by Rob Ewing
‘It’s going to work,’ he says. ‘It’s bloody well going to work, it is!’
Then Calum Ian comes back from the shed with two orange bundles.
‘Life vests. We’ve only two. Which is all we should use because we tried the boat already. Result: it took me fine. It took Duncan fine. But it took me and Duncan together: not so fine.’
He takes off his backpack, then ties on one of the life vests. ‘’Course we never tried with three or four or five.’ He throws the other life vest at Alex. ‘I bet you any money that it doesn’t work.’
To prove him wrong we begin to try right away.
Duncan gets in first, then Alex. They steady the boat, then Calum Ian gets in as well.
Elizabeth goes to sit inside too: but she’s too much. So we go back to Alex, with just the MacNeil brothers alongside.
The boat sags in the middle, though not very bad. It folds when a wave comes past, but stays high.
Calum Ian pulls the string for the motor. He pushes the boat off with his unfolded paddle, then they go out a short way, just as far as the start of the pier and back.
He shuts off the engine as the boat returns. The fold is there in the boat’s middle.
Alex climbs out as soon as he’s near the shallows.
He looks frightened, relieved to be back on land.
Calum Ian looks around for the eye of everyone like he won the argument.
‘Any more proof? Two’s the most that can go.’
Nobody gets a surprise when he next makes his claim for who the two should be.
‘We’re the only ones who know. Me and Duncan. We’ve got fishing in the family, in the blood, me and my brother. Has anyone else got fishing in the blood? Thought not. So it has to be us.’
‘It isn’t just about fishing,’ Alex says. ‘It’s also that you want to leave on your own – and leave us all behind.’
Calum Ian stands close to him, looking down.
‘Can a-rithist sin? Do any of you know how to sail? No. Did you go out with Uncle Frank? No. Anybody know how to steer or go up over waves? No.’
‘You want to leave. Now that you know your dad isn’t coming. That’s why.’
‘Shut your face, Bonus Features – don’t you ever talk bad on my dad’s name, ever.’
‘You’re forcing. You can’t force. We can be free to make any of our own choices. That’s the rule of freedom.’
‘And I said shut it. Unless you want some of what that one there deserves: keep your trap buttoned.’
He’s pointing at me: like I’m the one deserving.
Elizabeth doesn’t seem to want to use her age or better argument to stand up for us. But instead she just asks, ‘Will you leave from here?’
Calum Ian finds a stick to draw a map on the sand: putting an X for our village, a circle for the nearest island.
‘Except the closest place to leave from our island is Ard Mhor,’ she tells him. ‘And that’s back next to Mairi’s village. Back on the north shore.’
‘So we keep it short. Short as possible. Duncan and me go around the island first with the rib. It’ll take us: an hour? We’ll stick close to shore. Then on the other side we’ll meet you – here.’ He scratches boxes for houses, then another X in the sand. ‘The ferry slip, Ard Mhor. We fill up, do the main journey. Maybe two at a time?’
Elizabeth counts us up.
‘We’d have to go back, come back. It would take how many—? Four, five turns?’
‘Give me a bloody better idea.’
‘I don’t have a better idea. It seems to be you with all the better ideas, all of the time.’
‘That’s because I’ve got the brains. Brains are better than teamwork in any situation you can think of.’
Calum Ian waits for her to disagree with his saying. When she doesn’t, he goes on, ‘So you fed up with me taking the lead? Someone has to. Or is it something to do with that pair – the one who doesn’t talk and the one who pulls knives—’
‘I will need to go in the boat.’
He never expected Elizabeth to say that.
Neither did we.
Elizabeth now points at the fat wrap of bandaging she has put around her ankle.
‘I can’t walk. Or I can: but not very far.’
His mouth drops into an O when she undoes the wrapping to show what’s underneath.
‘How did—’
‘You did it. With the dart.’
Now bits of her skin are broken. Drops of yellow are coming from blisters. Her leg went fat, swollen.
He looks long at what she’s got, like he’s working out what to do, what it changes. What he did.
‘You can stay here.’
‘You bloody well owe me. There was poison put on the dart, wasn’t there? Wasn’t there? Don’t you even try to say there wasn’t.’
He looks for the right saying back in the smoke-dirt on his T-shirt, without finding any.
‘You could wait … Wait here. We take Alex. You could wait here with—’
‘I – need – medicine. I don’t want to die. You’ve made me ill, so now you bloody owe me.’
Her face falls, crumples. It’s the worst ever to see Elizabeth look this way: worse than anything, because I need her to be the one who’s strong.
Calum Ian stands at the edge of the water beside the boat. He presses both hands on it, testing the air inside. Maybe hoping it’ll turn out to be fuller than he thought.
‘It’s tough, but I need to go with my brother,’ he finally says. ‘We’re a team, the both of us. We were brought up to be a team.’ Then he looks again at her leg: and thinking once more says: ‘I could do you a favour.’
‘Don’t talk to me about favours. You owe me.’
‘A deal, then.’
‘The deal is: you take me.’
‘Or the deal is: one of us takes you. Then at the other side it’s me and Duncan. We leave together, and go to the next island to find help, fast as we can, for Alex.’
‘The deal is everyone sticks together.’
‘Then you and Alex get sick. Because we can’t all leave. Somebody has to stay, the boat won’t take everyone. And it needs a strong person to go looking for help – and a strong person to sail it back. Are you strong?’
Elizabeth can’t think of an answer. I notice her hair is damp, with sweat coming off her forehead.
‘Then at the other side we look for medicine.’ Calum Ian holds his hand out. ‘We already know there’s none here. Deal?’
She doesn’t say if it is or not. She just shrugs, which Calum Ian takes for a yes.
‘So Duncan can sail with you.’ Now he turns to us. ‘Which makes it me and the kids. Isn’t that right, kids?’
Now he has surprised us. Nobody shows a sign of agreeing. I look at Elizabeth for guidance, for what she thinks, but she doesn’t seem to want to make any more arguments.
‘Why do you want us?’ Alex asks.
‘It isn’t that I want you, not one bit. It’s that you’ve got me. Duncan gets his shot with the boat first: fine. He goes first. But then it’s me for the main crossing. That’s what you’re getting.’
More on purpose he puts out his hand, and gets Elizabeth to shake it: ‘I take the kids. OK? End of story.’
Then to us: ‘We’ll go as a team. Isn’t that right, kids? Who wants to walk with me? With their Uncle Calum Ian?’
We don’t say: Yes please.
‘Nach thu tna toilichte?’ he does thumbs-up. ‘That’s right! We’ll all get there first, we’ll beat them. All of us the one big friendly team. What’s going to work?’
Nobody says teamwork.
We get our rucksacks, and pack clothes, water, small toys. Calum Ian shouts instructions at everyone: saying we have to try harder because Elizabeth is sick.
She sits on the sand, looking away for trying to forget, until Calum Ian orders Duncan to the swimming pool to look for floats or armbands for the passengers.
When he’s not watching, Elizabeth pulls me close and
whispers fierce and quiet: ‘Go after him. Go where Duncan goes.’
‘Why?’
‘You need to get him to walk with you. Instead of his brother. Go after him, go now.’
I don’t need to ask why. And then I can’t ask anyway, or find out if even she’s scared to be in the boat with him, because Calum Ian is there with us, taking out the heavy things he says we shouldn’t’ve packed.
Duncan goes too far ahead. I run to catch him up – and just spy him going through the big school doors.
Inside, there are three ways to go: to the library, to the assembly hall, to the rest of the school.
The swimming pool’s empty. Floats, goggles on the floor from the last time we came. He didn’t come here.
The sign over the assembly hall door says TRIAGE; that one over the school door says QUARANTINE. Only the library door says what it truly is: LIBRARY.
It’s dark in the library, because there’s only skylights, no windows.
‘Hullo? Anybody in?’ The room doesn’t answer, just stays smelling of old stale air.
When I go between the shelves of Space and Explorers I find Duncan.
He’s crouched down, hiding, like he didn’t want me to find him. My heart goes fast with fright.
‘Thought you were a creature,’ I say.
He’s got books on the floor which he’s covering up. I think he’s going to be angry, just like his brother, so I get ready to defend myself, or run away – but instead he just gathers what he has and goes to sit at one of the tables.
‘Humans are creatures,’ he says.
There’s a gap on the shelf next to where he was crouched.
The name for this shelf is: Seafaring.
He puts the books on his lap and tries to read the topmost one with his arm still covering.
Pretending not to notice I go and look around the shelves. In the Science section, next to Volcanoes, I find a book we looked at before, when it was dark and cold in winter. The title is Electricity: Turn it on!
For a peace offering I show it to Duncan.
‘Sure, that one was useless,’ he says, keeping a watch on me. ‘Loads of crap about how electricity makes your hair stand on end. Nothing about how to get it back.’
We stare at one another. Duncan’s scars look deep in the dark. I suppose mine must do as well.
‘You followed me here.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wanted to ask if you’d come with us on the walk, instead of …’
He knows why. Right away he knows why I’m asking: and for the look he gives me it feels unloyal.
‘My brother is not as bad as you think.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘His bark’s worse than his bite. Truly. I should know, I live beside him. That’s what brothers are for.’
‘If Calum Ian would burn a body – like in the headmaster’s house – could that not mean he could do it to other people? If he made a mistake, I mean. Or got a wrong idea in his head.’
‘Like the wrong idea you had – of dirtying our house, of killing the pictures of our family? Are you meaning that sort of mistake?’
But Duncan doesn’t really want to rub in the bad of what I did: because he adds in a kinder voice, ‘I don’t know why he did what he did. I wasn’t expecting it, either. But if you need the truth: he’s on our side. He’s not as bad as you imagine, so you shouldn’t be bothered or even scared. Want to know how I know you shouldn’t worry?’
He unzips the front pocket of his rucksack and takes out an envelope.
I know what this is right away; I try to grab it.
He makes me take it nice.
The letter inside is dirty, and it’s been torn into lots of pieces. I look at Duncan, unsure if this is a trick.
‘You dropped it on the road,’ he says. ‘Beside the fifteen tree forest. It got torn up … by me.’
I put the pieces back inside the envelope. Then I take a book from one of the nearby shelves and unpeel its plastic cover, to keep the envelope safe inside.
‘Go on. Why don’t you put the pieces back together?’
‘It might not go …’
‘You won’t know if you don’t try.’
I hold it: ready to show him that I could: but then I can’t. I’m too scared to find out what Mum wrote.
He doesn’t push to know.
‘Calum Ian saw the letter. Saw your name on it. It was me that tore it up. Because you took the knife out on him. So you know what he did? He picked up the pieces. Made me promise I would give them all back to you. He said: She’s sad … You can cheer her up with it later. Just don’t tell her I said so.’
Duncan gives me a thumbs-up.
‘See? My brother’s not bad, he’s all right. You just have to give him the benefit and not the doubt.’
We both look down at the book he’s hiding.
It’s called More Scottish Fishing Craft.
Duncan frowns at me like he’s worried I’ll say something.
‘I just want to do my best, for the boat trip.’ He reaches for my hand and makes me shake.
‘So don’t tell. Specially not Calum Ian. Because he’s my big brother. He knows I can do it. You never want to let the big ones down. You’ve got to be a winner.’
I promise not to say anything.
‘I made Mairi a bag of clothes plus toys,’ Alex is saying. ‘She had to begin hers from the start.’
When I get back Elizabeth gives me a keen look: asking if I managed to persuade Duncan.
‘It’s all right,’ I tell her. ‘He convinced me it’s all right. You shouldn’t be worrying so much.’
She nods, mouth pressed firm: then holds out her hands for a hug, which I give her, and which she uses to whisper in my ear: ‘Keep your eyes peeled. If anything bad happens: run. Head towards the sea and wave your hands. Get the others to run in different directions if it comes to it. I’ll get Duncan to follow the shore around.’
Then she’s hugging Alex, still looking at me.
We pull the boat down to the water’s edge, until it starts to float. Then Elizabeth and Duncan get in.
They stand at both ends to get the balance right, then we put their bags in – only already there’s a problem. The weight of everything makes the boat sag through its middle so much it’s like it got cut in half.
‘Lighten your bags,’ Calum Ian orders, pulling jumpers and clothes out of Duncan’s. ‘Less weight the better.’
Duncan’s fiddle and family pictures are left on the pier. Elizabeth, still in the boat, begins to ask a lot of questions: about the tides, what if it rains, what if it gets dark, what if the outboard stops working. She even asks about whales or sharks. Duncan tells her not to be so dumb.
‘I’m the son of a sailor, I can do it,’ he says.
For the last packing he takes an extra plastic milk carton of petrol for the engine, plus a spare canister.
Finally, he ties on Elizabeth’s lifejacket, then Calum Ian ties up Duncan’s. We put a packed lunch for both of them under the seat: chocolate mints, baby cans of tonic water.
‘Wave to the captain!’ Duncan shouts.
He turns the engine on, and we cheer loud as it roars.
For a moment the boat moves like a see-saw: but soon they get the balance right, and it flattens out.
‘You lot better get ready to run,’ Calum Ian hisses.
The boat makes smoke. We take it in turns to watch them with binoculars, and it’s still my turn when they go around the headland past Message Rock. For a second the east shore has white waves, then we see an edge of ripples and smoke on the water, then they’ve gone past.
After this he pushes us hard. We shove the prams while he acts as slave-driver. Mairi has a pram as well, though it’s getting most of the way to being her size.
When we get to the steep road going up the big hill she can’t push it: her strength is not enough.
Calum Ian just watches, as she huffs, digs down her h
ead, slides her feet away on the loose stones.
‘Useless. Ach, give it to me.’
He takes some big steps ahead, turning often to check we’re being as strong and going as fast as him.
At about quarter-way up Alex’s legs have gotten sore. I give him some chocolate buttons in case it’s lowness of sugar, but he doesn’t much want them. Instead, he wants juice: as much as he can be allowed of our journey-supply, until he’s had lots more than his fair share.
At halfway up Mairi tries to help him. She takes one side of Alex’s pram and pushes.
Right away me and Alex step back – holding up our hands, drawing back to how far we agreed for safety.
‘Why’re you stopping?’
‘She came too close. It’s for her health.’
‘Just let her bloody help.’
‘But it’s bad for her safety. We don’t want to make her sick.’
Calum Ian drops his rucksack between roadside stones.
He comes back.
Spitting on his hands he wipes them on Mairi’s face: making sure that some of the spit goes on her nose, and in her mouth.
Then he rubs his hands off on her jumper.
‘Now it doesn’t matter how close she gets. So let her do it. Or this’ll take us all day.’
Mairi’s left looking at the spit-smear on her jumper.
I bite my tongue and touch the letter Duncan handed over; try to keep in mind what he said, try to remember the good side he mentioned.
Alex stops again and again to look at boring things: sticks, rusted cans, a bird skeleton. He stops to pee and takes ages to catch us up, even though we’re bored waiting.
He stops by the forest of seven trees, twice. It would seem ridiculous, only Elizabeth already told us that going to the toilet lots is what happens with diabetes – so the only ridiculous thing is how Calum Ian never gives him a proper rest for doing it.
I hold onto my anger. I hold onto my shout. It’s nearly too much, but I manage.
Calum Ian keeps looking with his binoculars, stopping almost as often as Alex does, trying to stay high on the hill for as long as he can for the widest view.
‘Don’t see them yet,’ he says, standing on a fence for a longer look. ‘Seadh, they must’ve got ahead.’