Rhona tapped the side of her nose and raised her eyebrows. ‘Maybe this will put Crovie and Gardenstown on the map again, how about that? And hey – maybe that’s how you’re going to save me and my workshop.’
Oh my selkie lass,
Robbie was late home because of bloody dolphin patrol but I was out on a call so I didn’t know. Barbara didn’t want me to worry when she knew I couldn’t get back. Anything could have happened. Anything. Can you imagine? Of course you can’t.
Why isn’t it getting easier? Everyone says it will. It doesn’t. It just gets further away.
Love you. Like a stuck record, skipping, skipping.
PS: Beetroot. I’m sorry there hasn’t been any lately. I don’t know why.
Twenty-Three
‘Shipping is really bad news for cetaceans in the North Sea,’ Young Robbie said, with great authority. ‘We don’t know how many dolphins and whales we lose to ship-strike every year, because if they get hit by one of those massive container carriers, the ship doesn’t even notice, and then the body floats away to the bottom of the sea.’
‘That’s horrible,’ Anna said, watching as he rolled the pastry with endearing diligence. ‘Those poor creatures.’
‘Yeah,’ Robbie agreed. ‘Then there’s all the invasive species that come in with the ballast water. Container ships have these compartments in their hulls that scoop up water to balance their weight. They hold thousands of gallons. If they suck up a load of seawater near Japan, say, and then they come all the way over here to the Northern Hemisphere and unload, they have to dump all of that water – and whatever’s in it – here. And with climate change our water is warmer, and species that wouldn’t have been able to survive here before can now, and they’re breeding, which is bad for the local ecosystem as it disrupts the food chain. That’s how we’ve ended up with colonies of Japanese skeleton shrimp and the leathery sea squirt.’
‘The what?’ Anna laughed.
‘The leathery sea squirt.’
‘You made that name up!’
‘I didn’t!’ Robbie said, laughing too. ‘It’s a real thing! It comes from Asia, and now it’s here. Look it up.’
‘I will,’ she assured him, handing him the pastry cutter. He bent over the table, frowning as he concentrated on pressing out the fluted circles. He’s only ten, she thought. Eleven years ago he didn’t exist, and yet here he is now, helping me with pastry and telling me things I didn’t know.
‘Fishing can cause problems too,’ the boy said. ‘If a net gets lost, it stays around for years. Fish can get stuck in it, and then dolphins are attracted to the food source and can get stuck too. Then they suffocate, it’s horrible.’ He stopped what he was doing and looked at her with serious eyes. ‘That’s why you should only ever serve sustainably caught fish on your bench. There are labels you can look for.’
‘Noted,’ Anna said. ‘You said something about nets the first time I met you. Remember, when you I gave you the sea purslane to try?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said the boy. ‘Ghost nets get caught there all the time, especially after a storm.’ He pushed the cutter into the last patch of pastry and leaned back. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Perfect. Okay, now to put them in the cases.’ She handed him the tart tray.
Robbie nodded, his face a mask of utter concentration, and Anna was filled with a rush of affection for this little boy. She was glad she’d said yes to this evening, in fact, because when Robert had called and asked her if she could watch Robbie at his place, Anna had almost said no.
‘Me?’
‘I know it’s an imposition,’ said Robert. ‘I wouldn’t usually ask, but I’ve had a call out on the lifeboat and Barbara’s away in Inverness for the night. I wasn’t supposed to be on the roster, but Mikey’s gone down sick with some stomach bug and Robbie’s begged me to ask you. He says there’s a bake sale for charity at the school tomorrow and he wants you to help him make something for it. Don’t worry if you’d rather not – I can ask someone else. He’ll be all right for an hour or so until I can round someone up. I just don’t want to leave him all evening.’
‘No,’ Anna said. ‘It’s fine, of course it is. I’ll be there in half an hour.’
‘Thank you, Anna,’ he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
So it was that Anna found herself in the MacKenzie family home, a stone-built two-storey house tucked away right at the top of Gamrie’s tangle of sloping streets. Robert had gone by the time she’d arrived. Young Robbie had opened the door with a beaming smile on his face, and the frank happiness of the greeting settled the uncomfortable niggle in Anna’s stomach. The boy offered her tea and biscuits in a large kitchen made comfortable by clutter, and by the time she held the mug in her hand, any trace of awkwardness Anna felt had melted away, perhaps because the place was so comfortably a home. Photographs and notes peppered the fridge door, a cobweb lurked in the corner of one window, a stack of correspondence was piled untidily on the kitchen table beside some half-done homework. Anna couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a place that felt so clearly shaped by the natural forces of family life.
‘So, what are we going to put in the pastry?’ the boy asked, as he neatly smoothed the last fluted circle into the tart tin.
‘Have you got some jam?’ she asked, crossing to the oven and flicking it on. ‘You can’t go wrong with a jam tart.’
Young Robbie wrinkled his nose. ‘Can we make something a bit fancier? Otherwise Queen Victoria will win again and nobody wants that.’
‘Queen Victoria?’
‘A girl in my class. She’s good at everything. Likes everyone to know it, too. I’d like to beat her at something for once.’
‘It’s not a competition though, is it?’
Robbie pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Everything’s a competition where she’s concerned.’
Anna laughed. ‘All right. Let’s see what else we can do, then. Put them in the fridge to chill for a minute. Your dad won’t mind if I look in your cupboards for suggestions, will he? If not, I’ll pop down the road and get something; the shop will still be open.’
‘He won’t mind. Food cupboards are those ones up there.’ Robbie nodded at the four cabinets above the work surface as he carried the tray to the fridge.
Anna opened the first to find tins and packets of savoury staples banked in semi-neat rows and quickly moved on to the second. She’d thought she’d found the same again and was about to shut the cupboard when a realization brought her to a standstill. The whole cabinet was full of jars of pickled beetroot, stacks and stacks of it. There must have been fifty unopened containers jammed into the space.
‘Ahh,’ Young Robbie’s voice said, behind her. ‘Yeah, not that cupboard.’
‘You’re beetroot fans in this house then, eh?’
‘No,’ the boy sighed. ‘Dad can’t stand it. Calls it the Devil’s vegetable. Hates the smell. He won’t even open a jar.’ Anna looked at him over her shoulder and he shrugged. ‘I’ve had it a couple of times. It’s okay.’
‘Then why—’
‘My mum loved it. My grandma says that she ate so much of it when she was expecting me, they used to joke I was going to come out purple. And Dad… he’s got this thing where he always buys a jar every time he goes shopping. He says he doesn’t even realize he’s done it until he gets home and there it is in the bag. But then he can’t throw it out. So it stays. You should see the cupboard under the stairs. It’s so full I have to keep my skateboard in my room.’
Anna looked back at the jars of pickle. Her mouth had run dry.
‘He’s not weird,’ Robbie said. ‘He’s not, I promise.’
She swallowed and turned around with a watery smile. ‘I don’t think he’s weird.’
He tapped his fingers on the table, chewing his lower lip, looking so much like a miniature version of his father. ‘Grandma says he’s still grieving, that’s all.’
> ‘I know. He loved your mum very much.’
Robbie nodded, distracted. ‘Have you seen a picture? Of my mum?’
‘No, never. I’d like to, though.’
The boy went to the fridge door and pulled a photograph from the papery melee. He looked at it for a second and then brought it over to her, holding it out with a solemn face. Anna took the photograph and looked at it. In it the Cassie’s Joy floated at anchor in Gamrie’s harbour, Crovie’s line of houses barely visible in the distance across the water. A small woman with short dark hair stood on the deck, holding a toddler against her hip. Beside her stood Robert MacKenzie, both arms around the two of them, his face half-hidden against her hair as he kissed her head. Cassie and little Robbie were both laughing at the camera, her one free hand clutching at her husband’s arm where it crossed over her chest. Anna was reminded, sharply, of that laughing picture of herself and her parents, the one that was beside her hearth in the Fishergirl’s Luck. She took a breath and felt the heavy, painful thump of her heart, and tried to hold at bay the gathering tears.
‘It’s my favourite picture,’ Robbie said quietly. ‘Even if I don’t remember it happening.’
Anna smiled. ‘It’s perfect.’
They were silent for a few more minutes, and the boy then took the photo and pinned it back on the fridge.
‘He didn’t buy any this time,’ Robbie said, with his back still to her. ‘He came home with the shopping but there wasn’t any beetroot. I think—’
He stopped, and Anna hurriedly wiped the tears from her eyes before he turned around again.
‘You think – what?’ she asked, to cover the motion.
He gave a half-shrug. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
She wanted to pull him into a hug, but couldn’t. Anna turned to the next cupboard instead, pulled it open and spied a jar of jam and a packet of ground almonds.
‘Raspberry frangipane tarts,’ she said. ‘That should give Queen Victoria a run for her money, don’t you think?’
Two hours later, the tarts were cooling on a rack and Anna sat beside Robbie at the table, helping him to finish his homework. The front door opened, the sound of the wind gusting through it, and then Robert MacKenzie appeared in the doorway, wet with rain. He looked tired, but smiled at the sight of them at the table.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Looks as if you two have been busy.’
‘You’ve got a budding baker here,’ Anna said as she stood, not quite looking at him. ‘Robbie did most of the work himself. I should be going.’ She laid a hand on Young Robbie’s shoulder, squeezing gently. ‘Let me know how the bake sale goes tomorrow, eh?’
‘You won’t stay for a drink?’ Robert asked, as he shrugged off his wet coat and hung it on a peg, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
‘Thanks, but I’d best get going.’
‘Where’s your car? I didn’t see it outside.’
‘I didn’t bring it. I walked.’
He dropped his hand. ‘Then I’ll take you home. You can’t walk back – the storm’s rolling onto shore.’
‘I’ll be fine. Really, I’d rather walk.’ She couldn’t bear the idea of being in the confined space of a car with him, trying to make small talk. Five years, and he was still buying his wife pickles he couldn’t bring himself to throw out. The tragedy of it was too awful. ‘Besides, you’ve got to get Robbie to bed.’
He looked at her, trying to fathom her out, a spark of concern deep in his eyes. Robert glanced over at his son, still at the table, and then back to her.
‘I can look after myself,’ she reminded him.
‘Well, if you get down to the harbour and change your mind, you call me. And let me know when you get home. I’ll not sleep otherwise.’
Anna gave a faint smile. ‘All right.’
He frowned. ‘Robbie, say thank you and goodbye.’
The boy shocked her by jumping up from the table and throwing his arms around her waist, holding on to her tightly. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
She wrapped her arms around him for a moment, hugging him against her belly, against the hidden bundle of nerves within. For a moment she felt tears pressing behind her lashes again. Bloody hormones, she thought, desperate that neither of them should see.
Robert followed her into the hallway to the door, watching silently as she pulled on her coat.
‘Anna,’ he said, when her hand was on the latch. ‘Are you all right?’
‘A bit tired, that’s all,’ she said, turning and flashing a quick smile. ‘I’ll see you sometime soon, I’m sure.’
There was a slight pause. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you. Really, you were a lifesaver. And don’t worry. I promise I won’t ask again.’
Nothing she could have said then would have been right. She nodded and pulled open the door. ‘Night, Robert.’
‘Night.’
Outside, a strong wind was whipping the first drops of cold rain into flurries that stung her cheeks. Anna turned down towards the ocean and then stopped for a moment, breathing in the coming storm. By the time she reached the harbour it was raining hard, but she had no intention of going back to the MacKenzie house. In Gamrie’s harbour she saw the trawler Liam crewed on moored securely against the bobbing water, in port because of the storm that had seen the lifeboat called out. She stared at it, rain peppering her face, wind tearing at her hair. Across the bay flickered the faint lights of Crovie, the cliff a sheer block of darkness between.
Anna pulled out her phone.
‘Liam,’ she said, through lips growing numb, when he answered. ‘Are you in Gamrie? I need to talk to you.’
* * *
‘Well,’ Cathy said. ‘Look at it this way. At least now you’ve told him.’
Outside, the north wind was doing its best to blow the Fishergirl’s Luck into the sea. Inside, Anna lay curled in her bed with the phone to her ear as the rain lashed so hard against the window she could barely hear her friend speak.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There is that.’
She’d stood in Liam’s small room in the house near the harbour where he was lodging, the storm outside gathering more strength by the minute, and talked as simply as she could about something that was not simple at all. Liam had listened, head bowed in concentration, not looking at her.
‘I know this isn’t ideal, but I’m going to keep it,’ she’d told him.
He’d looked at her then, his usual twinkle dimmed by a frown that creased his forehead. ‘But I’ve got to go back to New Zealand. I’m going home really soon.’
‘I know.’
He’d shaken his head, as if in denial that these two factors could ever be compatible.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,’ Anna had ventured. ‘Maybe it would have been better for you never to know.’
The look he’d given her had been a dark one. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’m going to go now,’ she’d told him then. ‘If you want to talk to me again, you know where I am.’
She was at the bottom of the stairs when he appeared at the top of them. ‘You can’t walk in this,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive you.’
‘It’s fine, I’ll—’
He was already on his way down. ‘I’ll drive you.’
Back at home in the Fishergirl’s Luck, she’d stared at that photograph of her and her parents from so many years ago and tried not to think about the cupboard full of more pickled beetroot than any one family could reasonably eat. What would it be, to be loved like that? She saw Young Robbie’s solemn face in her mind. She’d picked up her phone and sent Cathy a text that read Are you awake?
Now here she was, numb and empty apart from that tiny part of herself that would one day, sooner than she could currently comprehend, be another person.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Cathy asked.
‘I told him it’s up to him if he wants to talk to me again. In the meantime…’
‘In the meantime?’
Anna rolled over and stared at her ceiling, wondering
how many tiles the Fishergirl’s Luck would have lost by morning. ‘I’ll work.’
Despite the elements beating against the walls, Anna slept heavily through the night. By the time she’d woken the next morning the worst of the storm had huffed itself out, leaving behind it a scattering of debris and a stiff breeze. Anna opened her front door to see Pat sweeping the path in front of the Weaver’s Nook, the sky overhead leaden and grey.
Pat looked up as Anna stepped out of the Fishergirl’s Luck. Anna was struck by how tired her friend looked.
‘Morning,’ she said. ‘That was a rough one.’
‘Wasn’t it just,’ Pat said, wearily. ‘Did you get any sleep at all?’
‘I slept really well, actually,’ Anna said. ‘I always feel safe in the Fishergirl’s Luck, no matter what’s going on outside.’ Or even inside, she thought.
Pat smiled, but there was a shadow in her eyes that Anna hadn’t seen before. ‘Long may it last.’
‘Pat? Are you all right?’
‘There was another slip above the rental. Not a big one, there’s not much damage, but it’s a reminder of what could happen that we could do without. Not to mention it’s another excuse for Frank to conveniently forget he’s not the young man he used to be. He’s up there now, scrambling about as if he’s half the age he actually is, despite everything the doctor said.’
‘I’ll come and help,’ Anna said immediately, and then realized something and had to think fast. ‘Although – I’ve twanged something in my back. I’m not sure how much heavy lifting I’ll be good for.’
‘Don’t you worry, love. Glynn and David are here if we need them. We’ll manage.’
Anna looked out over the sea. The water was choppy, its depths stirred by the storm into shades of blue and green she’d not yet seen.
‘I didn’t expect summer storms when I moved here,’ she said. ‘I assumed that winters would be hard to deal with, but beyond that I hadn’t thought. Will we get more?’
‘Probably,’ Pat told her. ‘They’ve been getting worse every year, although this is the worst season we’ve had that I can remember. Let’s hope that’s it for a while, though. It wouldn’t do for you not to be able to run lunches when we’ve had more people asking about you.’
The House Beneath the Cliffs Page 17