by Alys West
“You’re still planning to build right next to the cemetery. Folk don’t like that.”
“But with the new landscaping it’ll fit much more sympathetically into the environment.”
She let his words wash over her. Keeping her eyes on the sky above his head, she watched the clouds roll in over Scapa Flow as he talked about planning regulations, local plans and sustainable development.
There was a long moment of silence when he’d finished. Then Andrew leaned forward. “I want you on side with this. You’re an important part of the community. Your opinion counts.”
She looked down at the inch of elderflower pressé left in her glass. “I don’t think it does.”
“Don’t put yourself down, Jenna. You do that too often.” He gestured with his glass. “People respect what you did in coming back here. You wouldn’t believe how much I’m asked about you and Graeme during meetings. People care about you, about both of you.”
Jenna blinked at him. “They do?”
“Of course. And that’s why it’s important we stand together on this. We need to show we’ve put the past behind us. Nina made some good points, ones I didn’t want to accept at the time. I’ve learned from that and I think this new proposal is one she would have approved of.”
Swallowing hard, Jenna’s gaze rose to the view again. Was he right? Would Mum have seen this new proposal as an acceptable compromise? She could feel her resistance trickling away beneath the pressure of his blunt certainty. Fighting to hold onto it she asked the question that needed answering before she could agree. If he could answer this then possibly, for the sake of family harmony, she’d go along with it.
“Why didn’t you tell me the Council made you scale down the first proposal?”
Andrew’s head jerked back. A second later, the smooth smile was back in place and his voice was as emphatic as usual. “They didn’t, it was because of Nina. Out of respect for her. You know that. We talked about it at the funeral.”
“No.” Jenna’s hand tightened around her glass. “I know the clerk at the planning department. She’s in my knitting group. She told me the Council made you change it.”
“She must have made a mistake.” It was said with such confidence that she’d have believed him if she hadn’t seen that initial microsecond of shock.
There was a moment of awkward silence. Jenna hastily swallowed the last mouthful of pressé from the bottom of her glass and stood up. “Look, I’ve got work tomorrow and I’m still not one hundred percent.” She gestured to the dressing covering the wound on her arm. “I need to get home, get an early night. Will you ask Felicity to give me a ring about the party?”
“Of course.” Standing, Andrew shook his wrist, making his expensive watch jangle. “Perhaps she could meet you for lunch in Kirkwall one day?”
“That’d be nice,” Jenna lied as she crossed the room. There was a line of photographs on the top of the sideboard. Pictures of Andrew and Felicity on holiday in various hot or snowy locations, Andrew playing golf with Dominic Porter (did he actually know that racist, sexist bastard?), the boys from tiny babies to their most recent school photos. There wasn’t a single picture of Nina.
Anger tightened her shoulders and fuelled her next words. “There’s some new information about Mum’s death.”
Andrew hesitated as he opened the double doors which led through to the hall. “After all this time?”
“Yes. A page from the book she was working on before she died turned up a couple of weeks ago. That book was the only thing taken in the break-in on the day she died. I think whoever took the book is the person who killed her.”
His hand slipped from the door handle. “What do the police think?”
“I haven’t told the police.” Swallowing hard, she met his eyes. Since Nina’s death they’d never talked about Mum’s abilities or her role in The Order. “Her death was connected to her magic. We both know that, even if we never talk about it. There’s a druid who’s investigating and I’m helping him.”
“Oh, Jenna.” Andrew opened the door and lead the way across the palatial hall. “Don’t you think it’s time you put all of this behind you?”
“Not when there’s new information and a chance I might find out who killed her.” Her chin came up as she spoke.
Taking her coat from an elaborate wrought-iron stand by the door, Andrew held it out. The silence stretched between them. As she awkwardly slipped her arms into the sleeves he said, “I hate to see you trapped by Nina’s death like this. It’s past time you got on with your life and put all of this behind you. Graeme’s doing better now. You said that yourself over dinner.”
“Yes.” Slipping her hands into her pockets she drew the coat around her as if it could offer protection.
Opening the door, Andrew’s gaze met hers. “I’ve recently finished a development in Edinburgh New Town and there’s a one bedroom flat I could let you have rent free for a few months. Give you time to get back on your feet, find a new job.”
She blinked. It was kind, really kind and he was never kind. What on earth had prompted him to offer it? Was she that lost even Andrew was worried about her? Then politeness kicked in and she said, stuttering a little over the words. “That’s…that’s very good of you.”
He patted her gently on the shoulder. “It’s the least I can do for my favourite niece.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘your only niece’ but that would be rude. As she walked to her car, he called after her. “Think about it. And let me know in a day or two.”
Her Renault Clio looked very much like the poor relation between Andrew’s Range Rover and Felicity’s BMW. Just like me, Jenna thought as she opened the car door and climbed inside. It was a great offer, a really generous offer. If he’d made it before Hal came home she’d not have hesitated but now she couldn’t leave, not until she and Winston had found the storm witch. But after that? She put the car into reverse, carefully turned and drove up the drive. Joining the narrow road which lead back to the Orphir road, her headlights sliced through the twilight.
Hal had been so kind since she’d been injured and, after what he’d said at the Cathedral, he must think they had a second chance. Not immediately but after a peedie time had passed and he was over Cassie. Which made the decision easy. She had to stay.
Chapter 21
As the set of reels quickened, Hal bent further over his guitar, pouring all of his concentration into not screwing up. His left foot beat time as his fingers moved faster over the frets. He’d practised a lot over the past week and it seemed to be paying off. He didn’t feel quite as out of his depth as he had last Thursday. And one thing he was sure of, whatever happened with Cassie, he wasn’t giving up his music. He needed this.
In a swirl from the fiddles, the set finished. Flexing his aching left fingers, he looked across the circle at Jenna. Her fiddle was resting in its case, her injured arm cradled against her stomach. Catching her eye, he mouthed ‘you okay?’ She nodded, gave an unconvincing smile which twisted his gut. The worry lines remained in place, not wiped away, as they usually were, by the joy of playing. When she’d suggested meeting at The Fiddlers he’d thought she must be feeling better but although she’d joined in with the first couple of sets, he could tell she was struggling.
If the injury was permanent, if she never got back to playing at the same level he didn’t know how he’d live with himself. Music was as important to her as it was to him. If he couldn’t play, it’d be like losing part of his soul. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone but especially not Jenna. Not after everything she’d been through already.
“I don’t like seeing you sitting there doing nothing, Jenna,” Bryan, one of the older musicians said, a smile crosshatching the weather-beaten lines of his face. “Why don’t you give us a song. It’s been too long since we heard you sing.”
She pushed a stray curl behind her ear and he thought she was going to refuse. But then she nodded. “Okay. This is a song that I’ve always lo
ved but that some folk—” their gaze met across the circle of musicians “—think is too schmaltzy. But you’ll all know it, so join in.”
Before she drew breath for the first note, he moved his capo, put his fingers in place for the first chord. They’d never let her perform it in Parcel of Rogues. As the only girl among three blokes she’d been consistently outvoted. To get her own back she’d sung it at sound checks, rehearsals and in the car going to gigs until it’d become a band joke.
“Black is the colour of my true love’s hair.” He’d forgotten how effortless she made it seem, how emotion poured through every note. On the chorus, a swell of voices joined in and another guitar picked up the tune but Jenna wavered.
Glancing up, he saw Winston. Stood in the centre of the pub as if he owned the place. Staring at Jenna with a wolfish look any man could read.
Hal faltered, played another F chord instead of a G. He sorted out his fingers and then looked at Jenna. Chin raised, her eyes were fixed on Winston’s. At least the smug git had the grace to look surprised and, then as Jenna hit the high notes in the chorus, astounded.
Yeah, you didn’t know that about her, did you? There was some satisfaction but not enough because as she sang the second chorus, the words had a completely different meaning. Were they together now? Had she, despite what she’d said, fallen for Archaeology Boy?
“And I love the ground that he walks on.” The night nearly seven years ago when they got together, she’d looked at him as she sang that line during the sound check. That was when he’d known he’d finally got a chance with her.
She held the last note longer than he’d anticipated. As the applause started, a blush crept up her cheeks. Winston called “More”, stamping his feet as he clapped.
Hal put his guitar in its case. He needed a bloody drink.
***
Jenna glanced up as Hal walked past her without a word. Bryan was talking to her, saying how much he’d enjoyed it and that she should sing more often. She thanked him, said the right things but three quarters of her brain was wondering why Hal hadn’t spoken to her. Was it too much of a reminder of their Parcel of Rogues days? Did he miss them as much as she did? Put on the spot by Bryan’s request, she’d sung it on impulse, thinking their old joke would make him smile. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
As Bryan moved away to the bar, Hal was already there, handing his empty glass over to Caitlyn for a refill. Hal didn’t turn, lean on the bar, meet her eye across the crowded pub. His back stayed resolutely to her. Something was wrong. She’d have to talk to him before the next set.
Winston stepped into the space Bryan had left. He’d winked at her when he came in, a seriously suggestive wink that made a giggle bubble inside her and she’d lost her note. A grin had spread across his face then, the same confident grin that used to irritate her so much. She couldn’t let him get away with that. She’d played venues six times the size of this. She could handle one cocky druid. Raising her chin, she’d met his gaze and, to be honest, shown off a bit. It’d been worth it to see his face change from surprised to shocked.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were that good?” he said. “Jesus! You could charm birds from trees, make angels weep with a voice like that.”
Heat crept up her cheeks. She was used to praise but it felt different coming from Winston. “That’s nice of you to say. Especially—” she nodded at the faded Biffy Clyro t-shirt beneath his leather jacket “—as I know folk isn’t your thing.”
“Just because I like rock doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a beautiful voice when I hear it.”
She looked down. “Thanks.”
“So—” he leaned in until she had to look at him “—my question is, what the hell are you doing working at Maeshowe? You should be doing this full time.”
Jenna shook her head. He wasn’t the first person to say it—she’d had similar suggestions when she was in Parcel of Rogues— but it was harder to answer coming from him. “I love music but I’ve never wanted it to be my job. It’d take all of the joy out of it if I had to be worrying about where the next gig was coming from and whether I’d sold enough CDs to pay the rent. I’d much rather just play with my friends.”
Winston glanced towards the bar. “Like Hal?”
“Yes, Hal.” Something flickered across his face as she spoke and her hand swept out to encompass the arc of empty chairs. “And the others. I’ve been playing with some of these guys for years and they’re all great musicians.”
“They’re not as good as you.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “You can’t say that.”
“Even if it’s true?”
She stepped closer to him. “Shush, they’ll hear you.” Then to change the subject, she added, “How did you know I’d be here?”
“Thursday night? Best folk night in town? Where else would you be?”
“Alright, you’ve got me on that one.” She laughed. “What’s up? There’s got to be something because I know you didn’t come here for the music.”
“Can’t I come to see you?”
“You saw me on Monday.” There hadn’t been much progress to report at their progress meeting. She’d shown him the Crystal Goddess website and then they’d just talked. About her job, about his conference, about the Ness of Brodgar dig and archaeology and the challenges of making the past interesting and relevant to today’s visitors. Before she’d known it, three hours had flown by.
“Anything from Hamnowitch?”
“Not a thing.” She checked the website at least once a day, sometimes more. Hamnowitch hadn’t reappeared on it.
“It was always a long shot.” Winston ran his fingers through his hair. Jenna’s eyes traced the movement. How did he keep it so soft and tangle free? Her hair tied itself in new knots daily. “We might have something else. I got this from Grace this morning.” As he spoke, he unzipped the pocket of his jacket and brought out a purple envelope covered in Grace’s erratic, spiky handwriting. “I’ve not opened it. I thought you should do that.”
The envelope wasn’t very thick. That must mean Grace hadn’t found much. “Do you know what’s in it?”
“She texted me to say she’d found three letters that might help and she was putting them in the post.”
“Oh.” It felt as if the pub and all the folk in it had become strangely distant. She felt lightheaded, nauseous.
“You alright?” He leaned closer.
“Yes.” She held her hand out. She thought he’d put the envelope in it but instead he took it.
“You’re not alright. Sit down.” He pushed gently backwards and as her legs obeyed what her brain had forgotten to do, she found herself in a chair.
Her hands came up to cover her face. “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s too much…”
“You don’t have to.” He crouched down in front of her. Her hand remained in his, starkly white against the deep mocha of his skin. “You can read them whenever you want. There’s no pressure.”
It felt like someone had put lead weights on her chest. “Sorry. I didn’t think I’d feel like this.”
A smile flickered and then was gone. “Hold on in there. It’ll pass.”
His hand was warm against hers, anchoring her. She tried to concentrate on her breath. It was the only way to ease the panic knotting her chest. She’d not had an attack like this in years. She’d thought they’d gone, that as the loss subsided to a constant but manageable ache, she’d moved past them.
The room began to come back into focus. Inhaling became less of an effort. She could go home, curl up on the sofa with Mansie. Was that the best thing? But then she’d have to read them alone. She stood. “Will you read them with me? Now? Outside?”
He didn’t let go. “If that’s what you want.”
She nodded, trying to look more in control than she felt. She didn’t want to be alone with it. She’d been alone for too many years. “Yes.”
***
Hal turned from the bar and froze. Winston wa
s crouched down beside her, holding her hand. Fucking hell, they must be together! When had that happened? And why hadn’t Jenna told him?
Not that he’d told her about Cassie but there was a good reason for that. She hadn’t healed yet. He couldn’t tell her until she was better. But Archaeology Boy had taken advantage of her being injured and put the moves on her. What a bastard!
It was obvious from the first moment he’d met the git that he fancied her. Anyone could see that but he’d thought Jenna had more sense. Couldn’t she see Archaeology Boy was using her? He was only around for a few months while he did this dig. After that he’d be gone, back to Glasgow or Edinburgh or wherever he came from. And Jenna would be left on her own again.
Except she wouldn’t be. He’d be here. He’d look out for her. Whatever happened between him and Cassie, he’d always be Jenna’s friend. Nothing was going to change that.
***
Jenna kept holding his hand. Even when they were sat on the bench next to the war memorial, the same bench where they’d talked that first time about Mum and magic, she kept a tight grip on it. It was only when Winston again took the envelope from his pocket and offered it to her that she realised she had to let go. She’d tried to do enough things one-handed over the past two weeks to know she needed both hands for this.
Tucking her finger under the flap of the envelope she ripped. A letter, written on mauve paper, from Grace to Winston was wrapped around three cream envelopes addressed in Mum’s writing. She handed the letter over, without looking at him.
Only three. She’d hoped for more. Since Winston told her Grace was looking for the letters Mum had written, she’d tried not to pin too much on them. It hadn’t worked. She couldn’t stop herself wondering what might be in them, what Mum had said, if there’d be anything that would help them find the storm witch. But now it felt wrong to read them. They hadn’t been sent to her. If Mum hadn’t died she’d never have seen these. Did she really want to know what Mum had said to her best friend? What if there were things in them she shouldn’t see?
