Once we went to Center Parcs with some of my parents’ friends; the couple had two children of their own. It became clear quite quickly that they didn’t like me very much, though the feeling was mutual. They left me out of their games at the swimming pool and tried to kick me when we were cycling. In retaliation, I started cycling far faster than the two of them and disappeared in the pool to ride the flumes on my own, showing them that I was actually much better than they were and completely above their immature antics. After that trip, my parents and I never went to Center Parcs again.
When I was twelve – around the time my parents knew they were never going to have another child – they finally retired the Volvo Estate to the garage, where my dad kept his fishing gear and my mum stored spare light bulbs and other household items. They replaced it with a Ford Fiesta, which was far smaller than the Volvo and gave me hardly any space to cuddle up into a duvet in the back seat. But that was also the year we started going abroad on holiday once my dad had been convinced to give flying a second chance.
I loved visiting new countries, though part of me keened for our old road trips whenever the summer holidays rolled up.
When I was seventeen my parents gave me the Fiesta and bought themselves a hybrid Toyota Yaris, finally buying a car that identified them for what they were: well-off, middle class and responsibility-free. I thought I’d drive everywhere once I started university, though it became apparent very quickly that there was little point in having a car when public transport was often more efficient than using the congested city roads.
And so the Volvo Estate was left in the garage to gather dust, since both my parents didn’t have the heart to sell it. When I was back home for the summer before my PhD started I went into the garage to grab a spare bulb for my dad and was filled with a bizarre desire to get into the car. I slid into the front seat (the doors were all unlocked) and sat in front of the steering wheel, dreaming about having my own child wrapped in a duvet in the back seat and a husband complaining about directions beside me.
It was an odd thing to dream about. I didn’t want children; I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get married. But I dreamed it nonetheless, and it made me ache with a sadness I couldn’t quite understand. But then I got out of the car, left the garage and never thought about the Volvo again…until my mother called me, one afternoon when I was having a cup of tea whilst watching the rain outside batter my plants on the terrace.
“What do you mean the car is missing?” I asked, not taking in what my mum was saying. “How does a car go missing?”
“That's why I'm asking you, Grace,” she said. “The police called saying they've spotted the Volvo in several places along the west coast. Apparently they noticed it in some of the towns where folk have been attacked over the past few weeks, so they ran the plates and obviously traced it back to us. We didn't even know it wasn't in the garage, Gracie. It must have been stolen when you were watching the house.”
This rubbed me the wrong way. “If you didn't even know it was gone then it could well have been stolen while you were there, not me,” I countered. “Why does it have to be my fault?”
“Your father has been stuck in the house every day since we got back from holiday with that bad leg of his,” she explained slowly, as if she was trying to teach a particularly stupid child something achingly simple. “You know that. But you were gone for large parts of the day when you were here, weren't you? You were teaching.”
I gulped. My mum was speaking the truth. The car could well have been stolen on my watch – I never went into the garage even once when I was staying in Largs.
“But the alarm never went off,” I insisted, still trying to work out how this could not be my fault. “And if it had gone off when I was in Millport then Terry would have called me.”
“So how do you explain this?” my mum demanded, temper very clearly lost. “Tell it to me in a way that makes sense.”
I didn’t have an explanation. The car being stolen was bad enough; that it had been spotted close to several of the attack sites was scary and unnerving. That meant the person responsible had been in my house…possibly when I was there. The night Terry was stabbed flashed through my head, sending a wave of nausea roiling through me. I clutched a hand to my chest and closed my eyes, concentrating hard on my breathing.
My mum noticed the change in me immediately, even over the phone. “Gracie,” she soothed, all anger gone in a moment. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just – well, I’m bloody terrified, that’s what. After what happened to Terry so close to the house…”
I let her ramble on without really listening. My parents knew I’d witnessed the attack, unlike Louisa. It wasn’t as if I could hide it from them when the police came round to the house looking for a new statement from me the day my parents returned from holiday. They hadn’t wanted me to travel back to Glasgow alone; I reasoned that it was safer than staying on the literal street where Terry had nearly been murdered.
“Have you seen Tom yet?” I asked, abruptly changing the subject, though not really. For Tom had been yowling non-stop until he went missing. I had dismissed it as him going senile. But if he'd actually spotted the attacker scoping out the house…
My mum sighed, which I knew meant she hadn't seen Tom at all. “I think we have to accept that Tom is either dead or just not coming back,” she said, not unkindly. And then, “Look, I have to go, but if you can think of anything that might help us work out what happened to the Volvo then please, please let me know. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” I promised. “Of course I’ll let you know. I love you.”
“Love you too, Gracie.”
I stood staring at the sheets of rain outside for a long, long time, forgetting about the cup of tea that was going cold in my hands. The evidence was stacking up that the attacks – as well as the murder on Islay – were not only performed by the same person, but were also premeditated. If the perpetrator had stolen my parents’ car to travel around anonymously…
“Tom knew,” I murmured, certain.
It did not occur to me until much later, when I was hugging the person in question that night, that the only other soul who had been in my house that week had been Lir. But I’d been with him the entire time he was round. It couldn’t have been him.
Of course it wasn’t him.
Chapter Seventeen
I hadn't thought it possible. Really, it felt as if the end was never within my grasp. But, as we moved into the third week of April, haunted by Terry’s stabbing, the attacks on the news and the theft of my parents’ car, I finally finished my thesis.
I wanted to celebrate but I didn't know how. It's not as if I had a group of friends to get riotously drunk with at one of the university unions or a bar in the city centre. I didn’t exactly have the money to do that, anyway, even if such a group of friends had existed. If Louisa were here she’d have borrowed money from her mum – who doted on her baby girl – to fund our festivities. But she wasn’t here, and I had to be capable of celebrating without her.
I sent Josh a text to tell him I’d finished my thesis, though he was working and therefore unlikely to reply. Since his impromptu visit to my flat last week we’d messaged each other almost every day, slowly but surely getting back onto ‘banter and insulting Louisa’ ground. It was nice to have that again, though I was constantly a little on edge that Josh would say something that would take things too far.
When my phone buzzed a few seconds later I was surprised to see that he’d responded to my message. There was no stopping the snort of laughter I emitted upon seeing that he’d sent me a photo of himself in full scrubs and a face mask giving me a thumbs up. He followed this up with a message that we had to celebrate in person when he next had a weekend off.
Then I sent a similar message to David and to Louisa, hoping that the former would reply and that the latter’s response wouldn’t involve telling me to celebrate with people who were not my boyfriend. But when David replied simply saying ‘Con
grats’ and Louisa replied exactly the way I’d hoped she wouldn’t I sagged onto my couch, thoroughly deflated.
“Should I go home?” I wondered aloud, thinking that my parents, at the very least, would be happy to celebrate with me. But the notion felt pathetic, especially because I knew I was but a few days away from giving into the urge to ask them if I could stay in Largs with them for a few months whilst I applied for jobs. It’s not even like I wanted to specifically move back home; I didn’t want to live so far away from Lir, for one. But I was fairly certain I couldn’t stand to stay in Glasgow anymore…at least for a while.
Not wishing to feel sorry for myself – and full of too much restless energy to continue sitting on the couch – I wandered over to the terrace door and slid it open. When the wind blasted me back an inch or two I grinned. It was blowing from the west, and smelled faintly of salt. The combination of the smell and thoughts of my parents made me homesick.
I longed to be anywhere but the city.
That was how Lir found me, leaning against the railing of the terrace, staring at the river but dreaming of the sea.
“I heard someone finished their thesis!” he announced from the kitchen. I turned to see him pulling white paper packages out of a plastic bag from which the mouth-watering scent of fried foods began filling the air, competing with the wind. Lir gave me a small smile. “Sorry I didn’t pick up your call earlier. I was already in the chippy so couldn’t reply.”
My ears perked up at the word. “You? In a chip shop? That sounds preposterous.”
Lir could only laugh. “I figured you’d want something loaded with salt and caked in fat to celebrate,” he mused. “I got some wine, too. Unless you want to go out somewhere?”
But I shook my head. Lir’s presence – along with chips and wine – had improved my mood exponentially. “Staying in and pigging out sounds great to me,” I said, heading back into my flat to fix my windswept hair in the bathroom mirror before helping Lir plate out the food and pour the wine.
We spent the next two hours cuddling on the couch, eating, drinking and not quite watching whatever was on the television. It might have been Antiques Roadshow. Lir seemed distant, which had been an increasing occurrence since his trip to Islay. I mean, he was here beside me, contributing to conversation and listening to what I was saying, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. He kept glancing at his phone before, eventually, pausing from our conversation entirely to read something on it.
Now that the remains of the chippy had been thrown out and the terrace door was closed I realised that the distinct smell of salt and seawater had not dissipated from around us. It was odd to be sitting inside but able to smell fresh, blustery air and a hint of brine. It wasn't quite the same smell as the wind outdoors, by the river, carrying a diluted version of the scent.
No, it was the very authentic smell of the coast.
I shifted my gaze to Lir, too absorbed in his phone to realise I was staring at him. I tried to pinpoint a change in his appearance – an indicator that he’d been anywhere but campus today – but came up blank. His tawny hair was just as messy as usual, and he had on his favourite grey jumper and dark jeans combo.
Stretching my arms before feigning a yawn, I casually toppled into Lir’s side and nuzzled my face against his neck. It was him who smelled like the sea. I didn't understand. If he was going to leave Glasgow for the day why didn’t he mention it to me? He’d told me he was going to spend the morning studying and then the afternoon training in the swimming pool. But there wasn’t a whiff of chlorine about him, only salt.
“What are you reading?” I asked, kissing Lir’s jawline until he turned from his phone long enough that I could kiss his lips, instead. His eyes were glassy and faraway as he just barely reciprocated the gesture. I wanted to ask him where he’d been today – not what he was reading – but something was stopping me from asking. I didn’t think it was fear, but…
It was something.
Maybe I was just being paranoid. I’d certainly have sounded paranoid if I demanded to know his whereabouts at all times like a jealous, untrustworthy girlfriend. I didn’t want to be that kind of person. I wanted things to remain easy and wonderful between us.
“Ah, just an essay reinterpreting Celtic myths for the modern age,” he replied smoothly, kissing me a final time before returning his attention to his phone. It was a valid response. A very Lir response: it was the kind of thing he always read in his spare time.
I knew he was lying, anyway.
“If you read any more of that stuff I’ll be inclined to think you actually believe in it,” I murmured into his ear.
When Lir jerked away from me, threw his phone on the couch and stormed off to the bathroom I was beyond surprised. My comment had obviously been in jest. I’d just wanted to break through the wall of silence between us and return things to the way they’d been before. But Lir had clearly taken offence from my joke.
I sat motionless for a few seconds, my eyes locked on his phone the whole time. Even though I knew I’d hate myself if I got caught snooping I grabbed the device, anyway, turning it around to see that the screen was still on. But Lir hadn’t been reading about the modernisation of Celtic mythology.
He was reading about the attacks.
Why would he lie to me? I fretted, placing Lir’s phone in the exact place he left it just as he returned to the living room. He seemed to have returned to being in a good mood, though, wrapping his arms around me and happily wasting time joking about all the jobs our degrees qualified us for that we’d never want to do in a million years.
He didn’t pick up his phone even once for the rest of the evening, and I didn’t dare ask him why he’d lied to me. Something told me some things were better left unasked.
Much, much later, over an hour after we’d retired to bed, I became aware of the fact that Lir was definitely not asleep. He wasn’t even pretending to be. I spent the best part of that hour with my back turned to him, trying to ignore the fact that I could practically feel Lir’s eyes boring holes into the ceiling. Eventually I could take the oppressive silence no longer.
I rolled over.
“What's bothering you?” I whispered, sliding a hand across Lir’s cheek until he turned on his side to look at me, too. His eyes were just as glassy and faraway as they had been when he was reading about the attacks. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you earlier,” I tried to apologise. “It was a joke. I –”
Lir swallowed my apology with his mouth on mine, pulling me in close and burying me beneath his lean frame. I reciprocated for a while, running my hand through his hair and urging him closer as I got lost in the sensation of his skin on mine. But I knew he was trying to distract me. Perhaps it was his silence, or the darkness all around us, but I finally found the courage I’d lacked earlier to call him out on his odd behaviour.
“Lir,” I mumbled against his lips, though he only kissed me more insistently. My tongue grazed his teeth as I tried to speak. “Lir, I – ow!”
I pulled away immediately, bringing my fingers to my stinging tongue. They came away wet and smelling of metal.
Blood.
Not quite knowing what had happened, my eyes scanned Lir’s face and stopped on his teeth. His canines were gleaming in the darkness. Perhaps it was because it was dark, but it almost looked as if he’d…sharpened them.
I’m imagining it, I thought, desperate to assuage my paranoia and uncertainty. I must be. Why would he sharpen his teeth? I just caught my tongue. It’s fine.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Lir mumbled, genuinely apologetic. “I didn’t meant to. Let’s just…go to sleep.” Then he kissed my forehead, rolled over onto his back and encouraged me to rest my head on his chest.
I didn't know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. With a sigh I dutifully rested my head on Lir’s chest, tracing small circles on his stomach whilst he did the same thing on my back, until it became clear that both of our rapid heart rates weren’t going to slow down any time
soon.
It was a long time before either of us came even close to unconsciousness.
Chapter Eighteen
When Lir asked me the next day if I wanted to meet up with Max for lunch I was more than a little surprised, though I happily agreed to it.
“I didn't think you actually socialised with anyone from your course outside of classes,” I admitted. It was reasonable to believe this, after all: Lir hadn’t spent a single evening with anyone other than me ever since we got together nearly six weeks ago. That was half of the entire semester. Aside from his weekends spent outside of Glasgow, and the occasional late night he spent in the library instead of at mine, I could see no possible time during which he hung out with other people.
He chuckled good-naturedly. “I don't often. Whenever I have free time I usually spend it swimming, to be honest. But it’s not as if I don’t like socialising…sometimes. And I’ve seen Max a few times for a pint or two over lunch to break from studying.”
Oh, yeah. Day time. It was stupid of me to have believed Lir spent all his time in the library or his flat, alone, before he came to mine. But that made me think about the night before, when he had very obviously not even been in Glasgow before getting to my flat when he said he’d been studying and training all day.
I shook the disconcerting memory of wind and seawater from my head. I didn’t want to dwell on it, nor on the way Lir had overreacted to my stupid joke. I wanted things to be good between us. I wanted us to exist together in easy harmony, like we did ninety percent of the time.
I wanted Lir to not have sharpened teeth.
Max had picked a small bar in town which I actually liked and used to frequent with Louisa and Josh. They served two-for-one pizza and, because they actually had a wood-fired oven, said pizza was very good. Lir, of course, was no doubt going to order the fish, but I was long past caring about his dietary quirks by now.
The Boy from the Sea Page 12