by V Clifford
There wasn’t much more she could do with Frances, other than try and get her back to the camp. But first she had to find the weapon that had pricked her neck. Luckily she soon spotted a small silver toothpick glinting inches from Frances’ hand. Viv pocketed it, then holding her beneath the arms tried dragging her, but she kept stumbling. It still wasn’t entirely dark but shadows on the land were difficult to read in the half-light. Viv hoisted her up and pulled her arm around her shoulder. She was no lightweight but it was easier than hauling her backwards. Ten metres from the fire she stopped, astonished that despite all her huffing and puffing none of the others had stirred. Finally she laid Frances back onto her sleeping bag, checked her pulse and her eyes. Her pulse seemed normal and her eyes had stopped rolling. The oatcake was dissolving.
Chapter Eight
Viv rubbed her face and raked her hands through her hair. What was going on? Only a few hours ago she’d saved Frances’ life. Why would she turn that into a conspiracy theory? Viv wasn’t trying to kill her. Did she think that someone was, or was she just in need of medication? Whatever the answer she shouldn’t be on this course. Why hadn’t she told Mac about this? All medication had to be declared in this job. Something like diabetes could be managed but they’d have to know about it. Viv banked up the dwindling embers and lay back in her spot with her hands behind her head. Too many unanswered questions swirling in her head. No chance of sleeping now.
In the distance the call of a pair of oystercatchers pierced the silence. She drew in a long slow breath. There was no doubt about her proximity to the sea; the air was heavy with smells that just wouldn’t occur in town. Archie turned onto his back and began to snore, a comic snore. She tried to visualise which funny man it reminded her of and opted for Stan Laurel. She rose onto her elbows to watch his long intake of breath and his whistling out breath – maybe more Deputy Dawg than Laurel but so funny.
Then she must have dozed again, because she surfaced to the smell of coffee brewing.
Archie grinned at her as she roused. ‘Got all your gourmet needs here.’
She smiled and rubbed her hair. Archie was looking rough. His dark shadow didn’t do much for him, unlike Gordon who looked a lot less officious with patches of growth on his chin. Although the coffee smelled good, Viv couldn’t function without first brushing her teeth. It wasn’t until she stood up and stretched that she noticed Frances had gone.
‘Anyone seen Frances?’
Archie nodded to the other side of the boulder. ‘She went that-a-way.’
Viv took off in the direction he’d pointed and didn’t have to go far before she spotted her squatting in a dip. Viv turned her back and got on with her own tooth regime. Frances nodded as she passed Viv, as if nothing had happened in the night. She was pale and rubbing her upper arms.
Viv shook her head. ‘What? You not even going to remark on your little performance last night?’
Frances stopped and shot Viv a confused look. ‘I don’t . . .’ She clenched and unclenched her fists. ‘Did I do something in the night?’
Viv snorted. ‘What? You don’t remember?’
Frances looked genuinely alarmed. ‘Okay. So I’m guessing from that look that I did something, but since I’ve no clue what, you’ll have to enlighten me.’
Viv stared at her. ‘Are you for real? You have no memory of waking me in the night?’
‘Nope. None at all.’ She scuffed her boot on a boulder. ‘But it wouldn’t be the first time I’d done something weird in my sleep.’
Viv thought about this. But didn’t believe that Frances could have been so active without being aware of it. ‘Sleep walking?’
‘I know it sounds mad, but yes.’
Viv shook her head in disbelief and brought out the toothpick from her pocket. ‘Recognise this?’
Frances’ eyes widened. ‘Shit! What did I do?’
Viv slipped the pick back into her jacket. ‘You can have it back when we get home.’ She headed back to the fire.
‘If there’s any of that coffee left I’d love some.’
Archie handed her a steaming paper cup. ‘I’ve already put dried milk and sugar in it.’
Viv screwed up her face. ‘Yuck.’
‘You’ll thank me for it when we’re canoeing round that headland.’
Gordon yawned, stretched, then cracked his neck from side to side. ‘Everyone sleep like babies?’
Davie stirred. ‘Babies? Who said babies?’
Archie tossed a packet at him. ‘Here, use these.’
Davie held up a pack of baby wipes. ‘The smell of these makes me gag.’
Archie replied. ‘Yeah, well, the smell of you makes us gag. Get using.’
Gordon, Archie and Frances sniggered. Viv stood with her hands wrapped round the cup of coffee. Who were these guys? None of them seemed likely to cause the NTF any difficulties beyond wearing too much deodorant. Besides, what hardened criminal carries baby wipes?
Once they’d packed up their gear Viv pulled the fire apart. ‘Don’t think we’ll be back. Can’t wait to find the canoes and get across that bay for a hot shower.’ She started off over the heather towards the other side of the peninsula. If Mac meant them to paddle around it he’d have left the canoes in the most inaccessible position, otherwise what challenge would they have had? During the night Frances had talked about cliffs. Had that been her imagination or were there actually cliffs on this part of the peninsula? She took a quick look at her map but decided all she had to do was follow the shoreline and she’d eventually find them. If only she’d paid more attention in geography classes.
Walking was hard going. At times she had to lift her knees almost to waist height to clear the heather. Once she made it to the machair, she stopped. Relieved, she dropped her backpack, laid her hands on her hips and caught her breath. She stared out to sea. It was cool but a low mist was clearing revealing a pale blue sky. If it continued like this it could get hot. The others began to catch up, each one more out of breath than the last. But it was best to keep moving. She had to admit that despite her allergy to wide open spaces it was unbelievably beautiful. Islay and Jura dominated the view and she felt an odd pull over the sea. The coastline became rockier and the land began to rise so that the path was higher and further from the sea.
Archie appeared at her side. ‘Not want to slow down and enjoy the view?’
‘Sure. But I’m worried that if we don’t get round the headland before too long the sun will be up and we’ll all get frazzled.’
He nodded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose you’re right.’
Gordon, dripping with sweat, lumbered up, ‘How much further d’you think we’ll have to walk before we find the canoes?’ He glared at Viv.
She shrugged. ‘Hang on, I’ll just consult my crystal ball and let you know.’
He continued, ‘It’s not as if you’re not in on all of this.’
Viv turned to face him. ‘Look, I don’t know where you’re getting your conspiracy theories, but they are so far off the mark as to be laughable. I’m as much in the dark about this as the rest of you, so ease up on the speculation.’
He snorted. ‘Give me some credit. You’re in Marconi’s pocket.’
Viv stopped and turned to him with her hands still on her hips. ‘What is it with you?’ She shook her head and reminded herself not to rise. ‘Let’s get our maps out and find the least hospitable spot on this coastline and see if we can’t get hold of these canoes.’
She knelt on the ground and spread out her map. Gordon stood above her shadowing the map. Viv waited. Sighed and waited. ‘For fuck sake Gordon, grow up. Either get down here and . . .’
‘Now, now, Viv. Don’t you go losing it.’ Archie and Davie had made up on them. Archie kneeled beside Viv and swept his huge hand over the map, pinning down the corners. ‘Move it, Gordon, we can’t see a sodding thing. You’re shadowing the map.’
Gordon stepped away.
Viv poked her finger at a spot on the map. The
re. A cave at the bottom of a cliff. ‘I bet that’s where they are. It’s still quite a walk so we better get a move on.’
Archie said to Gordon, ‘Better forget your fantasy of having a fry-up for brunch. We’ll be lucky if we get to that cave before midday. Then the work begins.’ He rubbed his hands together, sounding as excited as a kid.
Archie set the pace, with the others following. Viv was so grateful for the mercy of good weather, the sun shining, no wind, only the sounds of the sea, the odd gull or oystercatcher. Viv stared directly at the sun and blinked then sneezed, sneezed again and then again. The weather could so easily have been miserable.
‘So what would you have been doing if you hadn’t had to come on this little ad-ven-ture?’ Archie stretched out the last word, sounding slightly camp.
‘Work probably. I’m a hairdresser and Saturdays are busy days, so I’d have seen clients all day yesterday, and today I’d have gone for a run or for a swim. Got that covered.’ She smiled at him. ‘What about you?’
‘Hairdresser? And I don’t think.’
She sighed. ‘Oh God, you’re not one of those, I-have-to-have-people-in-neat-boxes-types?’
‘There’s no way. Why would they invite a hairdresser on one of these courses?’
‘Because this hairdresser likes to poke her nose into other people’s business.’ She’d said more than she ought. ‘Never mind that, what about what you do on the weekends?’
He looked suspicious but responded. ‘I’d have watched sport with the boys, then seen my folks.’
Viv shot him a quizzical glance.
He leapt to his own defence. ‘What? Saturdays are for the boys and Sundays are for my mum and dad, brother and his family. We always have a traditional Sunday lunch together.’
Viv was genuinely surprised. ‘Really? Every Sunday?’
He laughed awkwardly. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just that I haven’t heard of anyone doing that kind of routine for years. I mean, even as a teenager I’d have found an excuse not to go.’
‘I suppose my parents let us know early on that it wasn’t a option to miss it.’ He hesitated. ‘I like it. It’s a ritual. Keeps us together. And my mum’s a great cook.’ He patted his belly. ‘Preparing me for my own family life.’
‘You sure you like it? Sounds like you’re super-ego led.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Viv grinned and shook her head. ‘It means that you’re still toeing a line that childhood authority figures laid down for you. At some point most of us snip off those apron strings and go it alone. Which means, if you wanted, say, to watch porn in your boxers all day on a Sunday and not go to the family lunch, you’d feel okay about it.’
He snorted. ‘You saying I’m still a kid?’
She pushed him gently. ‘Sure you are.’
A shadow crossed his face, then self-consciously he pasted on a smile and nodded. ‘Probably some truth in that. But aren’t we all?’
Archie was a big guy. But he didn’t strike her as a gentle giant, in fact she’d caught an edge to his voice, not menacing but on the way there. Why so defensive? Viv guessed he’d played rugby so asked him. ‘What sort of sport are you keen on?’ Safer ground.
He said. ‘Rugby of course, but almost any.’
His build, accent and demeanour said it all. ‘Did you play?’
‘Yep, for the Accies at county level. Had to have surgery so didn’t make the Scottish first team.’
She heard his sadness. ‘That’s tough.’
‘Yeah. Shit happens.’ Now she knew he was joking.
Chapter Nine
Davie caught up with them. ‘What do you reckon, Viv? An hour still to go?’
She shrugged. ‘Ask Archie. He probably has a better sense of distances than I do. I just saw that the cave was two fingers width away.’
Archie interrupted. ‘I guess we’ll be there in an hour if we keep up this pace.’
Davie was already panting. ‘Crikey. I’ll need a sleep before I get into a canoe.’
‘You’ll be fine. Although we don’t know what the ground will be like. We might all be abseiling off a cliff. With any luck we can scramble down to the shore. Wait and see.’
Davie rummaged around in his rucksack and pulled out a small plastic pack, the sort that might contain tomato sauce or mayo. He ripped the top of it and sucked it clean. ‘Energy bar in a pouch.’ But didn’t offer anything to the others.
He was prepared even if they were only one night away from civilisation. She reflected on what Archie had said about his weekends and how different a childhood could be, based on what your dad did for a living, if you had one. Her dad always worked weekends. Shifts weren’t kind to family life. She could hardly remember a Christmas or New Year when her dad was around. A dad who was a detective had its romance but not at meal times.
Viv wasn’t hungry. The coffee with the powdered milk and sugar was still swilling around in her belly. ‘Archie, you were right about that coffee this morning. How much sugar did you put in it?’
‘Builder’s formula: milk ’n’ two.’
Viv shuddered – the thought of two scoops of white sugar was even worse than the idea of powder that had never met a cow in its life. But it had kept her going.
After about twenty minutes hiking, Viv stopped and removed her fleece. The mist had cleared and the heat of the sun intensified. Gordon and Archie also peeled off their tops, momentarily exposing slices of the grey-white skin peculiar to Scottish men with indoor jobs. Archie had a long fine scar running down the centre of his torso. Perhaps his injury hadn’t been a torn ligament as she’d imagined. Although both guys could do with a bit of sun they kept their tee shirts on. Both wore Rohan type trousers with plenty of zips and pockets, and hiking boots that were beyond the spec needed on this trip. But who was to know how easy they’d be having it?
Davie wasn’t as tall as Archie and Gordon but had a cyclist’s build, slender and sinewy. He puffed along at her side wearing a lightweight grey jacket, the kind he’d wear to the office, white trainers and a dark blue tee shirt. His rucksack looked more capable of an Everest adventure than a weekend in Scotland. Apart from his weather beaten face he didn’t strike her as the outdoor type.
‘So Davie, what would you be doing this weekend if you weren’t with us?’
‘Work. Definitely work.’
‘So no big family lunch on Sundays for you then?’
‘No, until recently there’s just been my dad and me, but he’s about to marry a woman who is younger than me and who doesn’t know whether she should flirt with me, or him. So lunches aren’t exactly fun.’
‘You must love your work, though.’
A spark of excitement flickered in his eyes. ‘Love it. Have always tinkered with machines and electronics. Now I get paid for it.’
‘Really always? When was your first foray into computing?’
‘Well it wasn’t so much computing. I’d build bits of electrical equipment in my dad’s shed.’ He giggled. ‘Until I blew it up.’ He wiped sweat from the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Crikey, the woman next door called the cops. Nothing that exciting had ever happened in our street before. Can you imagine, a council estate in Dunfermline with police cars blocking each end of our street, an ambulance, the bomb squad van.’ He giggled again. ‘God, was I kept in. “Grounded” as people over here call it.’
Viv laughed. ‘Oh we got “kept in” as well. But how old were you when you posed a threat to the neighbourhood?’
‘Eleven. Maybe twelve. First year at secondary school.’
Viv shook her head. ‘Your mum?’
‘She died four years back.’
Viv didn’t pursue this. ‘But going into work every weekend, d’you never get bored?’
He looked around as if checking for the boss. ‘I don’t spend every minute working. But what I discover on computers is my life.’
Archie interrupted
. ‘He hates sport. Have you ever met a man who hates sport? Well you’re looking at one.’ He pointed to Davie.
‘It’s no crime.’ Viv defended him.
But Davie said, ‘Oh no, it is, Viv. At school I almost got killed for not liking football.’
‘Quite bloody right.’ Gordon said, catching them up and making his first contribution to the conversation. ‘Sport’s about building allies and I bet Davie hasn’t got any mates to draw on – if he’d played football or even just supported a team he would have.’ He glanced at Archie. ‘And at a push that goes for rugby as well, although they’re more likely to be pansies.’
Viv couldn’t believe she was hearing this. ‘What’s with the political correctness by-pass?’
Gordon snorted. ‘Can’t be arsed with all that crap.’
‘It’s not crap. It’s essential. People with prejudices . . . bigots have to be put right.’ Viv felt the heat rising up her neck and across her cheeks.
‘Yeah, so they’re free to have their voices heard and I’m not?’
‘Not if your voice is talking bullshit.’
‘Who decides? You? Since when did you become the PC police?’
This was dangerous territory for Viv, who was inches from telling him to go fuck himself but expected he’d love that. It would add fuel to his fire. How the hell did he ever get a job at the NTF? Was he taking the piss?
Davie said with a grin, ‘Well, I’m quite happy with my own company. While you lot have “mates”, he did air quotes, ‘whether you want them or not. You stick together like Velcro. At Watsons it was pathetic.’
