by Lynne Chitty
SIXTEEN
ELIZA
Monday morning came and it was tipping down. Eliza wondered if it was the islands gift to her, making it easier for her to leave. If the sun had been shining and the water had been like the gleaming expanse of jewels it had been on her first day her heart would have been even heavier. Breakfast, a taxi ride to Kyle of Lochaish, then a fourteen hour train journey back to Gloucester lay ahead of her. She had been up at three before the light had broken through and shadows had become shapes. Dawn had been a subdued affair but none the less beautiful for that. The mountains were hiding behind the mist or was it fog. She tried to remember the difference. She knew both were caused by the suspension of water droplets in the atmosphere close to the ground. Wasn’t it fog if visibility was less than a thousand metres and mist if it was more? For some reason she wanted it to be mist. She felt closer to the mist. It spoke to her as it slipped in and out of the landscape. Hiding, revealing, hiding, revealing. Teasing her almost with its partial disclosures then shutting the door on its treasures just as she thought she might be able to peek at them again.
She was soaked through but she didn’t care. She wanted to be with the island every last second. She wanted to imbibe every sight, every sound, every little thing about it she wanted to trap in her spirit. She wondered what Pete was doing. How must it have felt going back to an empty house again? She hoped he had a friendly neighbour who had been watering the plants and who have left a little note to say welome back. He deserved that. She hadn’t given him her details so he couldn’t contact her. She would email him though. She would give it a few days and then send a message thanking him. Thanking him for what though?. How would she ever put it into words? She got her little camera out of the inside pocket of her waterproof jacket and took a picture of the view in front of her. It was mostly just blurred shadows but there was just a tiny bit of light breaking through. She would send that to him if she could work out how to download it. She thought he would understand. She wasn’t sure if she would go to Edinburgh next year. There were so many things to think through and the pit of her stomach had started to ache with the familiar dread and fear.
Eventually she dragged herself up and away from the waters edge over to the restaurant for her final breakfast. Sadness swamped her but she suddenly shouted to herself DAMMIT I am going to have porridge!. She didn’t actually like porridge very much and she couldn’t manage it all. It had just been a rather childish attempt to stick two fingers up at everything that dragged her down to a place she didn’t want to be in . The pit that the psalmist talked about so much. Thomas and Abby came over and for one horrible moment she thought they were going to join her. Not today please not today she cried to herself. Please please leave me alone for these last moments.
“Hope you don’t mind Eliza” Thomas said. “Only Pete mentioned that you were leaving this morning and so are we. We were wondering if we could offer you a lift to Inverness. Save you a taxi fare and one change on the train” Eliza’s face nearly crumpled but she managed a thank you and meant it with all her being. “That’s so kind of you” she mumbled. “No problem” Thomas said in the same business like tone he seemed to use for everything. “We will be heading out just before nine does that suit you?” “Oh its perfect timing” said Eliza “thank you again” “No trouble. Enjoy your porridge” he said as he went to join Abby at the table nearest the buffet.
Oh Pete, I should have known you would have had the last word. You kind kind man. She felt connected to him again and knew that even if she never met him again he had been a kind of angel. Like those she read about in stories, who stopped travellers on the road, journeyed with them for a while and imparted their wisdom, leaving them the same but totally changed. Given the age gap he was actually more like a father figure. What a shame he and his wife couldn’t have children. He would have been brilliant. She buttered a last slice of toast, finished the remains of her coffee and headed back out into the rain, which now was actually more like drizzle for one last walk. Her sea gull was there. Not foraging but sitting on the water being gently carried up and down as each wave reached out foamy fingers towards the shore. You look after this place for me she said. Look after yourself too. Tears really were close now but the sadness was too deep and they remained tightly locked behind her eyes. How could beauty hurt so much? How could an island she had only been on for six days sink so deep into her soul. She had barely explored it. The two trips to Armadale and Portree her only excursions. She didn’t have to see it all to know it all though. She would come back. She would hire a driver to show her more of the lochs and hills and mountains that it so carefully hid. The treasures that it kept safe. You can look but not touch it seemed to say. Brutal. Barren, Bleak. It was all those things. Yet. Yet it danced. It sang. It celebrated the very best of what it was to be alive. She took one last look and went to get her case. She couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye to the seagull or to the Cuillins. It wasn’t goodbye. Please God it wasn’t.
Her key handed in she waited in the foyer for Thomas and Abby who put her case in the boot, started the engine and eased the car out of the car park onto the road back to Inverness
What was she going back to? She stared out of the window vaguely aware that Thomas and Abby were chatting about their dog who they would be collecting later from Abby’s parents. Were they feeling it too she wondered? The wrench. The sense of something precious being slowly handed back over for others. Skye Bridge came into view and all too soon they were off the island and she was standing on a platform at Inverness station, cold and alone.
MARCUS
“You’re not welcome here” The landlord had started as soon as Marcus had set foot in the pub “so clear out. You might think you got away with one the other night but we all know it was you who tried to burn the place down. Just as well you are such a useless piece of shit you made such a hash of it.”
Marcus had come back from Weston in a foul mood. Even the journey back on his bike hadn’t restored the feelings of contentment he had felt on the pier. It had been that wretched boy. Touching his bike, making him angry. It was his fault.
He couldn’t settle so he had put his bike away and gone down the pub.
He glared at Billy, the diminutive landlord. He could take him out easily but with so many witnesses he would be done for.
“You might think you are a big man Marcus Grady” the smaller man continued on a roll “but in our books what you did makes you the lowest form of life. No one here was brave enough to say it to your face but I’m saying it now. Get out of this pub and if you come back I have friends who will make you wish you’d never been born.”
Ah so that was it. Billy must be allowing drugs to be sold in there and he had the dealers minders covering his back and putting their filthy hands on anyone who didn’t pay. No wonder the little prick was so full of himself. On his own he wouldn’t have been able to stand up to his mother let alone him.
Shocked as he was. Marcus didn’t let it show. He just slowly quietly put his money back in his pocket, turned to go then spat in the landlords face.
The whole pub had stood still watching to see what would happen. You could hear the proverbial pin drop. Some had edged closer to the door in case there was real trouble. The others had just stood and stared as though it were a scene from Eastenders. He did his best to sneer and walked out with as much arrogance and confidence as he could muster. An old bloke called Mickey was by the door and went as if to hold it open for him. At the last minute though he lost his nerve and stepped back leaving Marcus to open and close it himself.
That was the final straw. Ever since he had been back he had seen in peoples faces a mix of disgust and fear. It was a small town and most people stayed a long time once they moved in. They had long memories and they made harsh judgements. Marcus felt wronged it hadn’t been his bloody fault that his mother had come at him with that knife trying to protect her precious Eliza. He served his time dammit. One of the cons he had got out w
ith had told him as they had left the prison “Your sentence starts now.” Marcus hadn’t understood what he meant at the time. He understood now though.
He would have to move. He wouldn’t mind that much. New start. New place. He’d have to sort his mother out. He could downsize to a two bedroom place somewhere like Weston and have a bit of cash to play with. Or he could go for a one bedroom place and off load his mother to social services. Or she could go and live with her precious Eliza. They deserved each other.They could pass their days moaning how unlucky they were to have such a terrible son and brother respectively. He was sure they would be very happy together.
That’s what he would do. He would tell his mother tomorrow and start looking for a place just as soon as he had done the job for Mrs Wilkinson or whatever her name was. He could still come back and see Ellen from time to time. It wasn’t running away, just doing what he should have thought of earlier, wiping the dust of this waste of space town off his boots and going somewhere where he could make something of himself.
Now he had a plan the anger which had almost consumed him died down. Maybe he would retrain as a mechanic. I mean how hard could that be? He would have to let his probation officer know and play it all by the book. Could work out alright though couldn’t it? Marcus smiled to himself. His good humour restored. Nobody got the better of Marcus Grady. No one. He would get that waster of a landlord. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not the day after even. But he would get him.
EDITH
The door closed more quietly this time. For a moment Edith thought it must be the carer come back, maybe she had forgotten something. She was certainly scatty enough. It was Marcus though and he brought her the paper and asked how she was. Bloody suspicious that was he never asked how she was. Why would he? He didn’t care.
Fine thanks she had said. A bit tired but alright. You ok?
Yes fine he had said. Fine. I need to run something by you tomorrow. I’m working all day but I’ll pop in after and we can have a chat.
There it was. He was up to something. They never had chats and he never smiled at her like he had as he left her room.
She was seriously worried now. She wouldn’t sleep a wink. If Marcus was making an effort to be nice to her then it was something seriously bad that he wanted to talk about. He couldn’t be in trouble with the law or else he would be going back to prison. What plan could he possibly have hatched? It didn’t enter her head for one moment that he might be going to sell the house. He had always lived here so the thought never crossed her mind. He seemed so cheerful so he couldn’t be ill. He wasn’t likely to tell her if he’d won millions on the lottery. She couldn’t for the life of her think what it could be. She just knew she should be worried. If only the vicar would come again. It was probably selfish but it would help to know she was being prayed for and there was so much she wanted to talk to him about.
SEVENTEEN
ELIZA
After twelve hours, two changes and a fifteen minute walk from the station to her bedsit, Eliza was exhausted. The trains had all been packed and she had stood between Inverness and Edinburgh. She had reserved a seat but the man sitting in it was reluctant to move so she didn’t make an issue of it. All she wanted by that stage was a bath and her bed. She had thought she might try and write on the journey back but everything had seemed so loud. Whether it was mobile phones ringing. Kids whingeing or babies crying they did so loudly. Her heart had been filled briefly with a sense of hope when the silhouette of the trees on Mayhill, then the illuminated Gloucester Cathedral tower came into view. The respite was brief though. She loved the Cathedral and the tower always reminded her of a wonderfully decorated cake It wasn’t as old as the Cuillin mountains but it had that same solid sanctity about it. Occasionally she went and listened to Evensong. She loved to hear the psalms sung and the choirboys voices and the organ produced notes that hung in the air and drew her away from herself to an otherness far greater than she could name or hold on to. She never lingered, always leaving before the end thus avoiding the clergy and other worshippers. She needed the anonymity. She hadn’t been for a while she realised. Maybe she would go one evening in the week after work, might help her face and cope with the transition from island to city. It would be school holidays in a month or so and the choir would finish for their summer break. A lot of the services were said then rather than sung. Though some visiting choirs did deputise. She never went when the choir was away. It was the music that drew her and held her. For once words weren’t enough. They seemed to get lost in the vastness of the vaulted nave. It was the music that wrapped itself around them and gave them susbstance and power.
Once in, Eliza couldn’t face unpacking. In the end she couldn’t even face a bath. It was nearly midnight and she was well and truly done in.
MARCUS
The day had gone well. Mrs Wilkinson had been pleased with his work. Shown him where everything was and told him to make tea and coffee whenever he liked. She had bought some fruit cake for him as well. You need to keep your strength up she’d said.Big chap like you. The old girl was a bit of a fruit cake herself if you asked Marcus. Seemed to spend the whole day talking to herself. Still, wasn’t his business. Going through her stuff wasn’t his business either but he would be doing that right enough. The night before he had finalised his plan to move. His mother had a choice, social services or Eliza. He didn’t care which. She wasn’t coming with him that’s all that mattered. He would tell anyone he got to know in Weston that he had moved because his mother had died. It wouldn’t be much of a lie anyway. Most of the time a dying duck in a thunderstorm had more about it than she did, lying there feeling sorry for herself. Lots of people lost limbs they didn’t take to their beds though did they? He knew she had a bit of a knock on her head too but even so.
He thought of catching the bus home. It was only a few stops though, so in the end he decided to walk. Give him time to think how to phrase things with his mother. He stopped momentarily outside his old primary school. The Iron Duke himself had donated £50 in 1850 to help found it. He wouldn’t beat about the bush but he would choose his words carefully and try not to upset her too much. Didn’t want her crying all night. He needed to be up early again in the morning for work and she was his mother after all.
In fact the decision to walk took away all time from him and he would need no words.
Whether he was pushed or slipped. Whether the car mounted the kerb or not wasn’t clear. The fact was that it hit Marcus full on and his body lay in the road as ugly in death as it had been in life. Eye witnesses were too shocked to remember their own names let alone agree on what they had seen. The car didn’t stop and a car coming the other way had hit Marcus as well. The lady driver who had only just passed her test was inconsolable and the severity of his injuries added to the hideous nature of the incident. As his blood trickled onto the tarmac and screams hung in the air an ambulance pulled up. It was too late though. Far too late.
EDITH
He would be home soon. It must be time. It would be soon she knew it would. As hard as she had tried she had not been able to come up with a reason why Marcus would want to talk to her. He didn’t involve her in any of his decisions. She didn’t know how much money he had or didn’t have. Had he met someone she wondered? Was that it?. Was he going to get married. Was a woman going to be moving in with them. It sounded possible. The only flaw was that he wouldn’t bother to talk to her about it. The woman would just appear. Maybe the woman was pregnant? But he had only just got out of prison. Couldn’t he just come home and put her out of her misery. Whatever it was it couldn’t be as bad as the turmoil in her head. could it?
She heard the door open and she let out a gasp. Oh Vicar you’ve come. Thank God I need to talk to you before Marcus gets home. We’ll need to be quick.
EIGHTEEN
ELIZA
The phone call came just as Eliza was getting up. Tired as she was, she had had a wretched night. In the end she had got out of bed at seven and made he
rself a coffee. She was just finishing getting dressed when she heard her mothers voice on the other end of the phone. She had left her number with the local vicar for emergencies so he must have given it to her mother.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back until late last night, but I’ll come straight away” she said and put down the receiver.
It wasn’t until she had gone on the train. That what she had heard sunk in. Hard as she tried she couldn’t feel a single thing. Not even relief. She didn’t want Marcus to be dead. She didn’t want him to be in her life. But she had never wished him dead. It was herself she had tried to release from life’s grip. Her mother hadn’t really made much sense. The vicar who had just been coming out of church when the accident happened, was with her and he filled her in with the details. Hit and run. Killed instantly. Could she come and identify him at the hospital morgue?
She would do that first. It wouldn’t seem real otherwise. She’d only seen one dead body before and that had been Richard’s. Marcus’ father. He hadn’t really looked dead. Just not quite alive with skin like rubber and an expression on his face that didn’t suit him. Though she couldn’t have told you what the expression was. She wondered what Marcus would look like. She hadn’t seen him since the day in court when he had been sentenced. He had refused to plead guilty, which would have spared her the ordeal of having to give evidence. He had said he hadn’t meant to hurt their mother but that she had come at him with a knife and he had acted in self defence. Regards her, he had said….. She couldn’t bear to think again about what he had said. The jury had taken barely twenty minutes to find him guilty and the judge had imposed the maximum sentence that he could. It had been Marcus’ arrogance that had been his undoing and his assassination of her character. No one had believed his version of events and it had been obvious to everyone that her and Ediths suffering wouldn’t end with his imprisonment. It had been touch and go for a while whether their mother would even survive. Although the loss of her leg just above the knee had got the most headlines.it was the blow to her head as she had fallen down the stairs with Marcus on top of her crushing her that had been life threatening. She had been unconscious for ten days suffering irreversible brain damage. It affected her memory mostly but she had had excruciating headaches for months afterwards and the depression that had overhelmed her had never quite lifted. Physically Eliza knew she had got off lightly and the brusies had faded in time. It wasn’t her physical wounds that hurt though. It was the ones inside.