by Jane Shemilt
‘… know what you’ll say, Albie; and you’d be right, there are things we could try, but I don’t want a baby at any price.’ Her voice has thickened, she is holding back tears. ‘I can’t stand the thought of IVF; people end up trying again and again and again. It can destroy them. What if I managed to get pregnant and then lost the baby for the second time? I wouldn’t survive that.’ She looks down. ‘It was her birthday in January, she’d be four by now.’
‘Why didn’t Ted help you? He could have got you antibiotics immediately.’ His lips are stiff, speech is difficult.
‘Ted kept away; if he thought about it at all, he must have assumed I’d had a termination.’
The crows beyond the window flap and wheel in the wind, a trail of pain plumes inside his skull.
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why not let me know this years ago?’
‘I didn’t know about the scarring until the scan.’ A flat little sentence, flat enough to be the truth. ‘I’d told you too many lies by then.’
‘You could have told me about Ted at the start.’
‘I waited until I could trust you, but by then we were in love.’ Her eyes swim. ‘There was too much to lose. I was scared you’d leave me if you knew or else that you would confront Ted and ruin your career. Every day I knew I should tell you, but every day was later than the day before; it went on and on, always being just too late.’
‘Yet you are telling me now …’
‘Because you think he’s harmless.’ She pulls her hand away. ‘You expect me to act as though I forgive him when I know he deserves everything that’s happened.’
‘It’s all right, Beth—’
‘It’s not.’ He can hear the wind howling at the window, feel her breath on his skin. ‘When you were safely out of the way today, your wounded colleague made a pass at me. He put his hands …’ She doesn’t finish.
He is drenched in rage, breathless as though a bucket of ice has been thrown at his face.
‘How dare he?’ His eyes are as wild as a tiger who is crouching to attack. ‘How is he not afraid of what would happen if I found out?’
‘Ted doesn’t waste time being afraid. He relies on your ignorance. He knows I’d want to protect you.’
‘Protect me from what?’
‘The rage you would feel.’ She slides a cold hand into his. ‘The revenge you might want.’
Revenge. The tubes he implants are as narrow as a hair, as delicately constructed. Chemicals pass down them into the brain, altering every cell they touch; her words have slipped deep into his mind, transforming everything he thought he knew about Ted.
‘You will have to stop me,’ he says into her hair. ‘Because if you don’t, I honestly think I’m going to kill him.’
Outside the wind has dropped and the sky is clear. The words fall into silence,
‘I’m not going to stop you, Albie.’ She pulls back to look at him, her eyes shining in the moonlight. ‘I’m going to help you.’
There is silence while the world shifts; everything changes in the space of seconds.
‘Who knows about you and Ted?’ he asks.
‘Ed saw us together just once, a long time ago. Ted swore him to secrecy. I don’t think he will have told anyone, not even Theo. Jake seems to have picked up something, but I doubt he knows for sure.’
He is silent. They have reached an agreement and for a while at least there is nothing more to say. She seems exhausted now. She undresses and falls asleep quickly, though she turns restlessly as if engulfed in a nightmare, the tangled sheet winding around her legs. Her naked body in the candlelight is as smooth and slim as a blade. She is as heart-stoppingly lovely as she was the night they met, arriving into his life as if from nowhere. Ted must have been watching that evening, watching ever since. Tomorrow. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know exactly when or how, he will have his revenge tomorrow.
They wake the next morning into sunshine. The triangle of sea between the sloping cliffs is already a deep turquoise blue. The storm has passed in the night; it will be a glorious day.
21
Jura. Summer 2018
Jake stands on the highest point of the cliffs, framed by sky. He bows to the circle of watching faces in front of him and begins his recitation. He speaks with foreboding.
‘… many stories are woven around the swirling water of the Corryvreckan.’
He has brought the Legends of the Western Isles from the house and has insisted on reading one aloud before the picnic; a good story, he promised, about love and lies and magic.
The sun gleams off the rounded boulders that are scattered about the grass as if dropped by giants. Beth leans against a rock, Harris at her feet, Theo and Albie on either side. Beyond Theo, Ted sits on a boulder, leaning forward, a pair of binoculars swing from his neck. His face is turned towards her. Ed sits on the ground close to his father. Albie looks drawn, his eyes are bloodshot as if he barely slept. Beth slips her arm around him.
‘There was a Norwegian prince called Breakan,’ Jake continues, glancing round to check he has everyone’s attention. ‘He was in love with a girl from a noble family. To gain her father’s consent for her hand in marriage, Breakan agreed to a test of courage; he had to anchor his boat for three nights in the Corryvreckan whirlpool.’ He gestures beyond the cliffs where a wide circle of choppy water is visible against a calmer background; the crested waves swirl and heave as if they were alive.
‘Breakan sailed back to his homeland where three wise men advised him to have anchor cables made: a plait of hemp, one of wool and one that had been spun from the hair of maidens.’
Beth’s hair is blowing across Albie’s face in dark, whip-like strands; there had been a girl with plaits at school, larger than the rest of them, more outspoken. The daughter of visiting Americans who were trying the state system for a year. She gathered a gang around her, whispering that Beth wore funny shoes, that her father was a drunk. Her fat blond plaits hung down over the back of her chair, in front of Beth’s desk; in an art lesson Beth leant forward with scissors and cut across them with a crunch she can still sometimes hear. Albie leans to tuck her hair tenderly into her collar; the pale oblong of Ted’s face turns towards the sea.
‘Breakan returned to Corryvreckan and anchored his boat.’ Jake strides up and down on the grass as he reads, his voice building to a crescendo, ‘On the first night, the hemp rope snapped. During the second, the wool cable broke. On the third a storm swept across the sea and the last rope, whose strength lay in the purity of the maidens, was torn apart.’
His voice drops as the story draws to an end. ‘Too late, Breakan realised the maidens were not as virtuous as he had been led to believe; both he and his boat were engulfed in the whirlpool and drowned.’
Jake bows deeply, everyone claps. Ted stands to cheer him, Ed stands too, smiling as he gazes at Ted. He looks relieved; his father seems to have improved. Beth walks to the edge of the cliffs; the fall is precipitous. Far below the waves champ at the rocks like teeth. The prince in the story wouldn’t have had a chance, no one would.
Theo and Ed have spread a rug and a white lace tablecloth on top of that, then laid it with sandwiches that Theo made. There are tins of beer, a pile of apples and a fruit cake that Sophie sent up with Ed, carefully wrapped in foil. Afterwards as they stand and stretch and walk to the cliff edge, Beth begins to pack away; she wants to go back, there are plans to make. She wraps the remains of the cake in the foil; it was perfectly cooked, dark with fruit and alcohol. Sophie will make a wonderful mother for Ed’s children. She will bake for them. She will never send them to school hungry or in the wrong clothes. She won’t take to the road with a drunken husband, leaving her child alone in the dark.
Ed squats beside her, offering beer. He is less surly than yesterday; now that his father seems happier it’s as though he has called a truce. ‘Look.’ He picks up a stem with pearl-like white fruit, another with thicker leaves and tiny catkins. ‘Hey, Jake.’ He opens his palm. ‘
This is what I meant by detail; isn’t it pretty?’
‘And there’s the bigger picture.’ Jake waves his hand to the cliffs and the sea. ‘Incredible.’
‘That water would take you under in moments.’ Albie speaks for the first time that day. ‘The rocks would cut you to pieces.’ He takes a can of beer and walks away from the group.
Ed gets up to join his father while Jake comes to kneel beside Beth as she crams apples into the side pocket of the rucksack.
‘I hope you weren’t bored by that story.’ The green and brown eyes gleam; she turns away, stacking plates together. ‘Same old thing: love, betrayal, the lies some women tell.’ He grins. ‘Funny how these ancient myths come up fresh.’
‘Jake, come here. I want to take a photo of you posing with your book, whirlpool in the background.’ Theo gestures to a rocky vantage point on the edge of the cliff. Jake grins, pushes himself up and saunters towards Theo. Jake was rooting for information, he knows nothing for certain. She begins to push plates into the rucksack, elbowing Harris from the remains of the sandwiches. A hand covers hers, Ted’s. She snatches hers away.
‘This reminds me of our picnics in Cornwall.’ He kneels stiffly beside her. ‘Do you remember the day it poured and we had to—’
‘Chatting up my wife?’ Albie is behind them, his voice trembles.
Ted pushes himself to standing, catches his breath and smiles. ‘Just helping her,’ he says cheerfully, winking at Beth.
‘Dad, bring your binoculars over here,’ Ed calls from the cliff edge. ‘I swear I saw a sea eagle just now.’ Ted walks to join him, grinning to himself; despite everything that’s happened, his old sexual confidence seems intact. Albie’s cheeks are burning, he looks murderous. She puts her arms around him, drawing him close. ‘Be nice,’ she whispers. ‘You have to be nice for a little longer.’
The muscles of his shoulders are tight under her hands, he is breathing rapidly. ‘Wait,’ she says into his ear. ‘Wait till this evening.’
On the way back the sun disappears behind the clouds, the weather is changing rapidly again. In the distance a dark curtain of rain is drawn across the sky. Albie leads the way. Ted is tired, his stride wavers behind Albie’s easy lope, but then Albie knows the terrain; he has stalked all over the island. Ed and Jake follow. Theo is just behind them, whistling and taking shots of the approaching storm. Beth is at the back with Harris. They reach home a few minutes before the downpour. Ted drinks the last of the beer and sleeps in the chair but Albie is claimed by Ed and Theo for a game of cards; the moment for planning slips away. Jake reads on his own. He seems tired and doesn’t approach her again. By supper Ted has woken and is restless, pacing as he drinks; in the long silences she hears the wind get up again and begin to whistle down the chimney. After the meal, Ted starts rummaging amongst the pegs by the door. ‘Where’s your coat gone, Albie?’
‘Not that again, Dad.’ Theo sounds weary. ‘The storm’s come back. It’s not safe. You might get lost.’ He leans to kiss his father goodnight, his freckled face vivid against Ted’s lined visage, the one a fresh copy of the other.
‘I need to sleep,’ she hears Ed murmur to Albie. ‘Can you keep an eye on Dad till he goes to bed? He seems better, but you never know.’
When the boys have disappeared, Beth slips out of the room. Albie follows her, leaving Ted on his own, searching for coats. They stand close together in the bedroom, there’s hardly any time.
‘He’s determined to go out,’ she whispers. ‘This is our chance …’ She doesn’t repeat his words or hers from the night before; they will have been in his head all day. He looks out of the window; sweat gleams in minute drops along his hairline, but he doesn’t move.
‘He has the vials, Albie; he holds our future in his hands. You have to go after him.’
She can tell by his breathing that he is listening to her, but still he doesn’t move.
She steps closer. ‘He’ll take everything. You’ll lose your career, all your work, your houses. We’ve already lost our children.’
He turns at that and his eyes stare into hers; they seem to look through her, as if searching for the children they will never have, their children’s children, and beyond them, the line of offspring that are lost for ever. He touches her hand; his signature on the pact. Surprising, after so long, how easily an idea slips from thought to action, how silently an end can be encompassed.
‘Here’s your coat.’ She unhooks it from the back of the bedroom door. ‘I’ll take it to him.’ She comes back in a few minutes, another jacket in her hands. ‘This is for you. He’s about to leave. I showed him the path on the map, the one that leads to the high cliffs on the next headland.’ She kisses him, he still hasn’t said a word.
‘A life for a life, Albie. A life for many lives.’
Downstairs the back door bangs shut.
‘Hurry.’
The quiet pad of his footsteps descends the stairs. From the window she sees him leave the house; a few moments later his figure disappears as if swallowed up by the rain.
22
Jura. Summer 2018
He has to run in bursts to keep Ted in his sights, but he stops now and then to crouch in the bracken and catch his breath, the tough undergrowth scratching at the skin of his fingers. The figure up ahead appears then disappears through blowing veils of rain.
An owl shrieks twice from the trees to his left, but Ted doesn’t falter. By the time the slope flattens on to deer-nibbled grass, he has gained ground and is close enough to see Ted’s scalp through the strands of white hair, the green of the borrowed jacket. Ted’s face is turned towards the sea where a dull silvery yellow stains the horizon. The wind is fierce. The acrid scents of dung and salt catch his throat; an image of the autopsy room slices across the cliff and is gone. The waves are crashing on to rock forty feet below; quiet earlier today but now churning and roaring.
His boot strikes the lichen on a half-buried lump of granite and Ted turns at the noise. In the murky light Albie could be staring at his older self, a beaten, late middle-aged self.
‘It’s you.’ Ted sounds relieved. ‘I had the sense of someone behind me all the way but thought I was imagining things. The storm plays tricks. I’d have waited if I’d known.’
Albie’s heart is beating in his mouth. The blood in his head sounds like the sea. He wipes his eyes clear of rain with his wrist. At the edge of his vision a dark bird, large as a child, lifts from a spur of rock and rises silently on a downward beat of wings. Both men turn to track it as it disappears; the snowy tail feathers leave a white echo in the misty air. Sea eagle, scavenger of the dead.
‘So close …’ Ted says. ‘I was watching for one today.’
‘I followed you from the house.’ Safe to admit that. Ted trusts him, though even that thought makes him angry: the eternal lieutenant, too biddable to be dangerous.
‘It was good of you.’ Ted smiles, a lopsided version of his former grin. ‘How like you to worry, but there’s no need.’
‘I wasn’t worried,’ Albie replies but Ted isn’t listening; perhaps he has never really listened.
‘I wouldn’t do anything stupid, though I admit I’ve come close at times. Early mornings are the worst,’ Ted continues, pulling Albie’s jacket more closely around him. He glances to the edge of the cliff where the grass ends in a line as if cut by a knife. ‘Those vials have made a difference, and then of course I’d never leave my boys …’
My boys. After all, it comes down to children: what Ted has and what he stole. The churning in Albie’s head gets louder; blood will be flowing fast through the arteries of his brain, the dark stream expanding all the twisting vessels. Rage rises to his throat. They are inches from the edge.
He reaches out to grip Ted’s upper arms. Ted smiles and covers Albie’s right hand with his left, acknowledging the gesture; his friend is comforting him. Even as he is lifted off his feet, he gives a surprised laugh. Does he imagine that he is being pulled in for a hug?
Al
bie swings him close, their faces almost touch, and in the violence of that motion Ted lets out a grunting noise of protest. His mouth has fallen open, the beefy red of his tongue works to make a sound. His pupils have dilated. Albie spreads his legs; the decision becomes absolute. Mustering force, he pushes Ted backwards over the edge.
There is a noise, a sharp flap or shout as though the molecules of wet air through which Ted is falling are vibrating with sound. Albie hunches forward, watching, arms still wide as though about to tackle a monster; through the misty grey air he sees the head meet rock, then the torso roll and bump between dark ledges so fast the body is a blur. He doesn’t see it disappear beneath the broken surface of the water; he must have absorbed the sight but that moment is too rapidly over, too terrible to register. A tern startled from its perch wheels, screaming against the black rock. Albie stays where he is, panting heavily and scanning the empty waves as they move back and forth far below.
ACT THREE
* * *
23
Jura. Summer 2018
‘I look just the same.’
Beth watches him watch himself in the small gilt-framed mirror on the chest of drawers. His summer-looking skin and blue stare reflect innocence while she swims ghost-like in the dark behind him, her eyes in shadow. His face creases with distress as he turns away and lowers himself to the bed. She wrenches off his boots.
‘When I grabbed hold of him, he thought I was hugging him. Christ.’
‘It’s done, Albie.’ She helps him out of his anorak, then sits by him and lifts his wet hand to her mouth. Her heart is light; her body feels as if it could float away. She kisses his palm again and again. ‘It’s over.’ She puts her arms around him. ‘We are safe now. Nothing can touch us, we are free to do whatever we—’