Out of the Mist

by Lynne Chitty

  Before the ending of the day.

  Creator of the world we pray.

  That with thy wanted favour thou.

  Would be our guard and keeper now.

  From all ill dreams defend our eyes.

  From nightly fears and fantasies.

  Tread underfoot our ghostly foe.

  That no pollution we may know.

  O Father that we ask be done.

  Through Jesus Christ thy only Son.

  Who with the Holy Ghost and thee.

  Doth live and reign eternally.

  Tears coursed down her face.Though what the tears were trying to say, she didn’t know.

  NINE

  ELIZA

  Sitting in the sun in Armadale gardens.Eliza closed her eyes and listened to the birds. Did they sing for the sheer joy of being alive she wondered? If so in that second she would join them.

  She hadn’t at all meant to go. Once back in her room, she had slumped on the bed feeling a total failure and wishing she could evaporate like the morning mist . A knock on the door had halted her spiralling thoughts and the young couple who serviced the rooms stood there smiling.

  “We can come back the girl” said in her broken English, apologetic and cheerful at the same time.

  “No no it’s alright” Eliza grabbed her coat and bag and left them to the room she no longer had any desire to stay in. Skye, which had been occupied since the Mesolithic period and which for a time had been ruled by the Norse only had a population of just over ten thousand people. So why couldn’t she get any peace? There were only supposed to be 6.04 people per square kilometre but wherever she went people found her. She felt trapped even here where the mountains and lochs spoke the language of solitude. They lied.

  It had been dreadful timing. Just as she had walked out of the hotel across the car park the group were gathering for their outing. Pete waved and came over

  “So glad you decided to come” he said with such sincerity and enthusiasm it seemed easier to get on the wretched mini bus with all the wretched runners than to try and explain she just wanted to be on her own. Was that really too much to ask?

  In spite of her grumpiness and doing her best not to catch the eye of any of the others, she found herself gazing out of the mini bus window with a sense of awe. The barreness of the road made it look like a desert. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see camels appear in the distance. You could go mad she thought looking at that day after day. Yet it was beautiful. Not a blade of grass to be seen but still the land moved her. The conversations of the group intrigued her too. There were six other women and five men. Three couples and four on their own, although Trudy and Joe had been friends since Uni. Angie and Mike, Thomas and Abby, Sal and Iain, Lorraine, Trudy, Joe, Pete and Libby. It was the second year in a row that they had met up. Only eight of them were actually running. Three of the partners – Eliza wasn’t sure who was married and who wasn’t were just coming along as cheerleaders and to enjoy the island which they all seemed to love with a passion that Eliza recognised in her own heart.

  To her relief, they didn’t ask her anything about herself and when the mini bus drew up at the castle, they all piled out and bought their own tickets in the richly stocked gift shop. Going off into the gardens in twos and threes. Libby she noticed went off on her own as did Pete.

  To give the others a head start, she had gone to the toilet first and now two hours later found herself day dreaming. Overcome again with the sense of promise and reassurance that seemed to be in the very atmosphere of this inspirational island.

  The trees, carrying their leaves with effortless grace and with the essence of eternity that nature somehow exuded, had charmed and delighted her. She had wandered slowly around the gardens discovering the remains of the old stone laundry before coming to a statue of a raven that sat black and bold on a plinth outside the museum of Skye which had opened in 2002.

  The castle was the spiritual home of the Macdonald clan and she had spent an absorbing hour in the museum learning something of their history and about the famous figures who had visitied. Flora MacDonald, famed for helping Bonnie Prince Charlie to flee Scotland after the Jacobites’ defeat at Culloden, was married there on 6 November 1750. Samuel Johnson and James Boswell visited in 1773.She especially liked the quote:

  .“Na sloigh as feart san gcruinne A muirn a mire a bhfighnamh; Ni comhnairt bheith ‘ na bhfeagmhais: Ni h-eibhneas gan Chlainn Domhnall”

  “The best people in the round world, their joyousness, their keenness, their effectiveness; without them is no strength; it is no joy without Clan Donald”

  Beginning to feel hungry but torn too as she was tempted to linger on the bench until they were due to leave. She could feel her energy levels dropping, so reluctantly she made her way to the restaurant. The youngest of the couples, Sal and Iain who were in their early thirties, waved at her and hesitantly she made her way to the table, where Pete, Joe and Trudy were also seated. Out of nowhere she felt a sense of pleasure. Confidence crept up, then quickly retreated as she worried about how she might contribute to the conversation. In the end words came easily as she recounted her morning. Skye spoke for itself and she spoke as though in love.

  “Skye has got her” said Iain laughing. “It does that you know It gets right into your soul and hooks you.”

  Eliza had smiled. He was right. Skye knew her like no one ever had. The barrenness. The beauty. The mist. They understood. They understood everything. For a moment tears threatened to well up. How would she ever leave?

  MARCUS

  It was time to go. It was nearly twelve and he was still sitting in the cafe staring at the paper which he had long since stopped reading. Prison had changed him. Not for better or for worse, He was just different. He couldn’t properly formulate his thoughts or understand his feelings. It was as if his old self was looking over his shoulder all the time. Trying to see things as they had been. Trying to convince him that nothing had changed, though everything had. Everything. His routine and his life seemed empty, his dreams childish and his longing for wealth ridiculous. He’d never be rich. Not unless he did something crazy. He toyed with the idea of selling the house. Must be worth at least a hundred and fifty grand. Social services could take care of his mother and he could go abroad, start again. Or at least he could once he had seen out the conditions of his probation. He was sick of Wellington. He was sick of the look in his mothers eyes. He was sick of everything. He had only been out three days and already fear was being to collect in the pit of his stomach. Coiled tight for now but he knew it could unleash itself without warning as anger. Anger that frightened him as much as it did others. In one sense it did a great job. Not many people would ever think to cross him. A few had tried, and had had accidents. Damage to their cars. Late night phone calls to their partners or spouses that had usually brought them back in line. In truth he was small fry. He was part of no mafia and he was no Kray twin. The threat of violence he posed gained him some grudging respect from people around him in the pub and bookies. It was enough most of the time. If charm was needed for the old folks in the houses he decorated, then he could turn that on too. Especially with the ladies. He always encouraged them to chat. He needed to know if they had family looking out them. Family who might query the prices they got for their valuables. When in a moment of weakness he had told one of the prison visitors that he liked`old` people`and their stories.The silly pratt had suggested he think about working in a care home. For crying out loud. Long hours, rubbish pay. He had played along but what a joke. It had given him the idea of offering to do some voluntary decorating in a couple of the local care homes though. Might get a chance to get his hands on some good stuff. In the end he had thought it too risky. They had CCTV cameras everywhere these days and he wasn’t about to jeopardise his freedom for a few quid. Still was something to tuck up his sleeve you never know he had thought.

  “Finished with that mug have you?”

  The young lad who cleared the tables in th
e cafe asked

  Marcus for a moment went to say something that would make the boy think twice about approaching his table again. In the end though he just couldn’t be bothered. He picked up his paper and slammed the cafe door behind him as he left. Let everyone stare. He didn’t care. At this moment in time he didn’t care about anything. Perhaps he should get another dog. It had been a long time since Daffy had died. Daffy and completely dozy she’d been a reject guidedog. Mmm definite possibility. He headed for the betting shop with a renewed spring in his step.

  EDITH

  Her carer was quiet today,which suited her fine. It was one of those days when as she opened her eyes a massive wave of disappointment washed over her. Her first conscious thought was one of regret. She was still here. She didn’t especially want to die. She just didn’t want to live like this and she didn’t want Marcus to be back. Part of her hoped he would reoffend and get sent back to prison, but then she immediately felt guilty. She didn’t want anyone else to suffer at his hands. He had only been home three days and already her nerves were shot to pieces. To be fair to him, he hadn’t given her any reason to think he would hurt her. He’d been moody and monosyllabic, but hadn’t he always been? Well, maybe not always. As a little boy he had been gentle. Easily bored but a son to be proud of. She knew Richard hadn’t been proud of him. Marcus knew too and it ate away at him. She had seen his face when she had broken the news of his fathers death. There had been no grief. Surprise and a fleeting look of bewilderment had crossed his features, regret even. but no grief. Mind you, she hadn’t felt much either. Maybe a sense of relief. A sense of freedom. Shortlived, but there. Suddenly she felt pity for Richard. You live on this planet for more than fifty years and when you go nobody misses you. Self pity followed,would anyone miss her? Eliza loved her she knew that, but whether she would miss her, Edith wasn’t so sure.

  “Can I get you anything else love?”

  The carers Brummie voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “There’s the usual sandwich there. Cheese and pickle today, a banana and yoghurt. Strawberry flavour. Be Wimbledon soon so thought we should enter into the spirit of things. That Rafa Nadal is gorgeous don’t you think?”

  Too irritable to say anything pleasant. Edith just smiled, which seemed to please the carer whose name she couldn’t bring to mind. It was there somewhere in the mire of her brain but she was damned if she could locate it. Damned. Was she damned? She tried to go on believing and she did so love the psalms with all their cries and their battles and their triumphs. The psalmist knew what it was to be in the depths and yet somehow he kept faith She must re-read them for herself. If only the vicar would call. She would write him a note. saying that she understood how busy he was, or was it a she now? Oh for goodness sake she berated herself can’t you remember anything.

  The front door closed and her link with the outside world went off to see her next client. Oh Eliza, Eliza she silently cried inside. Where are you? Her cry was as empty as her days. How could Eliza possibly come and visit her now. The realisation that she might never see her daughter again was a blow too far and sobs wracked through her aged body. She might only be sixty nine but she had the frame and the mind of a woman twenty years her senior and she was ready to die. She must get in contact with the vicar. Arrange her funeral. She lay back on her pillow. That would be the days task. Choosing the hymn she would have and which psalm.

  TEN

  ELIZA

  No one had seemed in a hurry to get back and so they had wandered down to the gift shops by the pier. Eliza had bought her mother a beautiful hand knitted tartan scarf. It had been an impulse purchase and now as she sat on the bed in her room and looked at it she wondered if her mother would ever go out again to wear it. She had desperately wanted to send her a postcard and try to describe the island and the mystical way it seemed to wrap its arms around her. Every moment of every day Skye was alive. Mist, clouds, sun, haze, water, always changing, always on the move. Whenever she looked out of her window the mountains in the distance drew her to themselves. Dark, brutal even by dusk, they were transfigured by sunlight and she felt as though she had always known and been known by them. The landscape was beyond her powers of description but she would have liked to share something of it with the woman she loved and worried about so much.

  She didn’t want Marcus to know where she was. It was as simple as that. It wasn’t as if he would come to find her. He had no desire to see her again. He still blamed her for what had happened which was incomprehensible to everyone except himself. His knowing she was here would tarnish the experience. It was bad enough that he was in her thoughts and that fear of him still coursed through her body as real as her blood.

  To her surprise she had enjoyed the day out. Libby had bought everyone an ice cream and they had all stood leaning against the harbour wall gazing out across the water. The silence had been perfect. Only the gulls above their heads had felt the need to talk. Almost as one they had turned away and walked back to the mini bus, each filled with their own thoughts and dreams. Skye made a child of you Eliza thought. It made you wonder and play and believe in magic. She hadn’t gone over for supper. She was too tired, but happy tired. Being amongst people had always sapped her of energy. Beneath the surface she was never able to quite relax and the tension exhausted her. She also didn’t want to leave the new place inside herself that Skye had guided her to. It felt safe. The landscape was cocooning her from her past and the desperate memories she carried around like dead weights. Yet at the same time it was releasing her to be a woman again. To take off her grave clothes as it were and put on life. As the final threads of daylight gave way to the darkness of a velvet sky,she ran a bath and lay back as content as she could ever be. Even the scars on her body seemed paler. Could she grow to love her body again? Best not to think about it too much. One moment at a time. The thought that she only had three days left of her holiday cut through her like a knife She wanted to stay longer. More than she had ever wanted anything in the world. She wanted to stay on Skye forever.

  MARCUS

  For the first time since he had been back. Marcus had lost at the bookies. Only eighty quid but it was enough to put him in a filthy mood. Made worse by the fact that the horse he had given to three old guys who looked to him for a tip had romped home at four to one and they had all won twenty quid each. Tobacco money for the week one of them had said as he collected his winnings. It was all Marcus could do to stop himself putting his fist in the smug old git’s face. His counsellor had once asked him how it was that the same hands that could gently stroke an animal could be smashed into another mans body without a second thought. Marcus hadn’t been able to answer and as he walked further away from Wellington on the Taunton road he had tried to remember when he had first been violent. The noise of the cars racing past him and the heat of the day took their toll and he gave up thinking and when he got as far as the garden centre he went in and bought a tea and pastry. He would need to watch himself. He was eating far too much. Sitting in cafes watching the world go by was a losers game. Like bloody gambling. Still, he had a job lined up, starting Monday. Dec had a client who wanted her bathroom and front room spruced up before she put her house up for sale. She had the beginnings of dementia and that coupled with loneliness since the loss of her husband had led her to make the decision to move into an Abbeyfield home. She could look after herself but had told Marcus when he had gone round to give her a quote, that she was being sensible. She didn’t have children, they had lost their only daughter, Natalie to leukaemia when she was eleven so she had to look out for herself. Her husband Eric had left her well provided for so she couldn’t complain.

  Neither could Marcus. He was on to a winner there. She had told him that she would be away Tuesday and Wednesday on a Mothers Union trip to Cornwall but he was to let himself in and help himself to tea or coffee or whatever he wanted. Well he would certainly do that. She even thanked him for coming. It was pathetic the way they were always so grateful.<
br />
  It is such a relief to have found someone I can trust she had said as he had left. That nice man at the estate agent said you were the best and that I wasn’t to worry. Not for a moment had Marcus felt guilty. She had more than she needed and she would only leave the rest to the church or some other lost cause. No, he and Mrs Wilkinson were going to get on just fine.

  EDITH

  It was Friday. Desert Island Discs was on the radio so it had to be. Some musician called Wakeman. She hadn’t heard of him but liked the Kenny Ball and the Jazzmen track he had picked. If she was right and she was almost certain that she was.It meant her carer would be bringing new library books. It was the highlight of the week wondering what books she would be given. It had been Debbie Macomber last week with her tales from a friendly knitting shop. The week before it had been. Oh bother, she couldn’t remember. No matter she was sure she had enjoyed it at the time.