Out of the Mist

by Lynne Chitty

  OUT OF THE MIST

  Lynne Chitty

  Copyright © 2018 Lynne Chitty

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

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  ISBN 9781789010831

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For my family and friends with love and gratitude

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ONE

  ELIZA

  Never had Eliza felt so lonely and so lost. Surrounded by the Isle of Skye’s infinite beauty and with the gentle waves lapping at her feet she should have felt the joy of being alive pulse through her body. Instead, had tears been willing to come she would have wept enough to bring the waves up and over the small pier that was home to three scruffy fishing boats. Tears though had abandoned her a long time ago leaving in their wake an ache and a desolation that threatened to overwhelm and erode her of all she had once been. Steadily eating away at the very marrow of her surviving. Even robbing her of the energy she needed to get up from the rock on which she had been sitting. Making her way back to the hotel where she was staying would take all her strength. An overcoming of the pointlessness of existence that was slowly choking her quite simply seemed impossible.

  She had always dreamed of visiting Skye, ‘An t-Eilean’ in Gaelic. The trip had sat proudly on top of her bucket list for over twenty years, ever since she had seen a photograph in a magazine at the hairdressers where her mum had her usual wash and blow dry. The Cuillin mountains had whispered to her from the tatty pages and now aged forty six she had finally answered their call, taking the train from Gloucester to Kyle of Lochaish, via Edinburgh and Inverness. Then catching a single decker bus which took her across the Skye Bridge onto the island that felt like home. Until she got there.

  A phone call as she stepped off the bus had drained her of everything that mattered.

  He was back.

  He had been released and was heading home.

  He should have served twenty years. Instead seven years, and one hundred and forty one days later he was back in the lives he had so brutally trashed.

  MARCUS

  Marcus slammed the door behind him. “I’m home!” he called out laughing, knowing no-one would be pleased, but not caring. He owned the house, so dammit he would live in it. He knew there would be no open arms, no big hugs, but he had long ago decided to live life on his terms. His way. If there were casualties well so be it. Life was too short to be bothered with the trite little feelings of others. If you wanted it you took it. If you were afraid you didn’t show it. If you got caught you got on with it, served your time and remoulded the pieces of your life on release. It was a good philosophy he thought. Self taught as well. Perhaps he should write a book!

  His mother lay in her bed as she always did these days. He bent down, hesitated and then kissed her, shocked momentarily at how much she had aged and at how little light there was left in her eyes. He thought he saw a flicker of recognition as she looked up at him. Fleeting though as she refocussed on the floral wallpaper which was as faded and as it was dated. Maybe he would decorate her room for her. Get him back into the swing of things before he lined up a few jobs and caught up with a few mates. The ones that weren’t inside anyway. He checked his own room. Good, just as he had left it. Funny how big it seemed after the cell he had been in. He opened the window and breathed in the fresh air, shivering slightly then he headed back down the stairs and out again.

  EDITH

  Was she dreaming? She hardly knew these days or these nights whichever they were. Pain and a sort of vagueness that crept up on her like mist at sea had left her bereft of all but doubts and demons. Heavy boots coming up the stairs jolted her into reality.

  He was back then. Back home. Back in her life.

  She was not quite sure how long he had been away but knew that the silence of his absence had been a precious gift that she savoured every time her mind embraced a moment of clarity. He still smelt the same. His voice was as rough as it had always been and as he bent to kiss her if she could have moved with any sort of speed, she would have pulled away. As it was she had to endure the coarseness of his beard scratching her face like well used sandpaper. He seemed pleased with himself and filled the room as he always did with a sense of foreboding and darkness she had never learned to live with. Maybe it was better that she was as she was. A cup of tea once in a while would be all he managed and if he didn’t help her with it, it would just sit and go cold on the side. She smiled, inside at least. A cold cup of tea. How like one of those she was. What brand would she be she wondered and tried to remember all the makes of tea she had ever drunk… Yorkshire, Earl Grey, Co-Op’s own and oh yes she would be a cup of Tetley’s. Those jolly little cartoon men in the advert were fun weren’t they! She went to laugh then fought back the tears that threatened to spill over and dribble down her face. It was a long time since anything like laughter had echoed around their house. Only taunts and threats and violence. Edith shuddered.

  TWO

  ELIZA

  Eliza had hoped to have more time. She had hoped her mother would have been freed from the indignity of her condition. She had hoped he would go somewhere else. But like so many hopes their seeds never parted the soil. Or if they did, they were crushed by uncaring boots. There was a parable about seeds somewhere in the Gospels maybe she should look it up. Maybe…

  Maybe was another word that she used a lot. It was code for never. Like hope was really synonymous with disappointment. She tried to remember when it was she had become so cynical and lost her belief in life. When had she given up on herself and God and whoever else there might be out there? The memory came storming back. The day, the date, the time almost doubling her over with its vehemence. She hadn’t forgotten. Just buried the images as deep as she could. They never stayed in their tomb though. No one and nothing was strong enough to restrain them. They broke every chain she bound them with, gathering momentum like a ghastly hurricane as they tore through her afresh. She was beaten. She had tried to fight back as she had done the night it had happened. It was no good though. The memory had won.

  MARCUS

  Marcus had hoped to get out sooner but a c
ombination of good behaviour and an avoidance of trouble had eventually convinced the powers that be that he was safe to send home. Maybe not the Full Monty of a reformed character but with his anger under control and a coping mechanism inculculated for life beyond his cell, there was hope. He hadn’t always been this way. As a boy he had loved to keep rabbits, loved to see them prick up their ears and twitch their noses as he brought them the carrot tops Fred Rimmer gave him from his allotment. He’d like Fred. A bit slow maybe but great with his hands and anything to do with vegetables and flowers. Not like his dad who wouldn’t have known a parsnip if it had hit him on the backside. Still, he shouldn’t knock his old dad. He might not have lived life strictly by the rule book but he had put the house in Marcus’ name before he died and left him his Harley Davidson too which had made him the envy of all his peers and some of his elders. It was quite neat really that his dad had died young when Marcus was only eighteen. Made him the man of the house and gave him a career and some boots to step into. Sometimes death came conveniently soon. Not for his mum though. Served her right really he thought. Miserable old cow. Don’t know what his dad had seen in her. Felt sorry for her a bit but not much. No not much. She shouldn’t have got in the way. It was her own fault. Course it was.

  EDITH

  Edith heard the door slam and unclenched her fists which she realised she had curled into a tight ball as soon as she had heard his voice. The carer would be here soon. At least she thought she would. Clara wasn’t it in the evenings or was it Lara? Social services would probably review things now Marcus was back. Maybe she could go into a home and have pretty things around her and people to talk to and maybe even a television again. She wondered if Bruce Forsyth was still alive and whether Coronation Street was still on. Wouldn’t she just love to get out of her bed and walk down to the Rovers Return if it was still called that and order a G & T and a packet of crisps. She tried to cut off her thoughts Where were they all coming from? She hadn’t thought of anything for years or had she and forgotten? Exhausted from trying to remember she closed her eyes. Sometimes darkness was best. Except even in the darkness the pain in her fragile bones broke through and the leg they had taken nearly eight years ago still throbbed.

  THREE

  ELIZA

  “Are you here for the half marathon?”

  “I’m sorry.” Eiza looked round startled by the mans voice coming from behind her, instantly regretting the decision to go over to the restaurant for a light supper. It had been a two fingers up gesture to the depression that had been seeping into her bones like the mist around the harbour. Now as the familiar exhaustion reclaimed the energy she had mustered, it felt reckless.

  “Its the Skye Half Marathon in Portree on Saturday” he continued “and I wondered if you were here for that. Sorry if I made you jump.”

  Eliza looked at the man who had spoken and was surprised to see that he was much older than the voice had suggested. Steely grey hair and a well worn face gazed back at her expectantly through wire rimmed glasses. From the tracksuit he was wearing she assumed he was running the Half Marathon himself, although she wondered whether thirteen point one miles or whatever it was might not be a bit too much for him, though he was lean enough.

  “No I’m not, sorry.” she replied annoyed that she should have to apologise to someone she didn’t know about something she wasn’t interested in.

  “No need to apologise.” he said brightly. “Not everyones cup of tea. Love running myself, but can see how it can seem a bit mad if you haven’t got the bug. My name’s Pete by the way. Pete Hardy.” He held out a hand for her to shake which she managed to do before blurting out

  “I’m Eliza”

  “Well Eliza I’ll leave you in peace and hope you enjoy your meal. Food’s excellent here. I come back every year.”

  Eliza heaved a huge sigh of relief that he hadn’t insisted on joining her at the corner table by the window she had found. Then she felt instantly guilty and ungrateful, not to mention rather stupid. Why would he want to join her? She looked up in between studying the menu and saw that he was sharing a table with two younger women and a man. They all looked like they could be runners and were probably swapping training stories or tactics or whatever it was that runners talked about. For one horrible moment a huge wave of self pity threatened to swamp her. Struggling with a lump in her throat she ordered a feta salad, which she ate far too quickly to taste, before slipping back to her room, wishing she had the wings of the gull she had seen take off from the jetty. Where she would fly to though she didn’t know.

  MARCUS

  “You’re back then” a man in grey trousers and white shirt said as Marcus opened the door of the bookies.

  “Seems like it” smiled Marcus as the betting shop manager came out from behind the counter to shake his hand. Marcus and Pat had an agreement that suited them both very well. No questions were asked and no harm came to the manager or his shop. In truth Pat had slept better while Marcus had been away but profits had gone down. A fact which his area manager never ceased to remind him of whenever he called in to check on things. So although he was surprised to see the big man back so soon, he wasn’t altogether disappointed. A good summers takings might see him in line for a bonus.Which on top of the gifts Marcus threw his way once in a while could mean a holiday in Corfu rather than Cornwall. His wife might even stop moaning for once. Miracles did happen!

  An hour later and thanks to a greyhound called Morning Glory, Marcus was £200 better off. She was in trap one and in her bright red coat she had led all the way as his contact had said she would. He had told a few blokes trap two was the one to back so the betting shop had done ok too. ‘Nearly There’ had manfully or doggedly should he say hung on to second place but as most blokes didn’t back each way it wasn’t enough for them to claim anything back. Marcus had made a big show of cursing and throwing his betting slip across the shop. Leading Pat to say he had missed his vocation and should be in Hollywood. He would have to give the punters a couple of winners in the next day or two but for now all was well in Marcus’ world. There was nowhere else he would rather be.

  EDITH

  “Spoke to your son this morning” the carer said brightly as she helped Edith to the commode. “that must be nice for you having him back ” Must it thought Edith Must it? She had always promised herself she wouldn’t be bitter. But despite her best efforts bitternesses’s oily presence had wormed its way into her insides and as soon as she had opened her eyes it had pounced. She didn’t want him back. She didn’t want him anywhere. Yes he’d been polite to her, and was out more than he was in. Yet still he filled the house. Every crevice, every corner. When he was out the silence deafened her and the waiting for the door to open again tormented her mind. Especially as she barely knew how long had passed. She had long since given up looking at her watch and she rarely listened to the radio. They were just cruel reminders of a world to which she no longer belonged.

  Good manners were hard to defy though and she found herself meekly mumbling something pleasant to the cheery middle aged woman who was kindly brushing her hair. Though why she bothered Edith didn’t know.

  FOUR

  ELIZA

  Sleep had eluded her and as she tossed and turned, wide awake and as restless as the wind and sea outside her window, she had sunk deeper and deeper into a mire of despair from which she felt she would never escape. It was only four o’clock but reluctantly she got out of the bed which lay defeated as if an army of children had jumped up and down on it all night and looked in the mirror. She saw that she had aged. Within twenty four hours of hearing of Marcus’ release the old haunted look had crept back into her eyes. She looked sixty. It wasn’t fair she found herself saying to herself, Remembering how she had screamed those words at her mother everytime Marcus had ruined her games with his tantrums and temper. Sickness in the pit of her stomach robbed her of any appetite and a reluctance to face anyone threatened to keep her away from the restaurant and breakfast. But after
a coffee which she sipped whilst looking out through the window at the sea filled darkness that gradually became light and a long hot bath. She mustered some courage and wrapping herself in her coat walked the short way across the gravelled courtyard to the main hotel. She was staying at the nineteenth century hotel Eilean Iarmain in Sleat. The blurb she had read on the internet had called it ‘A place to linger’ It sounded perfect and she hadn’t been disappointed. Eilean Iarmain had once been the busiest port in the south of Skye, with puffers coming in to the old stone pier and although those times were long gone, it more than lived up to its reputation. Everything about it, the setting, the atmosphere, the décor, all spoke of a place at peace with itself.

  It was barely eight but the dining room was full and a genial buzz greeted her. Pete waved as he saw her enter and to her horror got up from his table. She was about to flee when she saw that he was merely going to grab some more fruit juice from the beautifully laid out buffet table at the side of the room. Even so, the man seemed incapable of not being friendly or cheerful and made his way over to her.

  “Sleep alright?”

  “Not really” she mumbled “You?”

  “I always sleep well here” he said and to her intense irritation she found herself envying everything about him. His ease, his contentment. Even the fact that he was running a beast of a race in two days time.

  “I recommend the porridge” he said. “They don’t put puffins in it any more either” he joked.

  “Puffins?” She said confused and once again exhausted.