Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

  ‘Yes, he gave some to members of the family, and shared a few with his friends here. My mum kept hers, and passed them on to my brother and me.’

  ‘They have sentimental value, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve heard that a bottle or two occasionally appear on the market, and buyers are prepared to pay a lot of money for them, but I would never sell mine.’

  ‘Have you never been tempted to drink it?’ Kirsty asked, with a smile.

  ‘Only when I’ve had too much to drink already,’ Charlie said, a twinkle in his eye. ‘But I’ve never given in to the temptation.’

  Now that she knew how much they meant to Charlie, Kirsty searched for an answer to the bottles’ disappearance.

  ‘Maybe the diver…’ she said.

  ‘Diver? What diver?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t told you about the diver yet. While you were away, I had a visit from a young man. He told me he was attending a course at the Diving Centre over in Lochaline.’

  ‘A lot seems to have happened while we were away. It was only for a few days. You can’t turn your back for a minute in this business,’ Elsa said.

  ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that unkindly, Kirsty. It’s just that people seem to think that living on an island is all about peace and quiet–boredom even–but there’s never a dull minute here. Anyway, back to this diver.’

  Kirsty told them about her night-time encounter with Finn, and Amy’s arrival to give her moral support.

  ‘We both agreed he was harmless, and it was only after he’d gone that Amy noticed the whisky was missing.’

  ‘So he left with some spoils from a wreck?’ Charlie asked, his tone bitter.

  ‘I’m not saying that. He went to Iona the next day, and called in on his way back. He really was a very pleasant man, and didn’t look the sort of person who would steal someone’s property. It occurred to me afterwards that we could always check up on his credentials by getting in touch with the Dive Centre.’

  ‘Well, we certainly have a mystery here, but in the meantime, I must go into the kitchen to start preparing lunch.’ Elsa didn’t seem unduly concerned about the bottles of whisky, no matter how precious they were to her husband. Perhaps their theft didn’t rate too highly in her list of priorities.

  ‘I’m really sorry this has happened, Charlie. I feel responsible,’ Kirsty said.

  Charlie got up from his seat and briefly kissed the top of her head. ‘None of it’s your fault, lass. I’m the one who’s sorry you’ve had to deal with it. Especially when you had the storm to contend with, too. Let’s go out and see if there’s any damage to the property.’

  In spite of his reassurance, Kirsty could see that Charlie’s day had lost its lustre since he discovered that his precious whisky was missing.

  Chapter 24

  Around midday, when Elsa and Kirsty were serving lunch to customers, Duncan Morrison arrived at Lochside, looking uncharacteristically windblown, his wisps of white hair easy prey for the fresh breeze. Known locally as The Colonel, he had made the Isle of Mull his home since retiring from the army thirty years before, and he was popular with the islanders. Although he would never be considered a Mulleach–a man needed to be born on the island for that–he was readily accepted as a valued contributor to community life in the Ross of Mull.

  ‘Hello, Duncan. You look as if you’re the bearer of bad news,’ Elsa said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, but I’ve come to let you know that we’re organising a search party. No-one has seen Mary Benview since the storm, and we’re all beginning to worry about her.’

  ‘I can help,’ Charlie said.

  ‘You certainly cannot!’ Elsa was indignant at the mere suggestion.

  ‘Elsa, I think it would be a good idea for you to stay here and pin Charlie down, but I wanted to ask you if you would provide hot drinks and snacks for the searchers?’

  There was no doubt about who was organising the search. Duncan’s army training was finding a new outlet.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Kirsty said. ‘Give me a minute till I put my boots on.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d volunteer, Kirsty. We need all the young folk we can get.’

  Ten minutes later, equipped for what might lie ahead, Kirsty followed Duncan out of Lochside. The wind, having died down after the big storm, was beginning to whip up again. As yet, there was no rain, but Duncan had listened to the weather report.

  ‘Unless we find her quickly, we could all be drenched before the day’s out. Heavy rain is forecast for the area within the next couple of hours,’ he explained.

  ‘I hope she’s not out somewhere with no shelter,’ Kirsty said. ‘There’s a chill in that wind, and she can’t be the robust woman she was ten years ago.’

  ‘Oh, don’t underestimate the strength and endurance of Mary Benview. I sometimes go walking with her, and she has more stamina than a woman half her age. She hasn’t been softened by living a protected life. She never lights a fire in that house of hers, and I’ve yet to see her put a hat on to protect her head.’

  ‘She must get soaked when she goes out.’

  ‘She has a big oily raincoat. I think it belonged to one of her brothers, but she refuses to part with it. I once offered her a coat my niece left behind after a visit to Mull, but she refused to accept it. “I have a fine coat of my own, thank you,” she told me.’

  When Duncan and Kirsty met up with the other volunteers who had gathered to search for Mary, she recognised most of them, but there were a few who must be newcomers to the area. Amy and Sandy were there, as well as some of the others from Kirsty’s teenage group. They greeted each other, but it was a joyless reunion, all of them clearly aware of the task ahead. Would they find Mary Benview before the weather closed in?

  Duncan made full use of his height–he was over six feet tall–to command attention. In spite of the anxiety about Mary, he looked as if he was enjoying being in charge.

  ‘Right. Listen up, people. We’ll fan out and walk over from here in a westerly direction. Don’t wander off on your own. You’re no good to anyone if you break a leg. In fact, you’re a straightforward liability. If you think you see Mary, get a message to me. Remember, you may not have a signal on your mobile phone, so we have to make contact by word of mouth. This is the area where Mary walked most days, but she may have lost her way in the storm. Good luck.’

  Kirsty moved over to join Amy and Sandy, who were surprised to see her.

  ‘I thought you would be helping Elsa to keep the home fires burning,’ Amy said. ‘Making tea and buns for everyone. Here, walk beside us.’

  ‘No, Duncan reckons he can make use of what he calls young folk,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘He’s organising this like a military operation. I do hope we find her.’ Amy chewed her lip, her face betraying her concerns for Mary.

  Sandy put his worries into words. ‘If we find her, there’s no telling what state she’ll be in after two nights out in the weather we’ve had. It’s been really cold overnight, not to mention the wind chill factor.’

  ‘Oh, Mary’s a tough old bird,’ Amy said. ‘This wouldn’t be the first time she’s wandered over the moors in the middle of the night. We’ve even joked about her having an assignation with the devil at times. So far, she’s come to no harm.’

  No-one responded to Amy’s words. Was each of them thinking that the weather conditions this time might have overcome Mary Benview?

  As they progressed across the moorland, conversation dwindled. They concentrated on making sure they kept their footing on the rough terrain: rocks made slippery by the recent rain and tough roots of heather lying in wait to trip them up.

  At one point, there was a call from someone at the far end of the line. Everyone smiled, their hopes raised, only to be dashed a few minutes later when it turned out the sighting was a small sail which must have been blown there by the winds.

  ‘Someone’s going to have to replace a sail on his boat,’ Am
y said.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be happy if that’s the only damage to his craft,’ Sandy said. ‘The Bull Hole offers good, sheltered anchorage for boats, but in that storm, there’s no saying what could happen.’

  ‘Boats can be repaired more easily than people. If we find Mary, she could be injured,’ Kirsty said. From the expressions on their faces, she had the impression the others were focusing on worse possibilities.

  They trudged on, heads lowered against the gusty wind. In spite of the long twilight in this part of Scotland, after several hours, light was beginning to fade, as were the hopes of the band of searchers. Mercifully, the rain that had been forecast had not yet reached them.

  ‘STOP!’ Duncan’s shout rang out, his voice strong enough to carry from one end of the line to the other. Kirsty thought he was planning to call off their search for the night, and a feeling of hopelessness ran through her tired body.

  ‘There’s a dog barking. Can you hear it?’

  It was like an injection of adrenaline. The group was silent as they all listened. There it was again–faint, but unmistakably the sound of a dog.

  ‘It’s coming from over there,’ Duncan said, pointing to some rocks about a hundred yards away.’

  ‘Sandy, Kirsty, you come with me. The rest of you stay here. If we need help, we’ll shout.’

  When they reached the rocks, the dog’s bark had changed to a whine.

  ‘Over here!’ Kirsty shouted, shining her torch into a hollow where there was some protection from the wind. ‘And you must be Bess.’

  The dog sat expectantly, gazing up at her with soulful eyes. There was a slight movement from her tail when Kirsty leant down to stroke her. ‘Oh, Bess, your coat’s soaked through. What are you doing here in this weather?’

  A few words from Duncan gave her the answer to her question. ‘We’ve found Mary.’

  ‘Is she… is she hurt?’ Kirsty left Bess to move further into the hollow, where Mary Benview was lying on the ground, her oily jacket curled round her.

  ‘She’s alive,’ Sandy said. ‘There’s a pulse, but it’s very weak.’

  It was a grim gathering at Lochside that night. Elsa had prepared hot drinks and food, as well as drams of whisky to warm the group who had been searching for Mary.

  ‘Do you think she’ll make it?’ Elsa asked Kirsty.

  ‘Hard to say,’ she said. ‘She looked really poorly. Sandy might call us later.’

  ‘How will Sandy get home?’ Elsa asked, as she continued to move around the group, filling cups and glasses.

  ‘Amy followed with Hamish in his car. Her own car hasn’t been repaired yet.’

  Kirsty was struck–not for the first time–by the differences between services on the island and those in Glasgow and Edinburgh. In the city, people expected an immediate response to an emergency call, which might mean the difference between life and death; if a car needed repair, the driver was impatient to have the job done as quickly as possible. Living on the island meant taking life at a slower pace, but the other side of that coin was accepting the lack of immediacy when a swift response was needed.

  Her mind wandered for a moment and she thought about Amy, who had decided to abandon the city to accept life on Mull with any inconveniences that involved.

  ‘I don’t think I could do that,’ she said.

  ‘Do what?’ Elsa asked.

  Realising she had spoken aloud, Kirsty smiled. ‘Leave Glasgow and come to live on Mull permanently. I was thinking about Amy.’

  ‘Don’t you like it here?’

  ‘Yes, I love it. But I’m running away from my problems in Glasgow. It’s like a safe haven. A magic refuge from troubles, but I don’t want to live in a refuge all my life. I need the zap of the city, too.’

  ‘I felt a bit like that when Charlie first brought me here. It took me a long time to settle, but now I wouldn’t like to live anywhere else. Even when I’m in Oban–and that’s not exactly a metropolis–I can’t wait to come back home.’

  ‘What I’d like, would be to have a bolthole here, where I could come at a moment’s notice. The way I used to come to Granny’s…’

  ‘It was such a pity Flora’s house burned down. We never found out how the fire started, but I don’t think it was deliberate. We thought a group of young people had broken in and been careless–maybe smoking, or trying to light a fire. Whatever happened, by the time they discovered the flames, it was too late to save the cottage.’

  ‘I don’t think I could have lived there anyway, with all my memories of Granny. She was the one stable person in my life. No father, a mother who was never at home, child minders most of the time. But it was Granny I loved, and she was the only person who loved me. She was my rock, my anchor. I still miss her…’

  It was the first time Kirsty had spoken so openly to anyone about her upbringing. Even Adam knew little about the feelings of rejection she had suffered in her life: a father who disappeared from the scene as soon as he knew her mother was pregnant; a mother who had little time for her. Although her mother was never cruel to her, Kirsty always felt she blamed her for the fact that her father ended the relationship. Besides, her job as a travel consultant took her all over the world, and Kirsty was left in the care of a series of child minders, who, whilst they looked after her, did not show her any affection.

  Kirsty had once asked her granny why her mother never visited Mull.

  ‘It was difficult for your mum. She fell pregnant, and unmarried mothers were not well thought of here. So it was probably partly the attitude of the islanders that caused it in the first place. Then time went by, and it was convenient for your mum to send you here for the holidays. When she was away travelling with her job, she didn’t have to worry about you if you were here. And that was it. She just didn’t come back.’

  ‘Didn’t she like living here?’

  ‘She was desperate to experience the bright city lights, so she left as soon as she was old enough. Then, she got herself into trouble…’

  Kirsty could remember the wistful look in her granny’s eyes. It must have been hard for the elderly lady to accept that she had lost her only child. Especially when her own husband had died so young.

  Suddenly, Kirsty had a warm feeling inside. She had always known what her granny meant to her. Now, she realised that she had probably filled a gap in her granny’s life, making up–at least partly–for the loss of the daughter she loved.

  People were beginning to head for home. It would soon be morning, and they would hear how Mary was faring then. Elsa had no sooner closed the door on Duncan, the last person to leave, when the phone rang.

  ‘Hello, Elsa. It’s Sandy. She didn’t make it. Mary died half an hour ago.’ His voice was strong, business-like. ‘She regained consciousness for a few minutes and asked for Bess, then she died peacefully in her sleep.’

  ‘Thanks for calling, Sandy. Safe home. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ Elsa said.

  Kirsty looked at her, seeking confirmation, but she already knew the answer. Elsa simply shook her head, and walked out of the room.

  The silence was eerie after Elsa left. Sitting alone, Kirsty felt her spirits sinking ever lower. She could not rid her mind of the idea that Mary had been alone in that hollow for two nights. She must have felt as if the world had abandoned her. But she hadn’t been alone, had she? Bess had been beside her. It was Bess who had drawn attention to the fact that Mary was there.

  So where was Bess now? Kirsty hadn’t seen her since they returned to Lochside. She suddenly felt the urge to find out if, by the remotest chance, she was outside. Perhaps the dog had followed the search party back to Lochside? When Kirsty opened the door, the strengthening wind almost blew her back into the hall. Clinging onto the door handle, she looked down.

  Bess, soaked and miserable, was sitting on the doorstep.

  Chapter 25

  After a restless night, Kirsty got up early the next morning. As she moved quietly around the inn, tidying after the evening before, s
he felt as if she was carrying a lead weight around; an increasingly familiar sensation. Where was all the good news?

  Although she hadn’t known Mary Benview as well as many of the islanders, the old woman had been an occasional visitor at her granny’s house and Kirsty had always been slightly afraid of her. She was a strange woman, but Granny had always made her welcome. Once, she brought Kirsty a doll made of twigs, with scraps of brightly coloured material for her dress and pieces of washed sheep’s wool for hair.

  ‘I tried to make her hair the same colour as yours,’ she’d said to Kirsty. ‘But your hair’s much bonnier.’

  Kirsty had liked the doll, but she never took it back to Edinburgh. Secretly, she suspected her mother might not approve of the rustic nature of the doll, might even throw it away.

  Nonetheless, this was a sad day for the Ross of Mull. Mary would be missed by the entire community, including even those who barely knew her. As she had no living relatives–rumour had it that she’d had babies, but they had died–it was left to the locals to arrange the funeral. Duncan called on all the houses in the area over the next few days, asking for donations, which the islanders gave willingly. They were like one large family in times of need.

  The funeral was arranged for the following week at Suidhe Cemetery and there was no shortage of volunteers from among the men to be pall-bearers. Mary Benview would leave a lasting impression on the Ross of Mull–and, no doubt, further afield.

  * * *

  ‘I’m going to be one of the pall-bearers next week,’ Sandy told Amy when he next called to see her.

  ‘Yes, I thought you would.’ She’d have been surprised if Sandy hadn’t volunteered. ‘It’ll be strange here without her. She was always a bit of a mystery, but she was a character–led her own life, made her own rules, but never did anyone any harm. As far as I know…’

  ‘None of our generation really knew her well. She had friends among the older Mulleachs, but even they know very little about her. Duncan is going to deal with all the paperwork, thank goodness.’