‘What was it like here before, just the two of you?’
Lefty looks at her, eyes narrowed. She has the sense that he’s getting near the point where he’s going to scarper. This is probably the longest conversation they’ve ever had.
‘Sometimes went days wi’out sayin’ a word. No’ like we have big conversations, mind.’
‘Does he – did he ever hit you?’
He looks at her, swigs, belches again. ‘Nah,’ he says, eventually. ‘Threatens to, most days. Never actually has.’
‘I’ve seen him grab you, push you.’
‘That’s no’ what you asked.’
‘It’s still violence.’
He explodes with a big ‘Ha!’ then, as if she’s said something hilarious. ‘That what you call violence? Fuck me.’
He leans against the counter, a shorter, skinnier version of Fraser, regarding her casually. ‘Go on, then, hen. Ask me. I can feel it. All they burning questions. He’s no’ here, is he, so you can ask.’
‘Are you going to answer?’
‘Might do, might not,’ he says.
She is starting to wonder if she prefers Lefty silent and a bit scared. He has suddenly become quite a lot more casual, a bit more laddish, and she’s here all on her own with him. Tonight they are going to be alone together in the lighthouse.
‘How come you’re here?’ she asks.
Eyes never leaving hers, he swigs the last of the can, swallows, and thunks it down on the counter behind him.
‘I came tae apologise. Tae make things right or, if not, take what was coming to me, fair ’n’ square. Would’ve been no worse than what would’ve happened back home. And then I just kinda stayed, because he wasnae listenin’, but he wasnae beatin’ the shit outta me either.’
‘Apologise?’
There is a pause. Rachel can see him thinking, deciding whether he’s going to say any more.
‘For killing his wee sister. For what happened wi’ Mags.’
Fraser
Saturday morning.
Inevitably she has moved house since the last time he saw her, the fourth or fifth time over the course of the past year. Just about every time he’s visited her, she’s been somewhere new.
This is the nicest place she’s had for a while, he thinks – a neat row of terraced houses, hers somewhere in the middle of them. Front doors that give directly on to the street. A single step up to the front door, a gentle curve showing the passage of thousands of footsteps over, probably, the past couple of centuries. He is two streets back from the main road and although cars are parked either side, giving a very narrow channel down the centre to drive down, there is not a soul to be seen. Good. He has no desire to be seen either, although he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that a few curtain-twitchers would have watched his progress from the end of the row.
She opens the door as soon as he knocks.
Kelly.
He hasn’t seen her in five months, and despite his misgivings she is looking well. He only called her an hour ago.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘Come in.’
The front room is tiny, made more so by a comfy-looking two-seater sofa and two matching armchairs that would suit a much larger room, facing each other across a coffee table. There are brackets on the wall above the blocked-up fireplace that show where a flat-screen TV used to be.
He takes all this in in a matter of seconds. Already she is through the back to the galley kitchen.
‘You want coffee?’ she asks. ‘I’ve got they wee coffee pod things. They make a nice cup.’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Thanks.’
In his wallet he has five hundred pounds for her, in cash. It might be that he doesn’t give her all of the money. He hasn’t decided yet. Hasn’t decided what’s going to happen here.
‘Where’s Charlie?’ he asks, following her into the second room, which is half dining room and half kitchen. There isn’t room in the kitchen for a fridge-freezer, so it’s in the dining area.
‘At his friend’s house,’ she says, getting milk from the fridge and pointing to the certificates that are attached to it with letter magnets in primary colours. ‘He’s doing pure dead brilliant at school, you know. Really proud of him.’
Fraser manages a smile. ‘Glad to hear it. You’ve done well with him.’
‘Aye, I have, right enough.’
‘And you’re doing okay?’
‘Aye,’ she says again. ‘I’m still having a wee drink every now and again, but not too bad. I cannae afford it. School uniform, books, they all cost so much money. But aye, I’m still clean. No worries about that.’
He believes her. She looks very different from the girl he knew years ago, the beauty she was back then, and the terrible state she got into, and then the long, slow process getting out of it. It was getting pregnant with Charlie that had done it, finally. She’d never thought the pregnancy would last – she had lost others – but it had, and she’d managed to get off the gear.
And now here she is. Close up, her dark hair is threaded with silver at the roots, and there are lines at the corners of her eyes that tell something of the journey she has been on, but her complexion is clear.
‘You looking at me, Fraser Sutherland?’ she teases, coming towards him and slipping her arms around his waist.
He hugs her back, appreciating the familiarity of her body against his. She slides a hand down the front of his jeans, cupping him.
‘Kelly …’ he says, and moves away.
‘No strings,’ she says. ‘I’ll even make you another coffee afterwards, if you want one.’
‘It’s no’ that,’ he says. ‘I didn’t come here for that.’
‘I know, big man. You came to check up on me, to see I wasnae in trouble again.’ She pulls away, one cheeky glance down at him and back up to his eyes.
‘Aren’t you?’ he says, looking back at the front room. ‘Only I can’t help noticing that it looks like your telly’s gone.’
‘Aye, well,’ she says, ‘you always were observant.’
‘You sold it?’
‘It got broken. It’s nothing to worry about.’
She goes back to the kitchen, which means it is something to worry about. She gets the coffee from the machine and hands him the mug.
‘Want to go upstairs? It’s warmer up there. And I want to show you my room, it’s really pretty.’
He relents and follows her up the narrow stairs, ducking his head under the low ceiling. There are two rooms up here – one for Charlie, with a pile of books and toys and a small bed with a Spider-Man duvet cover on it. And then her room, painted pale blue. What some people might call minimalist but probably has more to do with a lack of spare cash: just the bed and a single wardrobe set in the alcove beside the fireplace, bare floorboards, a single white cotton rug, an IKEA chair.
‘Very nice,’ he says.
‘Thanks.’ She sits on the bed, cross-legged. He goes to the window, looks out over a small concrete yard.
‘Have you met someone?’ she asks, out of nowhere. How she knows this, he has no idea. She’s never asked him that question before, not once.
It takes him a moment to respond.
‘Aye.’
‘Really? How on earth?’
He manages a smile. ‘Long story.’
‘Is she good to you?’
‘Aye, I guess she is.’
‘And she likes you?’
‘Don’t sound so bloody surprised about it. I think she does. Maybe. If I’m lucky.’
‘So it’s early days? Ach, well, I’m very happy for you.’
He had been kidding himself, thinking that he might end up here in her bed. It was never actually going to happen, even if he’d been pretending to himself that it wouldn’t matter, that he wouldn’t be bothered by it, why should he be? Turns out right now his thoughts are full of a certain redhead, and if he were to do anything with Kelly it would feel wrong. It would be wrong. He has never felt like this about a woman before. Every
thing about it feels strange.
‘I like your house,’ he says. Then he looks round at her. ‘Is it safe?’
Her face clouds and he knows it, then.
‘Who broke your telly?’
‘Just some guy,’ she says.
‘A punter?’
‘No!’
He believes her, but almost immediately she adds, ‘I’m no’ doing that any more, Fraser, I told you that. I’m clean and just living for me and the wean now. I need money but it doesn’t matter how bad it gets, I’m no’ doing that again.’
‘So who’s this guy?’
‘Someone I was seeing. Turns out he’s a bastard, same as everyone else. Apart from you,’ she adds. ‘You’re about the only decent man in the whole of Scotland. Probably the world.’
‘Thanks for the compliment. I can be a bastard just like the rest.’
‘Not that I’ve seen. You’ve only ever been kind to me.’
He drinks the coffee, tries not to wince at it. It tastes like gravy. He comes to sit on the side of the bed. He can see the grey sky outside, hear the rain as it starts and gets heavy almost immediately, rivulets chasing their way down the window.
‘Tell me about your girl,’ she says.
He lets her ask, knowing that if he pushes her for information about the arsehole who’s broken her telly she will clam up.
‘She’s working on the island with me.’
‘That’s handy.’
‘Aye. It’s only temporary.’
‘What, the job is temporary?’
‘Aye. Someone else is supposed to be doing it, she’s just … filling in. What?’
‘So what’s gonnae happen when she leaves?’
He’s been trying not to think about that. Looks at her. Shrugs.
‘Nothing’s gonnae happen.’
‘What’s her name, your girlfriend?’
‘She’s no’ my girlfriend.’
‘What is she, then, big man?’
She’s teasing him. And what’s with their insistence on knowing each other’s names? It’s not as though they are ever going to meet. He has a sudden image of it, of them shaking hands and having a chat about him over a cup of tea, and shudders.
‘Her name’s Rachel,’ he says, reluctantly.
‘So you an’ Rachel, who’s not your girlfriend, she’s just a temporary thing too?’
‘Aye.’
‘She know that?’
‘She does. Are you trying to get at something?’
He’s trying to work out what that expression on Kelly’s face is all about. There’s a weird sort of concentration, as though she can’t quite join the dots.
‘So … what you’re doing basically is using her as a temporary fuck?’
‘Nobody’s using anybody. We both know what’s going on. It’s good. It’s fun. I don’t need a bloody lecture, all right?’
‘What’s she like?’
He has to think about this for a few moments, trying to summarise what it is about Rachel that is different from every woman he’s ever met.
‘She’s kind.’
‘And gorgeous?’
He looks back at her, still a bit suspicious as to where this might be leading. ‘I think so.’
‘Prettier than me?’ she pouts.
What’s he supposed to say in answer to that?
‘Kelly, I’m always going to look out for you. I promised, right enough. But maybe you could give her a bit of room?’
‘Temporary, huh?’ She smiles back at him. ‘Can I give you a wee cuddle, then, if I’m not allowed to get you naked any more?’
He puts the empty coffee cup on the floor and lies down next to her, folding his arms around her. She nestles her head into his shoulder.
‘You need to find somewhere else to live,’ he says.
‘I’m sick of running away. I’ve done it too many times. And Charlie likes his school. I don’t want tae make him go through what I went through at his age. I moved around so much, I never finished a school year in the same place I started it. He’s smart, Fraser, really clever. Much cleverer than me. He deserves a proper education.’
‘So what about this guy?’
‘He’s gone. I telt him to piss off.’
‘And has he?’
She’s silent. Here we go, he thinks.
‘Maybe you could have a wee word,’ she says.
‘A wee word?’
‘Not even that. If you just telt him to leave us alone, maybe?’
Later, he gets her to write the guy’s name and phone number down on a piece of paper. He takes it and folds it and sticks it in his wallet. At the same time he gets the envelope out of his jacket pocket and places it on the dining room table, next to the pile of maths books.
‘What’s that?’ she asks.
‘That is your insurance,’ he says. ‘Use some of it to get a new telly, maybe. And keep some in case you need to move.’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘I know I don’t. I’ll do it anyway.’
‘Fraser,’ she says. But there’s no end to her sentence. She puts her arms around him and buries her face in his chest.
His hand, on her shoulder. She’s shaking.
‘Come on, now,’ he says.
‘I’m okay, big man,’ she says, her voice high. ‘We’ll be okay.’
He wipes her tears. ‘Enough of that,’ he says.
‘Will Rachel mind, do you think, if you visit us sometimes?’
‘Not up to her, is it,’ he says. He’s about to make some comment about her not being around for much longer and then changes his mind. ‘Maybe I’ll introduce you to her. If you want.’
‘I’d like that,’ she says, smiling, wiping under her eyes with a finger. ‘You cannae keep giving us money, though.’
‘If you need it, I can.’
‘Rachel won’t like it. Your not-girlfriend, that you came all the way over here to tell me about.’
He wants to tell her not to talk about Rachel any more. Something about it is making him uncomfortable: that sense of past and present colliding, something happening that is beyond his control. Probably he will visit Kelly again in a month or two, to tell her that Rachel’s gone, that Rachel never really happened in the first place, and he’ll bring her another couple of hundred and sleep with her again and it will be like old times.
Except he will have Rachel in his head, won’t he? Temporary or not, he thinks Rachel will always be in his head.
Rachel
Rachel gets up early to let Bess out and feed her. She’s used to being fed at some ungodly hour of the morning but when Rachel emerges from her bedroom Bess is lying on the landing, stretched out and comfortable, where she had been last night. There is much tail-wagging when breakfast is produced.
Lefty’s door is still firmly shut and the lighthouse is silent. It’s possible he’s already up and out somewhere, but Rachel thinks it’s unlikely. If the weather holds today and it’s not too windy she and Lefty are going to clear the guttering on the bird observatory’s roof.
There has been no further discussion about what he’s doing here.
She’s been thinking about it a lot. Lefty. Maggie. Fraser. Has decided that Fraser has probably told him not to say anything. All that insistence that they should keep out of each other’s way – no wonder he didn’t want Rachel talking to Lefty. None of it really makes sense, that Lefty is – what was the guy’s name? Lefty is Jimmy Wright, the drug dealer who was driving the car when Maggie was killed. What she would dearly like is to talk it all over with Mel, but she promised not to tell anyone about Lefty and Rachel is someone who takes her promises very seriously. And now she has been here all this time, now that she and Lefty have this weird sort of friendship, even if it’s based on a mutual love of sea glass – it feels as if Lefty’s presence on the island is a glaring omission.
Besides, it’s been nearly a fortnight since she last communicated with Mel. That’s not deliberate. It’s just that the island is anothe
r world, a different place. As if Island Rachel is a different person from Norwich Rachel. She doesn’t want to be reminded of her old self any more, the fuck-ups that probably weren’t really her fault, the endless trying to do the right thing and getting it wrong, the way she hated herself and her failure to get things right. The way she couldn’t let herself be happy.
She makes a coffee using Fraser’s beans. It feels illicit, but she needs something to stop her head spinning.
And then, she opens up her laptop, sees her emails and her stomach falls to the floor.
From: Julia Jones
To: Rachel Long
Hey Rachel,
I hope you’re well. Just wanted to let you know some really great news – that my mum is much better. She has lots of friends who can help her with day to-day errands, and her mobility has improved a lot in the last few weeks. She’s insisting that she doesn’t need me here any more, so I’m hoping that I can start work, maybe at the beginning of the month? I’ve written to Marion to ask if I could get the boat over on Friday 7th June, then we could maybe have a handover and you could get the boat back on Saturday when the birders arrive? Would that work for you? I think Marion should be pretty flexible about it.
I hope this might be okay with you. Marion says she thinks it will.
Anyway, thanks so much for what you’ve done. I’m looking forward to meeting you and saying thank you properly, and also to seeing the island.
Julia xx
She can’t quite manage to open the other email, which is from Marion. She shuts the laptop and looks at Bess, who is fast asleep in her bed. The dog has been subdued without Fraser but she has succumbed to tummy rubs and treats, and has behaved herself impeccably.
Just under two weeks left! She feels a sudden clammy grasp, as if Norwich Rachel is clutching at her. This new life is temporary after all; she might love the island, all of it, the rain and the mud, the pecking terns and the puffins and the wind, but it’s not hers. It’s not her life. She’s going to have to go back.
She needs to clear her head. And Fraser will be here later.
Fraser
It’s late afternoon when the Island Princess sails. Two hours spent staring across the grey, choppy sea. The sea matches the sky matches his mood, and, although Fraser is never seasick, there is a queasiness rolling around inside him at the thought of going back.
You, Me & the Sea Page 31
