by Alys West
Standing, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and staring, her skin pale beneath the smudged makeup. The contrast with the way she’d looked when she’d left for the wedding was painful. And yet Hal had kissed her on the cheek. That hadn’t happened for over six years. Before they’d been together, he’d always give her a hug and a kiss when they said goodbye. If that easiness between them was back then one good thing had come out of this terrible day. For now, she couldn’t think any further than that. The future would have to take care of itself.
Chapter 13
Walking across the car park opposite Jenna’s flat, Hal heard a motorbike snarl behind him and accelerate noisily away. He didn’t need to look round to know who it was.
Unlocking his VW Golf, he glanced back at Jenna’s window. Should he go back now that arse had left? Just to check she was really alright? He could tell she was putting a brave face on it while Archaeology Boy was there. What was it with him? He’d been acting like he owned the place, like he and Jenna were together. But that couldn’t be right. She’d have told him. Wouldn’t she?
He opened the car door, got in and started the engine. Ten Thousand Miles by The Proclaimers was playing on the radio. It always took him back to their days in Edinburgh. It seemed a long time ago. He could hardly believe he’d been that lad; painfully, but mutely, in love with his band mate. Once they’d got together, he’d thought it would last forever. He’d not been exaggerating when he said he was heartbroken when she left. He had tried to make it work, to keep it going once she came home but her silence had defeated him. Increasingly, as the weeks turned into months and she stopped talking about returning to Edinburgh, he’d felt a lot more than three hundred miles separated them.
After turning into the main road, he joined the traffic leaving Kirkwall. He’d been too young, too unmarked by life to understand what she was going through. As he’d told her at the Cathedral (although he should have picked a better time to do it) he got that now. Yet, even when he’d been five thousand miles away in Toronto, he’d wanted her in his life. They’d been friends before they were an item and he’d wanted that back but there’d always been a tension, a sense that they were a little too careful around each other. He didn’t think he was imagining that most of that had gone over the past couple of weeks. They’d been getting on really well. Until this Winston turned up.
Passing the hospital, he wondered if Duncan was now safely in Aberdeen, getting the treatment he needed. He’d seen Kenny before he left. Amy had been sedated and was sleeping and his cousin was on his way home to pick up some clothes for her. His face looked grey, as if all of the colour had been leeched from his skin by the shock, and the contrast with his ginger hair was painful. Hal had slapped him on the back and told him it’d be better tomorrow. He wasn’t sure he believed it but what else could he do? Sad words and sympathy wouldn’t do any good. Nothing could bring back the wedding day they’d planned.
He’d missed Cassie hugely this morning. The ache was always there but it’d sharpened because he knew she’d have loved the flurry of preparation, been enchanted by the Cathedral and adored meeting all of his family in far happier circumstances than their last visit. But he was glad now she hadn’t been with him. He didn’t want to think how she’d have coped. Not with Jenna’s stoicism that was for sure.
Slowing for the sharp bend in Holm, he thought about what the guests had said while he waited with them in casualty. Everyone wanted to blame the Council as it was their job to maintain the Cathedral. But they’d been inside, protected by thick stone walls from the storm. He’d been away for a long time but he’d never seen weather like it. Most of the theories of global warming agreed it was likely to bring more storms and if this was what was to come then the Atlantis Project had to work because what he’d witnessed this morning had been scary. It wasn’t only that it’d blown up fast and without warning but the wind had been stronger than any he’d experienced. Orkney was used to storms but how would places further south cope with weather like this? With more destruction and probably a lot more injuries. And all because the earth hadn’t been treated with the respect it deserved.
Crossing the first of the Churchill Barriers, there was blue water on either side, rippled by the light breeze, sunshine peeking from behind high cumulous clouds. It was a completely different day down here. Sunny with a light breeze, exactly as the forecast had promised. It was almost impossible to think that only a few miles away they were clearing up after a storm severe enough to damage the Cathedral.
The Italian Chapel caught his gaze as he drove onto Lamb Holm. The elaborate white façade, trimmed in red, looked completely out of place against the muted greens and greys of the small island. He’d been told the story many times as a child; of the Italian prisoners of war who’d built a beautiful chapel, complete with frescos and carvings, from two Nissan huts. He’d planned to take Cassie when she came. Even thought he might propose there one day. It was the kind of romantic gesture she’d have loved.
He’d always known it was a long shot thinking she’d move here with him. She was born and bred in a city which had every amenity available 24/7 and he knew it’d be hard for her to adapt to the practicalities of island life. But that hadn’t stopped him hoping she’d grow to love the place as much as he did. Now he’d never know. He’d counted on persuading her to come over for a month or so once term finished, hoped that might be enough for her to realise that Orkney wasn’t as backward as she thought. However, that would only have been easing her in gently. The islands in summer could be glorious, an oasis of land and water painted in blues and greens. Winter would have been the real test. Short days with little light, storms that stopped ferries and flights, stocking up on tinned goods because the shops could run out of fresh produce and long, long nights. He wouldn’t have known if she would stay until she’d survived a winter.
Yet, despite the pain of missing her, he was happy to be home. He felt fully alive again as if part of him had been hibernating during his years in Canada. The job was fascinating, challenging, the most exciting project he’d worked on. He got to see his family. He’d missed them even though he rarely said it. And he was playing folk music again. Playing with Jenna was another kind of homecoming.
She’d looked amazing this morning. That dress revealed curves he tried hard never to think about. Then this evening she’d shrunk back into herself, hiding under layers of clothes. She hadn’t been quite herself. He could see that in her too-wide eyes, the tiny hesitation before she spoke. And Winston had taken advantage of it. He was worming his way in. Obviously fancied her. Anyone could see that.
The man was a complete prick. What was with the big stick he’d picked up on the way out? He obviously didn’t need it to walk, so was it some kind of cosplay thing? He wouldn’t be surprised if Archaeology Boy was into some really weird shit.
He needed to keep an eye on him. Jenna wouldn’t see him for the arrogant dickhead he was. She was much too nice. It was his job, as a friend, to look out for her.
***
A hand slid round her waist as Finn said in her ear, “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s not going in The Tate!”
Twisting in his arms, Zoe pointed the paintbrush at his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m a professional artist. I can’t do a bad job.”
“It is only a window frame, sweetheart.” Finn dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Will you be finished soon? I’m starving.”
“I just want to get this second coat of gloss done.” Turning back to the window, she dipped the brush in the pot of cobalt blue paint. She’d convinced Finn it’d look good against the white pebbledash. What she hadn’t thought through was that once she’d started she’d have to do all eleven windows and three doors. It was going to take weeks. But on an evening as nice as this she didn’t mind at all.
“Alright, I’ll make a start,” Finn said against her hair. “What are we having?”
“Sausages and mash. If you put the oven on f
or your sausages and peel the potatoes that’d be great.”
“You’re not having another of those dried-up veggie excuses for a sausage, are you?” Finn pulled gently away and as always, she immediately missed the closeness, the smell of him filling her nostrils, the sense of fitting together.
“Sure am,” Zoe said. “No pigs died to make my tea.”
Finn rubbed his finger across the scar on his cheek. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s not working.”
“It’s on your conscience, Finn McCloud. Not mine.” She was about to say, ‘I don’t know how you sleep at night’ but stopped herself just in time. He barely slept at night. Pigs or no pigs.
“You’re weakening though. I can see it. Yesterday when I cooked that bacon you wanted some.”
She had. The smell had been tantalising but she wasn’t ready to admit it. Slowly she smiled, took a step closer and with her free hand, tugged on the top button of his denim shirt. “It wasn’t bacon I wanted…”
“Oh, really?” Finn pulled her closer. She tilted her head back, savouring the anticipation of the kiss. His lips were a centimetre from hers when the phone rang.
“You don’t have to answer it,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I do. It might be Cat and you’ve got a window frame to finish.” The briefest kiss landed on her nose.
Through the half-open window she heard him say ‘hello’ and then laugh. Probably not Cat then. There wasn’t much laughter when his sister called. She’d met Cat and Maggie in early June when they’d gone back to England to pack up the rest of her things. Cat’s health had improved a lot since Maeve’s death and she was talking about going back to work. Yet the trauma of what she’d experienced clearly continued to haunt her and Finn was the only person she talked to about it. Zoe couldn’t help but wish there was someone else. She’d even found herself hoping Cat would find another boyfriend. Anything for her to move on and stop piling more guilt on Finn.
“Zo!” Finn called. “It’s Winston. He wants to talk to both of us.”
“Okay.” After balancing the paintbrush across the top of the tin, she wiped her hands on the rag in her pocket. He was going to ask about her dreams and she didn’t have anything new to tell him. She’d been getting some good nights’ sleep for a change.
As she came into the kitchen, Finn said, “She’s here. I’m putting you on speaker.” He laid the phone on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. Holding his arms out he looked at her, eyebrows raised. Well, Winston had interrupted them. Sitting on his knee, she relaxed against his broad chest and his arms folded around her.
“We’re both here now. What’s going on?” Finn said.
“Something bad happened in Kirkwall today.” Winston’s voice echoed around the kitchen. “And there was magic involved.”
“Are you alright?” Finn asked.
“Aye, I’m fine but Jenna was there and she got hurt.” Then the words seemed to spill out of him. As he explained about the stone falling through the window of St Magnus Cathedral and the injuries to the father of the bride, an image pulsed into Zoe’s mind.
She pushed herself up from Finn’s knee. “Was he wearing a kilt?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“Why?” Finn’s hand reached for hers. “Have you seen this?”
“Because if he was then I think….” She darted away, dashing through the sitting room to the spare room she used as a studio. Her portfolio leaned against the wall. Tugging the zip back, she flipped through the pictures until she found the dream drawings she’d done in Glastonbury. Pulling them out, she spread them across the floor. Finn in the garden at Anam Cara, on the Tor and in the stone circle. Her stomach clenched when her gaze fell on Maeve in her robes, hands raised to perform the ritual. Tucked behind it, on a scrappy piece of paper torn from an envelope, was the sketch she was looking for.
She sat back on her heels. She’d drawn this before they left Glastonbury. She remembered talking to Finn about it and, because they didn’t recognise where it was or the person in it, she’d put it away.
As she got closer to the kitchen she could hear them talking about storm witches, whatever they were. Finn broke off as soon as she stepped into the room and put his hand over the mouthpiece. “What’ve you found, sweetheart?”
She held it up for him to see. “Remember?”
“But you drew that in Glastonbury.”
“I know.”
There was a muffled exclamation from the phone. “Sorry,” Finn said, lifting his hand from the receiver. “Zoe’s got the drawing. It’s not as detailed as they usually are. There’s a middle-aged man in a kilt. He’s lying face down on the stone floor and there’s blood pooling around him. Above him there’s a huge hole in a stained-glass window.”
“What’s the window like?” Winston asked.
Zoe leaned closer to the phone. “It’s modern. There’s four large panes. One of the middle ones is completely shattered.”
“Fuck!” Winston said.
Suddenly she felt sick. Tears prickled behind her eyes. If she’d known where it was could she have stopped it from happening? Could she have warned this man?
“The man in the picture, how is he?” Finn asked. Zoe gave him a quick smile. Trust Finn to ask about other people.
“Not good. They’ve transferred him to the hospital in Aberdeen.”
“Oh my God!”
“His daughter’s in hospital with shock and eight of the guests were treated for cuts from the falling glass.” There was an infinitesimal pause before Winston added, “I asked you if you’d had any dreams about Orkney.”
“I know.” Zoe’s hands flew out. “But I didn’t know this was Orkney. If I’d known, I’d have told you.”
“You should have sent me everything you’d got. Even if you weren’t sure where it was,” Winston said. “Duncan might die.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I dreamt this weeks ago, before we left Glastonbury.”
“The man’s in a kilt for Christ’s sake,” Winston shouted. “Did you not think it might be somewhere in Scotland?”
“Hey, steady on!” Finn rose to his feet. “She’s doing her best.”
“If that’s her best then we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”
“That’s out of order,” Finn said. There was silence at the other end of the phone. After a long pause, Finn added, “Why are you so irate about it anyway?”
“I don’t like seeing people getting hurt.” Winston sounded further away as if he’d moved the phone from his mouth. “That’s all.”
Finn shoved his hand through his hair. “Go have a drink or something and then ring us tomorrow when you’ve calmed down. And be ready to apologise to Zoe.” There was no answer. The phone simply went dead.
“Oh my God, Finn. What if he’s right?” She bit down hard on her bottom lip. “What if it would have made a difference?”
“Come here.” He opened his arms and she stepped into them. His hand stroked her hair. “Even if we’d known where it was, we wouldn’t have known when it would happen. What could we have done? Told them not to let any man in a kilt into the Cathedral until they’d checked all the stonework?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her cheek pressed up against his shirt. “It’d have been better than doing nothing.”
“And do you think they’d have believed us?” he asked gently, tipping his head back to look at her.
Sighing, she met his gaze. “Probably not.”
“Don’t let Winston get to you.” For a second his arms tightened around her. “I don’t know why he’s being such a tosser about this but he’ll have got over it by tomorrow.”
“I think I might know.”
“Not enough students up there for him to chase?”
“No. Or at least, not just that. I think it’s Jenna.”
“The Orkney girl?”
“Yes. I think he likes her.”
“Get away!” Finn laughed. “Not Winston.”
<
br /> Standing on tiptoes, Zoe planted a quick kiss on his lips. “We’ll see.”
As she sank back, Finn bent lower. The kiss that followed left them both breathless. Picking her up, he boosted her onto the table then dropped kisses down her throat. “You know I said I was hungry,” he whispered. “I am but not for food.”
Her hand slowly trailed down his body until it reached the zip on his jeans. “Oh, really?”
“Yes.” His sure, strong hands slid under her t-shirt and up her back. As they found her bra strap she gently pushed him away.
“We can’t. Those people in Orkney are in hospital and…”
Finn’s forehead met hers. “All we can do is our best.”
“I know but…”
“No buts. We have…” Finn leaned back until his gaze met hers. “We have to live. Enjoy the good times. That’s all any of us have.”
A huge lump filled her throat. She took his hand and pressed her lips to the tender pink skin in the centre of his palm. As she drew back, his mouth found hers with a fire that hadn’t been there for weeks. Her legs fastened around his, pressing their bodies closer.
“We are not doing this on the kitchen table again,” she said, as his fingers found her breast.
“Spoil sport,” Finn whispered in her ear. His hands slid under her bottom and picked her up. “Bedroom it is then.”
***
Winston let the door of the bed and breakfast slam behind him. How could Zoe not have known where the picture was? Hadn’t she looked it up? Done some research? Was he the only person who took this seriously?
Sliding his helmet on, he got on the bike and turned the key. He revved the engine a couple of times, felt the roar cascade through his muscles. There was nothing coming as he left the drive and turned towards St Ola. Ignoring the speed limit, he hit fifty on the straight through the distillery, the high buildings funnelling the noise of the engine back to him.
