you approach relationships like a banker - a deal to be won, a contract to be concluded before moving on to the next. After all, you told me you didn’t want to settle down.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Carrie answered, suddenly feeling waves of sleep assailing her, trying to fight the desire to nod off and let her body have its way.
“I’m not into one-night stands, if that’s what you mean.”
Blake’s voice sounded as though it was coming from further up the glen, and Carrie suddenly jerked her head up. “Shit - I’m sorry - how rude - I’m afraid being here has really hacked my sleeping pattern. And the fresh air is hitting me too, I guess.” She turned to Blake. “I can’t apologise for my sex life - I know it must sound tawdry but it isn’t, you know. I’m honest with people I sleep with. I’m always upfront about it being fun, not serious.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Jeez - that’s the biggest yawn yet.”
“Take a nap,” Blake said. “There’s no rush. I’ll give you half an hour and then we can make a move.”
She watched Carrie nod her head gratefully, and then almost immediately she sagged against the rock, her body sloping towards Blake.
Blake stretched her legs and looked across the firth. Her heart was pounding unexpectedly after Carrie’s unexpected openness. She knew that she could never have been so upfront about her feelings with anyone. She did find Carrie attractive - something stirred in her that had been dormant for a long, long time. But she didn’t know if she wanted to go there.
Just then
Carrie’s head sank gently against Blake’s shoulder. The shepherd didn’t move, but let Carrie go on resting against her and she flicked away a fly that was buzzing around both of them, accidentally stroking Carrie’s hair.
In sleep Carrie’s features were relaxed, and, somehow, the real woman behind the aggressive banker was revealed. Someone who looked vulnerable, and needy.
Carrie’s head fell more heavily against Blake’s shoulder and her breathing was now deeply regular. Blake felt curiously at ease, happy to bear the weight of her strange companion. A skylark sang high overhead, and the drowsy stillness matched Carrie’s breathing. It was strange, Blake felt, that Carrie was sleeping next to her, even if it was not in exactly the carnal way that she might have hoped for.
Just then Romy came bounding up and Carrie woke with a start. “Oh God - I fell asleep right on top of you. I’m sorry,” she exclaimed to Blake as she pushed herself up again. “I just crashed.”
“You needed to. But I might have shifted position anyway as you started to dribble!”
“Oh no - ” Carrie began, but then caught Blake’s expression. “You’re lying, aren’t you? That would have been so embarrassing!”
Blake straightened her legs and stood up. “We’d better be heading back,” she said. “But at least we’ll be going downhill.”
To Carrie’s surprise, Blake slipped her arm through Carrie’s as they walked across the level ground before having to separate as the ground got steeper.
“Friends?” she asked mischievously.
“Maybe,” Blake answered enigmatically. “But don’t think I’m going to be one of your conquests, because I’m not.”
Just then Romy appeared from behind a clump of heather and began barking furiously.
Carrie watched Blake whistle and call to Romy as the sheep dog worked a small flock of sheep they were approaching, separating the lambs from their mothers. “I want to check one of those ewes,” she explained. “She’s been a good mother, but I’m worried she’s getting old.”
“How can you tell?” Carrie asked,
At that moment Romy corralled one of the sheep away from the rest and watched it carefully, turning to Blake to check what to do next. “Hold,” Blake shouted, and they both walked across the rough grass to where the ewe watched them anxiously, its coat still heavy with the previous night’s rain. Blake collared the sheep in one swift moment, lifting it up and straddling it between her legs, and pulled its mouth open. Carrie tried to see what was going on as Blake felt around the sheep’s jaw.
“As she sheep gets older, the teeth get longer and start to weaken. They get gaps between them, until eventually they become wobbly and fall out.” She held the sheep’s mouth open “Here, take a look. See what I mean?”
Carrie leaned closer, nervous that the animal might bite her. “Don’t worry, I’ve got her firm,” Blake said, sensing her anxiety. “You can run your finger along the gum, like I was doing.”
“If the office could could see me now,” Carrie murmured, as she leaned over the sheep who was still motionless between Blake’s legs and slid her finger nervously into the sheep’s mouth. It felt warm and sticky as Carrie moved her finger along the sheep’s gum. “I see what you mean. She’s a bit gappy, isn’t she?” she said. “So what happens?”
Blake lowered the ewe to the ground and let her go. The sheep trotted off, its face an expression of outrage at her treatment. “They can actually graze with no teeth at all,” she explained, “but there comes a stage when they can’t eat properly anymore and they struggle and lose condition.” Blake whistled to Romy and they walked back down the hill to where they had parked the bike. “When they get like that we call them 'broken mouthed’. It’s not fair to let them go on through a winter, so they are sold for meat because their ability to feed themselves and produce lambs has gone.”
Carrie was silent and kicked a pebble with her boot. “Nature red in tooth and claw?”
“It can seem like that. But better than being savaged by a fox when she’s old and defenceless or have her eyes pecked out by the crows, don’t you think?”
Carrie pondered this as she climbed back on to the bike. Since she had arrived at Dundrannan she felt she had entered an environment which moved entirely differently to the rhythm of finance and deal-making she was used to. The seasons, the weather, the natural cycle of birth and death, the production of food and fleece and forestry - it seemed a world away from the impersonal cut and thrust of corporate finance.
Blake reversed the bike and drove slowly down the glen. She hadn’t expected Carrie to go ahead and feel inside the sheep’s mouth; most people who didn’t work around animals would have recoiled or been frightened, but the banker hadn’t flinched. And Blake knew that Carrie had been genuine in her delight when they surprised the deer in the woods.
She slowly rejoined the rough track and as she picked up speed, Blake felt Carrie’s arms around her waist. Suddenly, inexplicably, she felt there was a real person, someone she might even enjoy getting to know, sitting behind her.
Chapter 11
Blake dropped Carrie off at her car, and drove back to the bothy as a steady drizzle began to fall. The quad slithered in muddy puddles and she was glad to push her front door shut against the wind. Her blonde hair was plastered against her head in spite of her woollen cap and the rain had found its way through the layers of clothing she thought would protect her.
Romy pushed past her, and they both stood in the porch of the bothy which was littered with boots, wet weather kit, walking sticks, shepherds’ crooks, twine, sheep medicines and the other detritus of shepherding life.
Peeling off her outer garments so as not to bring water into her house, she towelled Romy down. “Yes - your supper is coming,” she murmured, rubbing the dog’s forelegs and pulling a thistle out her coat.
It was dark by the time Blake had lit the fire, showered, completed the paperwork she needed to prepare before the sheep market the following week, made supper, and finally sank on to her couch in front of the roaring flames.
She normally didn’t allow Romy into the house as she was a working dog and had her own kennel outside, but she had done good work up the glen and deserved a treat. As if reading her thoughts, Romy looked at her with a knowing eye before jumping nimbly onto the space beside Blake and began to nuzzle her wrist, and then lick her bare arm affectionately.
Blake sat back drowsily, enjoying the heat and warmth of the fire, the unexpectedly enjoyable hike with Carrie, and the companionship of the sheepdog. She glanced down as the dog licked her, the pink tongue flicking over the small ridged scars on her arm.
She brushed her away and instinctively pulled the shirt sleeve down, but then paused. With a start, she knew that Romy loved her as dogs do, unconditionally, whatever she might think of herself. Her scars didn’t matter to the sheepdog at all. What was it her therapist had said in one of their last conversations before she left New Zealand?
“You know, Blake? When you look at your arms, you only see those scars and what they mean to you. But there’s someone out there who is going to look at your arms, and see someone they love. They won’t even notice them.”
Blake suddenly felt wide awake, her body charged with an energy that belied the arduous hours working the sheep high up the glens. Slowly and deliberately, she rolled up both her sleeves, and looked from one arm to the other, as if she saw for the first time the fragile beauty of the thin skeins of lighter skin. They had metamorphosed, mysteriously, from marks of self shame into a symbol of strength, and independence.
Other people have inkings and tattoos, she thought suddenly. I have my scars. To hell with it!
She leaned over and hugged Romy. “You don’t know what you’ve just done for me, honey,” she whispered into the sheepdog’s silky ear. “You don’t even notice those marks on my arm. They don’t mean a thing to you, do they?They’re just me. And you love me, don’t you?”
Romy raised a paw and laid it on Blake’s arm, something she al
ways did when they were alone outdoors, resting on the hill or in a glen after working the sheep, and growled softly, her tail thumping furiously.
A charred log fell in the fire, sending vermillion sparks up the chimney and Blake gazed into the glowing embers. On an impulse, she checked her watch. Christchurch was thirteen hours ahead. If she was lucky, she might catch Dr. Williams before she saw her first patient of the day.
“Why, Blake, what a pleasure. No, I can talk. But I’m seeing someone in about ten minutes. How are you? How are things? It’s been some time since I heard from you.”
Hearing Dr.Williams’ calm voice immediately took Blake back to the consulting room - the psychiatrist’s tidy desk, the photograph of Aoraki peak on one wall, the filing cabinet with the small bristly cactus on the top.
“Things are fine,” she began, feeling awkward, and wondering what she wanted to say.
“What’s on your mind, Blake? We know each other well enough for you to jump into the deep end of the pool.”
Blake smiled to hear the familiar metaphor, and took a breath.
“I think I’m over my hang-ups about my scars. I - ! don’t think I’m going to feel bad anymore if someone sees them.”
“That’s great news, Blake. I knew that would happen. But I didn’t know when. You mentioned ‘someone’ - do you have anyone in mind?”
Blake always found that Caroline Williams picked up every nuance of what she said, and held it up to the light, inviting her to go further.
“It’s hard to say. In fact, there’s a lot about her I don’t like.”
“Such as?”
“She’s a banker. Successful. Ambitious. And…. she likes me. Which makes me scared.”
“But what about you? Do you like her?” The doctor’s voice was reassuring.
“I - I think so. But I may have put her off. And I’m not sure.”