Deception is the Old Black

by V Clifford

  She was about to give up her exercise when she saw Gordon and Archie lying collapsed just beyond the waterline. Breathless, she jogged over to check that they were okay. They had made their lives more difficult by swimming with tee shirts on: human skin was designed to repel water – fabric was not. Archie rolled onto his side and vomited. Served him right for snacking on rubbish on the minibus. Gordon made it onto his knees and tried to calm his breathing.

  ‘Look, guys, I know it’s the last thing that you feel like doing, but it’s worth keeping moving. Once the chitters set in . . .’

  Gordon glared at her and through gasps said, ‘Since when did you become our designated super-hero?’

  Viv shrugged and walked back to where she’d left her rucksack. She slung it over her shoulder and made her way inland. The only sound above her own breathing was a pair of curlews having a domestic in the distance. So far only three of the seven who’d been on the bus had made it. Not a great turnout. Perhaps the others resisted setting off. Viv, a deferred gratification woman, always kept the best ’til last.

  The land away from the shore was as it had been on either side of the track back at the centre. Heather, bracken with boulders peeking through, was paradise for ticks. She checked that her trousers were well tucked into her socks then continued to stride out, looking for somewhere to light a fire. After a short time someone shouted her name. She turned and saw Gordon waving at her from the beach. She hesitated, sighed, and ran back towards him. He was gesticulating wildly towards the sea. Her gaze followed his and she saw Frances’ head dip below the surface.

  Instinctively she dropped her pack and ran, tearing off her kit as she went. When she reached the water’s edge, and while struggling to remove her boots, she glared at Gordon. ‘Why aren’t you going in? Don’t just stand there, you arsehole.’

  Frances’ arms were raised above her head, flailing about thirty metres from the shore. Then her head sank again. Viv’s limbs were still recovering from her own swim, but there was nothing else for it. In her hardest front crawl she swam out to where Frances had been. She dived and swam around; it wasn’t too deep but was murky since the sand had been disturbed. She surfaced, gasped for air and dived again. This time she saw her and tried to grab her by the arms but Frances kicked out in panic. Winded, Viv began to sink down and down into the murky water. When her feet bumped onto the sea floor she pushed off propelling herself back to the surface. She gasped and spluttered. No sign of Frances. Viv’s strength was waning but she took another huge breath then dived again. This time she swam beneath Frances and shoved her towards the surface. Frances gasped, and punched and kicked, then suddenly went limp. Viv, seriously close to her limit, finally managed to grip Frances’ chin and, holding her head above the water as best she could, swam towards the shore. With each laborious stroke she questioned her sanity for attempting this when she was already spent. Twice she went under, but some primal survival instinct asserted itself and she managed to reach the shallows. The final act of hauling Frances’ dead weight away from the water’s edge forced her to collapse. Gordon and Archie pulled Frances further up the beach while Viv lay fighting for her breath. Once it steadied she got to her knees and crawled to Frances’ side and checked her pulse. Nothing. Gordon and Archie stood in silence, shivering like lemmings. Clearly neither had been in the Boy Scouts.

  Eventually Gordon said without any conviction, ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  Viv, too distracted to reply, set about CPR. She’d never done CPR on a real body. Compressing the chest to the rhythm of the Bee Gee’s Staying Alive was all very well but what had happened to mouth to mouth? Was she right in thinking it was no longer recommended? During her second go at pumping Frances’ chest the woman’s eyes flickered and she spluttered, spewing out seawater and coughing herself into action.

  Viv collapsed onto the pebbles and stared in disbelief at the sky. A breeze tickled the goose-bumps on her arms so she rolled onto her knees, stood up, and dragged herself back to where she’d discarded her kit. For the second time in ten minutes she wiped salty water from her limbs then pulled on her clothes, remembering to tuck her trousers back into her socks. She retrieved another bin liner from her sack and went to where Frances was lying in a foetal position. Viv wrapped the bag round her and huddled down beside her to keep her warm.

  Viv, seething at the lack of initiative from Archie and Gordon, said, ‘Right guys, you asked if there was anything you could do, well now’s your chance. Either build a fire or take over here. She needs as much body warmth round her as we can give her. After that little episode we’ve got to stop hypothermia setting in.’

  Both men looked at each other, then Archie hunkered down and lay awkwardly along Frances’ back.

  Gordon got down and backed himself as best he could onto her front. A tricky operation with her knees curled up. ‘Cosy or what?’ he said, embarrassment evident in his tone.

  The fact was that they would all benefit from more warmth. ‘I’ll go find somewhere to light a fire. Once I’ve got that going I’ll come back and get you. Mean time keep huddled,’ she ordered.

  She heard Gordon make a sarcastic comment but let it go. She couldn’t think what the hell had got into him. What had prevented him from trying to save Frances? And what was with all the sarcasm? There was no need for him to take against her. They had worked together on a couple of things and although they were not buddies there weren’t enemies either.

  Terrain that looked benign from the bunkhouse had dips and troughs every few feet. Such hard going. Viv scanned the horizon, hoping to find a big boulder for shelter. There were plenty of them, but finding one with a large indent on the side away from the prevailing wind was tricky. Eventually she discovered one and dumped her sack before making her way back to the beach to gather driftwood. There wasn’t much around so she supplemented what she had with stalks of heather and moss. It took about twenty minutes to get the fire going and another ten until she was confident that it wouldn’t go out as soon as she left it unattended.

  She jogged back to the beach and nodded to Gordon and Archie. They both rolled away from Frances and sat waiting as if for their next order. Viv hadn’t planned on leading but someone had to take the initiative.

  ‘Get going then. Help her over to the fire then gather as much rubbish, wood, rope, anything that’ll burn, from along the coast line.’

  Frances stood up and snapped, ‘Thank you. I’ll manage.’ She was wobbly on her feet but Viv shrugged. No one could force her to have help. The two men took off in opposite directions along the pebbles.

  What would Mac think? Why hadn’t either of them gone back in to rescue Frances? She’d find out soon enough, but meantime they’d have to find food. She was beginning to feel lightheaded but studied the horizon and saw another head swimming steadily across the bay. Perhaps competence was on its way.

  The sun was still high. A breeze wasn’t making much impact on the temperature, which suited them while they were damp from their swim. One of the fabulous things about Scotland were the endless summer nights. And as long as the sun shone they were safe from the mayhem of midgies. Her midge net could be used for fishing rather than protection.

  Further round the bay, over a rocky outcrop, she found a series of pools with seaweed gathering at the edges. Viv nibbled a sliver and screwed up her nose. She stood and scanned the horizon. There was little chance of catching fish so she bent back down to the seaweed. Should she gather for herself or for the collective? ‘Should’ was super-ego shit, but she collected more than enough. There had been no mention of being self-sufficient and one reference to ‘no man is an island’, so she was covered.

  From a high point she identified Jura by its Paps. The area was famous for its ragged inhospitable coastline and impossible currents. The Gulf of Corryvreckan between Islay and Scarba, was home to Scotland’s strongest whirlpool, and played havoc with the tides. What was it that Ruddy had called it? Viv took in a long breath of fresh sea air and felt h
er townie genes begin to twitch. What the hell was she doing here, foraging around a shoreline picking up kelp that tasted of old wet socks? She countered this by convincing herself that since it was only for one night she could go without until the morning. Gordon’s comment to Mac about a fry-up came to mind. Nevertheless the pile of seaweed would do someone if they were desperate. She noticed limpets sticking to the edge of a rock and knelt to prise one off. Even with her knife it was too much like hard work for so little gain. If the others wanted them she would point the way. While she was down on her hunkers she wondered exactly what Ruddy was hoping she’d find. But if he knew that she wouldn’t be here. If Frances was up to no good she was now indebted to Viv. You wouldn’t hurt someone who’d saved your life, or would you?

  When Viv arrived back at the fireside she was surprised to see Mac. Frances was still gripping onto the black bin bag, legs and arms crossed, uncomfortable with Mac’s proximity, or was it his questions? Tension occupied the metre between them.

  Mac glanced up. ‘Ah, the heroine approaches. Frances has just been telling me that she got cramp.’

  This was news to Viv, but that was as good an explanation for Frances going under as any. Viv held up the straggly seaweed. ‘Hungry anyone?’

  Frances turned away and put her hand over her mouth as if she might gag.

  Mac grinned. ‘I might have known you’d be the Bear Grylls on the team. Thanks but not for me.’ He shot Viv a look that she couldn’t quite make out.

  She furrowed her brows in a question. But he shook his head and turned to Frances. ‘You think you’ll be okay to do the overnight?’

  Viv nudged at the fire and was about to answer, but realised he was talking to Frances.

  Frances shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Although I don’t know what the fuck we need to be here for in the first place.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He stood up, casting a shadow over Frances and the fire. ‘Canoes are being delivered in the morning. You’re expected to make your own way back to the centre tomorrow.’

  Viv said. ‘In time for afternoon tea . . .? Where do we pick up the canoes?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ll find them.’

  This sounded ominous. But since they weren’t here for a jolly, any equipment that might help them would have to be fought for. Sleeping under the stars in August was no real hardship, so there must be another catch lined up. In the meantime she built the fire up, hoping the others would arrive back laden with stuff to burn. Mac surely wouldn’t stay, but she didn’t ask.

  He wandered off.

  Viv said to Frances, ‘You really going to be okay? That was quite a display you put on there.’

  Frances’ eyes filled. ‘I’ll be okay. The whole thing is only for two days. Surely we can all make it through two fucking days.’

  This was rich, coming from someone who almost didn’t make it through the first challenge. Cramp was unbearable on dry land. Viv had seen Olympic swimmers, blokes in the Corps, brought to tears by it. At sea the consequences were a lot more terrifying. Maybe Frances had some kind of death wish.

  ‘Well, if you need food I spotted limpets on the rocks over there. Or I’m sure that seaweed is delicious.’ She grinned and nodded to the pile, which she’d tossed onto the boulder.

  Chapter Seven

  The chatter of voices rolled over the heather, growing closer and closer. Archie, Gordon and Davie approached with arms full of driftwood.

  Viv jumped up. ‘Wow. Great job, guys. All we need to do now is to get our voices into shape for a campfire singsong.’

  Davie sang a perfect round of ‘Kookaburra’ and they all laughed. Even Frances smiled.

  Archie plonked himself close to the fire and opened his rucksack. ‘Dinner!’ He held up small tins of fish, a selection that would have done Sainsbury proud.

  ‘I thought the idea was we’d fish for our dinner or at least forage,’ Davie said. ‘But I suppose you’ve been foraging at the supermarket?’ He nudged Archie. ‘I’ll have the mackerel if it’s going begging.’

  Archie handed round the tins. Who would refuse the gift of dinner?

  Viv settled on a rock opposite him. ‘No wonder you were knackered when you landed on the beach. What the hell else have you got in that sack?’

  He grinned and pulled out small tins of Guinness and a few miniature bottles of Macallan.

  ‘For God’s sake.’ Viv shook her head but was no less grateful for the fact that she didn’t need to use her midge net to catch her supper. ‘You’ve forgotten the silver.’

  He sank his hand back into the sack and everyone roared. But he only pulled out his Swiss army knife. Viv had brought a Gerber: total alpha female, with pliers, wire cutters and screwdrivers. What she thought she’d be doing with these in the wilderness she’d no idea. Perhaps she’d over-estimated. However, if she did need to break into a high security facility any time this weekend she was prepared.

  Archie said, ‘This do?’

  They all laughed again when each one in turn produced a similar knife. Viv kept the Gerber under wraps, reassured that the others had planned ahead.

  Viv skipped the Guinness but was grateful for a small tin of smoked mussels. The others made juvenile comments about how much easier they were to eat from a tin than from their shells slathered in butter and garlic. The sun slowly dropped towards the horizon. Viv pointed to clouds in the distance – a mackerel sky.

  Every group has its unique life, so if they were going with the forming-norming-storming-performing-ending routine, she guessed they were ‘norming’. Gordon and Archie had a go at the seaweed but spat it out. Viv smiled. At least they gave it a go. It defo wasn’t her thing. Slimy she didn’t do.

  Davie said, ‘Okay, who’s got any ghost stories?’

  They looked from one to another. Davie had one or two up his sleeve, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. Sure enough. ‘Right. Once upon a time . . .’

  He spoke slowly in a lowered tone that drew everyone in. It wasn’t dark but behind the boulder the sun had disappeared from sight and they’d all gathered closely round the fire to hear Davie’s tale. At one point Viv saw Frances nod off, but she woke up when her head dropped. She must be exhausted. Davie knew how to tell a story, no matter how shallow the plot. He had them hanging on his every word. The punch line was like a damp squib, but the journey had been worth it and they applauded, asking for more.

  It could be a long night. Viv banked up the fire and said, ‘I’m going to put my head down, try and get some kip.’

  Gordon said, ‘Tired out after so much super hero action? I thought you’d be keeping an eye on us for lover boy.’

  Viv saw the others looking bemused. Best policy was to ignore him, but she was slightly surprised that no one came to her defence, not even Frances. Ungrateful sod. Viv took another bin bag from her rucksack and wrapped it round her shoulders. She laid her head on one of her boots, but yanked it away deciding that a clod of moss was more comfy. She pulled her boots back on and curled up with her hand resting on the moss. Although Davie started another story, one by one the group followed Viv’s lead, organising themselves for sleep, or at least rest. For the adrenals to recover from a day’s activity, the body needed to be horizontal. Even if you don’t sleep your system gains equilibrium. That was probably as much as they could hope for tonight. Although the sun had gone completely the sky was light and she stared up at a vast starry canopy. It could be a cold night, but if the payoff was good settled weather tomorrow, it would be worth it. Counting stars was much the same as counting sheep.

  She must have dozed, because she woke with someone whispering right next to her head. The menacing tone took a few seconds to sink in, but she caught, ‘Don’t move or make a sound.’

  She felt warm breath on her ear as Frances promised to stick whatever sharp object she was holding against Viv’s carotid artery. Viv opened her mouth to speak, but was rewarded with a sharp prick on her neck. Frances beckoned her to get up and she complied. Frances held her a
rm in a vice-like grip, showing no sign of her earlier fatigue. The two women stumbled over rocky heather surrounding the fire, neither speaking until they were some distance from the others.

  Frances spoke. ‘You didn’t think I was stupid enough to believe you wanted me alive. You were pulling me under. You tried to stop me from breathing. But I fought back. I came back.’ She shook Viv’s arm violently to add credibility to her words.

  It took a couple of seconds for Viv to realise that Frances was describing accurately what had happened but her interpretation of why she had done it was seriously off. Frances thought that Viv had tried to kill her. ‘No you’ve got it wrong . . .’

  Frances tightened her grip. ‘Shut it. There’s no way you’re going to get rid of me. You’re the one who’s having an accident.’

  Viv’s mind was birling. How the hell was she to reason with this kind of craziness? She remained quiet.

  ‘That’s not going to work either. Don’t think I wasn’t paying attention in the psych classes. I’ve known other bitches like you. Cool, distant, always seeking attention. I’ve seen how Marconi looks at you. Don’t take me for a fool.’

  Viv went to speak. ‘But . . .’

  ‘I said shut it! Now you just follow me and we’ll be at the cliffs in no time.’

  Cliffs. Shit. Viv hadn’t reckoned on the cliffs. The rock around the bay was basalt. Cliffs would be unforgiving. She halted and yanked her arm out of Frances’ hold. But Frances had other ideas and somehow gripped onto Viv’s pocket.

  Then the oddest thing happened. One minute Frances was as forceful as a Musketeer, the next she collapsed to the ground taking Viv with her. It was like a comedy sketch. Viv landed on top of Frances’ now limp body. She was out cold and in the process had released her grip on Viv’s pocket. Viv rolled away and got to her feet. Frances lay limp, but still breathing. Viv shook her and slapped Frances’ face. It didn’t make any impression. She loosened the zip of Frances’ jacket and saw an insulin pen hanging round her neck. ‘Shit!’ She’d never administered insulin to anyone and wasn’t sure whether now was the right time. She held back, reciting the motto, ‘When in doubt do nowt’. Instead she rooted around in her own pockets to see if she had any old chewing gum or Tic-tacs. The only thing she came up with was half an oatcake. Worth a try. She shoved a piece into Frances’ mouth and held it shut. Not very sympathetic, but first aid wasn’t, it was practical.