Fault Lines

by Doug Johnstone

  But then she didn’t want to deny dignity to this woman in front of her either. This really was her mother, this was every molecule, every pore, every inch the same woman who gave birth to her after thirty-six long hours, who raised her and her sister alone, who fed and clothed them and took them out of school on exotic working holidays at a moment’s notice, to earthquake zones and volcanoes in the middle of jungles, high on desert plateaus, adrift on arctic seas.

  And here she was with half her stomach and bowel hacked away by surgery, what remained riddled with aggressive carcinoma. Ironic that someone who smoked all her life ended up getting stomach not lung cancer, but there you go.

  ‘Hey, Mum.’

  Surtsey touched her mum’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head, the short hair rough against her lips. Louise had shaved her head a while back when chemo was an option, then never went bald. One of cancer’s wee jokes. But she kept it short anyway, it was easier. When you needed a nurse to cut your food and wipe your arse, not having to keep your hair shiny was one less piece of crap to worry about.

  Louise turned and smiled, held out a hand. Surtsey took it and sat down. Her mum’s skin felt like nylon, artificial somehow. She smelt bitter, acrid. Could you smell of cancer? Weren’t there dogs that detected early signs of it in humans?

  ‘How are you?’ Surtsey said.

  ‘I’m dying.’

  ‘Nice day for it.’

  This was a running joke. Louise threw out the line, Surtsey batted it straight back, although it was getting less funny every day, and Surtsey wished they hadn’t started it.

  Louise’s breath was laboured, a wheeze deep in her chest. She had a handkerchief in her other hand, brought it up and dabbed at her mouth, dribbled into it. Surtsey looked away for a moment.

  ‘Anything happening in the world?’ Louise said.

  Surtsey examined her. Forty-five years old and reduced to clock watching, waiting to die. She was so physically diminished it was as if she might shrink to death. Surtsey tried to picture the vibrant presence of her mother in her childhood, but the truth was this image in front of her was replacing that one.

  ‘Not really,’ she said.

  Louise coughed, dabbed at her lips. ‘Up to much last night?’

  Of course, Surtsey had skipped the after-work visit to sneak around with Tom. Christ. The last time Surtsey saw her mum, Tom was alive. That seemed impossible. It already felt like he’d always been dead, lying out there waiting to be found. Surtsey took her hand from Louise’s and rubbed at her own jaw.

  ‘Out with Brendan.’

  Louise tried to smile. ‘How are things between you two?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Wow, sounds like true love.’

  ‘It’s good, things are good.’

  Louise coughed but was too slow in getting the handkerchief to her mouth, green spit down her T-shirt. She dabbed at it until Surtsey pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped, feeling the knobbly breastbone beneath.

  Louise tried to push Surtsey’s hand away. ‘I don’t need help.’

  ‘Yes, you do, that’s why you’re in here.’

  ‘I don’t need help from you, is what I meant.’

  ‘I’m your daughter.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Surtsey folded the damp tissue away and stuffed it in her pocket. Louise was gazing out the window, the shoulder of the Inch to her left, Inchkeith behind. Surtsey tried to imagine what the view was like thirty years ago before the Inch was born. The island had always been in her life, a permanent presence, but nothing was permanent, just think of the Cockenzie chimneys, now gone. Or Louise. Or Tom.

  ‘How’s your sister?’ Louise said.

  Surtsey took a breath. ‘You would know how she was if she ever bothered to visit.’

  ‘Don’t, Sur.’ Louise shook her head. ‘She’s busy.’

  ‘Don’t make excuses for her.’

  ‘It’s hard for her.’

  ‘And it’s easy for me?’ Surtsey hated how she sounded, small and bitter.

  Louise turned to meet Surtsey’s gaze. ‘You’re strong.’

  ‘I don’t feel strong.’

  Louise coughed some more, held the hankie to her mouth, her body shuddering as if she might shake apart.

  Surtsey put a hand on her mum’s back, didn’t move it, just left it there, connected.

  ‘Are you OK, Louise?’

  A familiar voice behind them.

  Surtsey turned to see Donna in her pastel scrubs. Tall and broad, strong cheekbones and nose, dark brown hair tied in a loose ponytail. One of the million coincidences that happened in a small place like Portobello, someone from the year below you at school winds up nursing your dying mother.

  ‘Fine,’ Louise said, still spluttering.

  ‘Hey, Donna,’ Surtsey said.

  Donna smiled. ‘Hi.’

  Surtsey hadn’t really been friends with Donna at school, she was only vaguely aware of her presence in the year below, saw her in corridors, playgrounds or the lunchtime queue at the sandwich place, then later nestled in a different corner of the Dalriada with her own friends. But since Louise came to St Columba’s they’d got to know each other better, brought together in the worst circumstances.

  ‘Maybe I need to lie down,’ Louise said.

  ‘Let me get your wheelchair,’ Surtsey said.

  ‘Donna can do it,’ Louise said, ‘it’s her job.’

  Surtsey watched as Donna positioned the chair, wrapped her arms around Louise and lifted her in. She turned Louise from the view and began pushing her away.

  ‘I’ll see you tonight, Mum,’ Surtsey said.

  Louise tried to smile, her head drooping with the effort. ‘Love you, Sur.’

  ‘Love you.’

  As they passed Surtsey she lifted an eyebrow to Donna, who shook her head. Surtsey always tried to get a word with Donna about her mum when she visited, something more than the official record of her deterioration. Donna pushed Louise past then turned back to Surtsey. She tapped her watch and held up five fingers. Surtsey nodded.

  7

  They grabbed lattes from the green Citroen van at the bottom of Bellfield Street then sat on the wall outside the old swimming baths.

  Surtsey nodded at Donna’s cup. ‘Should you be having that after the graveyard shift?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Donna said, taking a sip. ‘I like working nights, actually. It doesn’t suit everyone, but it gives me time to think.’

  Donna was taller than Surtsey and a bit curvier. She was pretty in a homely way, and seemed wiser than other folk their age. Maybe it was perspective from working with the terminally ill. Sitting here in the morning sunlight, their legs dangling over the sand, Surtsey felt like she was a big sister, someone to look out for her at a time when Surtsey had to look after everyone else.

  ‘How’s Mum doing?’ Surtsey said.

  Donna looked at her. ‘Not great.’

  Surtsey turned away, the look in Donna’s eyes too much.

  ‘I just want her to be comfortable,’ Surtsey said.

  ‘She is, trust me.’

  Surtsey shook her head. ‘I feel so guilty, I should be looking after her.’

  She felt Donna’s hand on hers.

  ‘Louise was right back there, I get paid to look after her,’ Donna said. ‘She’s in the best hands, even if I say so myself.’

  Surtsey felt tears coming, tried to blink them away. She slipped her hand away from Donna’s and took a sip of coffee. She was deliberately not looking west to the Inch, her face turned upwards to the sun in the other direction.

  She knew Donna was studying her, could feel her gaze without looking.

  ‘You don’t look like you had a very good night,’ Donna said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Out on the town?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Surtsey didn’t say anything else.

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ Donna said.

  Surtsey was silent for a long time. ‘I don’t know what I’m
doing.’

  The hash was still burning through her synapses.

  More silence for a while. A cormorant scudded along the surface of the water then landed on a groyne and faced the sun with its wings open like a meditating Buddhist.

  ‘How’s your love life?’ Surtsey said eventually.

  Donna laughed. ‘What love life?’

  ‘There must be guys interested, you’re a good-looking girl.’

  ‘Who works odd shifts and deals with the dying.’ Donna looked mortified for a moment. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Surtsey smiled at her. ‘So you don’t get a chance to get kinky with your nurse’s uniform?’

  Donna touched the material of her scrubs and laughed warmly. ‘You’ve seen my uniform, right?’

  Joggers and cyclists throbbed up and down the prom, parents taking their kids to Towerbank along the road, their red uniforms little flashes of future promise. Surtsey watched them and felt like an imposter. She felt like she’d been living someone else’s life since last night. How could she square that with sitting here drinking latte and chatting on a beautiful summer morning, the shush of waves and the noise of kids, dogs snuffling around their feet and gulls pecking at the bins along the way, old folk doddering down the steps from the baths.

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ Donna said. ‘About Louise.’

  ‘Let me guess, she’s going to die.’

  ‘Surtsey.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Donna hesitated, her thumb flicking at the polystyrene lid of her coffee. ‘She asked about pain medication.’

  ‘She’s on a lot of morphine already, right?’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ Donna said. ‘I mean additional medication.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Large amounts of it.’

  It took Surtsey a second. ‘Oh. Shit.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Surtsey looked out to sea. Flat and shimmering this morning, untroubled.

  ‘You didn’t give her any?’

  ‘God, no,’ Donna said. ‘Technically I’m supposed to report it to my supervisor.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Maybe you could have a word with her?’

  Surtsey sighed. ‘Christ.’ She saw tears in Donna’s eyes. ‘Hey, don’t be stupid.’

  ‘I feel so bad having to tell you,’ Donna said, ‘but I thought you should know.’

  Surtsey touched Donna’s wrist, a leather friendship bracelet there. ‘You did the right thing.’

  Silence for a moment, Surtsey’s hand still on Donna’s bracelet. She thought about her mum, was she really trying to get enough pills together to end it herself? How the hell was she supposed to bring something like that up in casual conversation? And why hadn’t she spoken to Surtsey about it first?

  ‘You’re a good daughter,’ Donna said eventually.

  ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Surtsey noticed the time on her watch. ‘Shit. I really better get over to KB.’

  She didn’t move for a moment, just breathed, then swivelled and hopped off the wall.

  ‘No rest for the wicked,’ Donna said.

  ‘Something like that.’

  8

  All the way on the 42 bus Surtsey tried to get her heart to beat like normal. She breathed carefully as they trundled past Peffermill and Cameron Toll, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Or was it meant to be the other way round?

  She jumped off at the bottom of Mayfield and crossed West Mains Road. The Grant Institute was a brown 1930s block on the edge of campus facing over the road, home to geology and geophysics, including her, Halima, Brendan and the rest. Edinburgh Uni enticed students to come with the promise of vibrant student life up in George Square, bars, cafes and clubs, being in the thick of the festival in summer. Then after first year undergrad they shoved you out here with all the other science nerds, surrounded by posh houses and fields, half an hour on the bus from town.

  She went through the front door and up the stairs to their open-plan department office. Somehow it always managed to be gloomy in here even on sunny days.

  The room was half full, six folk checking social media or reading news on screens, one or two actually doing some writing or fiddling with data analysis. Halima and Brendan both smiled at her as she went to the kettle, but she didn’t stop. She spooned instant coffee into her mug and waited for the kettle to boil. She stared at Tom’s empty office at the end of the room. The door was open, but then the door was always open. That was one of the good things about Tom as a boss, there was no sense of superiority, no us-and-them.

  Surtsey felt dizzy. Her eyes defocused then came back as the kettle switched off. She poured, splashing water onto the table.

  ‘Got some gossip.’

  The voice made her twitch and she spilled more water, splats of it on the floor between her feet.

  It was Halima. ‘Shit, babes, watch yourself, you nearly boiled your shoes there.’

  Surtsey put the kettle down and stirred her coffee.

  Halima grinned. ‘Apparently Tom’s gone missing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No one has seen our beloved professor since yesterday.’ Halima was mugging like a detective.

  Surtsey looked at her watch and shook her head.

  ‘He’ll just be coming in late.’

  Halima wagged a finger in the air. ‘His wife was here first thing this morning asking if anyone had seen him.’

  ‘Alice was here?’ Surtsey looked round.

  ‘Where were you, by the way?’ Halima said. ‘I thought maybe you’d pulled a sickie. That new grass is crazy.’

  ‘I went to see Mum.’

  Halima’s goofball face faded. ‘Of course, sorry.’

  Surtsey picked up her coffee but it was too hot to drink so she put it down again. ‘What did Alice say?’

  ‘She was frantic. He told her he was working late yesterday, that old line, but then he didn’t come home. She tried his phone, nothing. Still nothing this morning.’

  ‘Has she called the police?’

  ‘They can’t waste manpower on a search,’ Halima said. ‘No crime against going missing, they said.’

  ‘Really?’

  Halima’s goon face was back. ‘He’s going to be in some heavy shit when he turns up.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s in trouble?’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  Surtsey just wanted this to end. ‘Car accident? Heart attack?’

  ‘Someone would’ve found him, contacted the police. Anyway, Alice said she already phoned round the hospitals. Nothing. The plot thickens.’

  ‘Don’t, Hal, he could be in real trouble.’

  ‘Ach, he’s fine. He’ll be on a bender or shagging some daft undergrad. Minor midlife crisis. He’ll turn up sheepish, get a bollocking, then be welcomed back into the fold.’

  Surtsey went to pick up her coffee again, but her finger slipped on the handle and liquid sloshed on to the floor.

  Halima stepped back and narrowed her eyes. ‘You OK? That was some strong shit last night.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Iona clattering about with that guy didn’t help. Some girl.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Surtsey glanced at Tom’s office, then at her own desk. ‘I’d better get on.’

  ‘Still on for lunch, yeah?’

  Surtsey nodded, went to her desk and logged in. First thing she did was a Google news search for ‘the Inch’ and ‘Tom Lawrie’. Nothing much, just some old puff pieces from months ago, when they got that research grant. A picture of Tom on the Evening Standard website alongside one of the iconic pictures of the Inch, bloody lava pouring along the crevice between volcanic vent and flat plain, white steam billowing in a column where the lava fizzled in contact with the sea. She had the same picture on a postcard next to her computer monitor. Those early aerial shots of the
island were inspiration to everyone who worked here, the idea of newly created land emerging from the ocean depths. It was beautiful, like anyone could get a new start in life given the right circumstances.

  Surtsey clicked the story away, brought up the department homepage. She went into her browser history and deleted this morning’s search.

  ‘Was Halima telling you about Tom?’

  Brendan was next to her desk, running his finger along the edge of the wood. She had a pang in her heart, a rush of remembering why she’d fallen for him in the first place, the dark curly hair and freckles, the green eyes, bags of energy. Why had she bothered looking elsewhere? She should’ve spoken to him already, it must’ve looked weird not to when she came in, but she couldn’t face him just now.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said.

  ‘Strange, eh?’ That soft Dublin sliver of voice.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll turn up.’

  Brendan rubbed at his knuckles.

  ‘Up to much last night?’

  Surtsey stared at her computer screen. The uni logo, the panorama of Edinburgh’s skyline, the castle along to Salisbury Crags, the edge of the Inch poking out behind the rump of Arthur’s Seat. The picture was taken from the observatory at Blackford Hill along the road, which meant if she could get up high enough, she could see the Inch from here. Edinburgh was such a small place.

  ‘Night in with Hal,’ she said.

  Brendan nodded, puppy eyes. ‘Fancy doing something tonight?’

  Surtsey touched her temple. ‘I’m feeling a bit shit at the moment, let me think about it.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She could sense his disappointment and felt guilty.

  Brendan shuffled his feet. ‘How about lunch?’

  She nodded across the office. ‘Hal has stuff going on, man problems. I said I’d help her talk it out. Sorry.’

  Brendan hovered for a moment. ‘Everything’s OK, yeah?’

  Surtsey put on a smile. ‘Fine, just a bit spaced. And Mum’s worse.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  She was ashamed to use Louise like that but it worked. Brendan frowned and moved away from her desk.