A Handful of Ash

by Marsali Taylor

  Now I didn’t need an unlikely combination of Nate, Rachel, and Lawrence – because having seen them together, I didn’t believe that they’d have been co-conspirators. I needed only two, Lawrence and Rachel. Rachel the witch, Lawrence the devil. They’d done the ritual together, and Annette had died. Lawrence had carried her body back to throw suspicion on Nate. Rachel had gone into the house to watch what happened, Lawrence had returned Peter’s keys. Lawrence had been the demon who’d called Nate out of the house that night, the frustrated writer in a nice, safe job measuring lobsters all day, the anti-Hallowe’en kirk-goer who turned four times a year into the devil, with power over a group of silly girls. Gavin had caught only three girls, but there had been four, two with each prisoner. In this new scenario, the prisoner I’d released had been Sarah from the canteen, being punished for laughing at them. Rachel had been the fourth witch, enjoying her reputation for eldritch behaviour, and the only one who knew who the devil really was. The other girls thought it was Nate, and she’d encouraged that to keep Lawrence’s secret. They’d taken me up there in revenge for Nate’s death, and she’d hugged her knowledge to herself with glee, waiting for their shock when their devil was still alive.

  We finished the border by midday. Kate straightened her back and looked along at the black earth, then up through the cleared shrubs to the house. ‘Work done. Well done, us.’ She smiled at me. ‘A last cup of tea together, Cass, in celebration.’

  My hands smelt of the bitter roots. I’d scrubbed them twice over, but the earth-tang clung to them still as I lifted the mug to my mouth, and made my tea taste bitter. We drank in silence. I’d hoped for more work planting bulbs and shrubs but if Peter and Kate were leaving, there was no point. As I left, Kate handed me the usual envelope. ‘There’s a bit extra in there.’ She made a movement as if she wanted to take my hand, then, suddenly, awkwardly, she leant forward and gave me a brief hug. ‘This last week, you’ve been such a support.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I murmured. She stepped back, cheeks red.

  ‘Now remember to drop in for a cup of tea anytime.’

  I knew she didn’t mean it. I’d seen her at her most vulnerable, and she wouldn’t want reminded of that. I thanked her again, patted the dogs goodbye, and headed off, ashamed of my relief at escaping from Kate’s agony.

  I’d said I would meet Gavin at 13.00. I went back to Khalida to leave Cat, and tidy myself up, then headed off along the shore road. I had lamb for tea still, or maybe I could join forces with Anders and Reider. Stick to your own, Cass. I’d get a couple of onions and make a stew. The shop was busy, with mothers and pushchairs blocking the fast-food aisles, older folk contemplating the saucermaet in the meat counter, and a group of primary pupils, along with their teacher and several assistants, doing some kind of survey among the sweeties. I’d just squeezed through to get a pint of milk and a bag of bannnocks when I came nose to nose with Rachel. She smiled, and waved a carton of milk at me. ‘The milk I didn’t get last night.’

  Her dark eyes were clear, meeting mine squarely. She was wearing her schoolgirl jumper once more, the round collar neat over the neck rib. I tried to imagine her with tangled hair, hunched over a cauldron. Her colouring fitted, and the high, bony nose, but her eyes dispelled the picture. They were good eyes, honest, and I felt my picture of Lawrence and her acting together dissolving.

  ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ I asked.

  She made a face. ‘Sore.’

  ‘Me too.’ I gave a quick glance round to make sure the school assistants were intent on helping their pupils. ‘My calves are used to climbing the rigging on tall ships, but not to scrambling up burns at night, with my hands tied.’

  ‘It was horrid.’ She shuddered. ‘I was so afraid. I haven’t said “thank you” properly yet.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ We squirmed our way to the till together. Kate had been extra generous, I realised, when I saw the sheaf of twenty-pound notes in the envelope, Cashline crisp. I’d write her a note of thanks. We paid, and set out into the bright day.

  ‘We had the police round this morning,’ I said. She nodded.

  ‘They were wi’ us too. I didna ken what to say to them – how to explain. The inspector, the one with the nice grey eyes, he was asking why they might a taken me away like yon, why they would want to harm me.’ She stopped, and drew away from me, towards the sea wall. We were in the widened part of the pavement, where the memorial for the men of the Shetland Bus bisected the nose-in line of parking. Rachel leaned against the waist-high walling and drew a long breath of sea air. I came forward to join her. The smell of seaweed was strong in the air, a fresh crop washed up by the tide, with the curls of wave just receding from it. Two hundred yards away, Cat was a small grey blob on Khalida’s roof. Reidar was scrubbing his fibreglass decks. The froosh, froosh of the brush carried across to us. Beside me, a strand of Rachel’s dark hair whipped free from her bun, and curled free in the wind, like a ship’s banner.

  ‘When I was peerie –’ Rachel began. She shook her head, and started again. ‘Do you have brothers an’ sisters?’

  Little Patrick who hadn’t lived to be born. I’d have been a good big sister. I’d have taken him sledging, and helped him sail siggie boats down the burn. I’d have protected him from bullies in the playground, listened to his reading, helped him do his sums. ‘No, I’m an only child.’ I realised, suddenly, that I wouldn’t get a confidence unless I was prepared to give one. Cool Cass, who stood outside the world and watched. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the wall, gazing out at the sandy curve of the bay, and found that I wanted to tell someone about it. ‘But I have a half-brother or sister. Over in America. It’ll be born soon, I think. My Dad had this affair, and I knew the girl was pregnant, but they quarrelled. That was probably good, she was my age, and Dad and Maman, I think they’ll make a go of it again. Dad doesn’t know about the baby. But I want to keep in touch. I can be an exciting big sister who just blows into the harbour, takes the child out for the world’s largest icecream, tells stories of whales, then wafts off again.’

  ‘You canna make the brother or sister you want,’ Rachel said. The corners of her mouth drooped. ‘I aye looked up to Nate, from when I was peerie. He was my big brother, and our folk were that proud of him. He was clever, doing well at the school, so I worked that hard, to keep up wi’ him. Then, one year – you went to the Brae school, didn’t you? Did you have commendations?’

  The word brought memories flooding back. ‘Blue card, wi’ a list o’ all you’d done well at through the year.’ I’d always got commendations for English, Maths, and PE – French of course – Geography –

  She nodded. ‘Well, I was in primary three, and Nate was in primary five, and I got one more subject than him. He was that mad. He stormed back to the house, and when we got home, and Mam put both certificates up on the the mantelpiece, he waited till she’d gone back in the keetchen, an ripped mine up and fired it in the stove. I gowled, and telt Mam, and she just made shooshing noises, and didna tell him off. But at teatime, Dad went on about what a clever lass I was.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It was after that it started.’

  She left a long pause, looking out over the dinkling waves. I didn’t hurry her. ‘I started to get clumsy. Things would fall just after I passed them. I smashed Mam’s best vase, and she was the mad. It came a joke in our family – Mam wouldna let me touch valuable things ony mair. Nate stuck up for me against her, and said it wasna my fault. Even at school, it happened, because I’d lost faith in myself, and expected to drop things, and so I did. I got teased about it. Then, this day, I was in the parlour, and looked in the mirror, and I saw Nate arranging a cup so that I’d catch it with my elbow as I turned again.’ Even all these years later, her voice hurt. ‘My big bridder, that I’d aye thought was so clever. He was the one doing it all. He’d pulled me down to feel I was clumsy and stupid. He’d never forgiven me, you see. I’d dared to be cleverer than him.’

  She straightened up. ‘
Well, I decided I’d show them. I worked hard at the school, and the better I did, the more turned he got. There’d be accidents, and aye blamed on me. When I went into secondary, that was Scalloway school then, I decided I was going to get away from here, an I did – college, then a job south. It was six blissful years. I had me ain flat, and you kens this, there was no even one piece o’ lem smashed, no’ in that whole six years. I even began to get me confidence back.’ Her voice dragged down into defeat. ‘Then Mam came ill, and I had to come home, back to where I’d been. Only it got worse. There was this whispering running round, that I was a witch. Nate’s work, I have little doubt. Then – well, you saw, that day in the canteen. I wasna near that glass. I couldna have pushed it from where I was. And you saw how he reacted. I thought I couldn’t bear it all over again. I went round that night – it wasna to see Mam, like I said, though I did help her while I was there. It was to have a blazing row with Nate, to tell him if ever he did anything like that again I’d walk out o’ there and leave him wi’ Mam, on his own, to make nothing o’ his life if he wanted. I’d leave him to it. I said it aa’ and it hurt more than anything I’d ever done, because he was my brother, an’ yet I’d tried all I could to keep the peace, and there was nothing more I could do.’

  ‘And that was why they took you up there,’ I said. ‘They took me because they believed I’d ill-witched him, and you because they’d heard about the quarrel, and they thought you might have killed him – killed their devil, the leader of their ceremonies. Except it wasn’t him after all, because the devil was still there.’

  Rachel looked quickly, left, right, then leant her head close to mine. ‘Who was it in the devil suit? Who was it?’

  I looked her straight in the eye. Rachel or Lawrence – ‘Don’t you know?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. Her breathing was ragged. Her chest rose and fell, there was panic in her eyes. ‘No! I don’t know, I don’t!’ She turned away from me and half-walked, half-ran up the road.

  Chapter Twenty

  I considered that one all the way to the temporary police HQ in the old museum. If Rachel was innocent, if she had been set up as a witch by Nate – and I was inclined to believe that – then my whole scenario for Annette’s death was wrong. Then I had a sudden inspiration. I didn’t need Rachel. If Nate had been the witch Annette had approached – and everything we knew made that likely – then all we needed was for the real devil to have found out that someone was taking his name in vain. Nate held his ritual, and then, just when he was least expected, the devil arrived in his frightening costume. Nate ran for it, and so the devil returned the blame to his doorstep. Simple, plausible. All I needed to know now was who could have found out. Who might Nate have told? Not the hooded crows, his closest confidantes; certainly not Rachel. Annette, then. I knew who she had told: James Leask. James, the crofter’s son who’d wanted to be a sea-captain. Someone who lacked power in their life … I was just considering the implications of that when Gavin came out.

  ‘All set?’ He opened the passenger door for me, then went round to his own side. He was in his scarlet kilt now, ready for church. ‘How’s the garden clearing going?’

  ‘Finished,’ I said. I stretched my hands, which were still ingrained with dirt, in spite of a third wash aboard Khalida. ‘I was hoping the work would last a little longer, but Peter’s put in for a transfer, so there’s no point in doing all the planting work Kate had planned. Someone else will get our clean slate. According to Kate, they’ll still be fighting the ground elder a decade on.’

  ‘It’s nasty stuff,’ Gavin agreed. We swooped smoothly round the curve, came above Scalloway, and left it behind the hill as we headed north. There was a police van parked in lay-by, and a line of black-clad figures spread out along the lower slope. Gavin didn’t comment, so I didn’t ask. ‘My mother got it in her flower garden from some root she’d bought at a plant sale, and she ended up having to leave the whole border under old carpet for a year.’

  ‘No weeds at sea,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Well, except the ones that grow on your ship’s hull.’ Round-the-world sailors had to stop several times to careen their hulls, or, if they were non-stop, to swim round on a calm day, and scrub.

  ‘Once you’ve finished your course, you’ll be free to set off again.’

  ‘If I finish it,’ I said. Sitting side by side, with his eyes intent on the road, somehow made it easier to drop back into the friendship we’d found over the phone. ‘It’s driving me round the bend, being in a classroom. I’m going to miss my gardening. At least that got me outside. I’m going to have to take to long walks, or start climbing cliffs.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ll finish it.’

  ‘I will,’ I agreed, ‘but I don’t have to like it.’

  ‘I have something for you.’ His voice was constrained. ‘It was one of the things we found on the hill. It’s in the glove compartment.’

  I opened the pocket in front of me, and found a little package, rolled in a handkerchief. It was the size of my hand, and heavy. I unwound the wrapping and found a little figure. My heart choked within me. It was of clay, roughly made, and painted with blue jeans and a navy jumper. The hair was black, with what looked like real hairs among the paint, and there was a fingernail score across one cheek. A thick sewing-needle jutted out of the forehead. I held it in my hands and felt sick.

  ‘I’m sorry you have to see it,’ Gavin said, ‘but I thought you should decide how to get rid of it. We don’t need it as evidence. No court is going to convict them of witchcraft these days.’

  I looked at the jutting-out needle and remembered the stabbing headache I’d endured these last few days. All my commonsense said this obscenity couldn’t harm me, yet I understood why Gavin didn’t want to just destroy it. I closed the handkerchief again, and shoved the nasty thing into my pocket.

  He parked round the corner from the church, and we walked back together in silence. There was a fair sprinkling of people already inside. Gavin motioned me ahead of him, and I slipped into a pew halfway down. The sun smoothed diamonds of green and white through the window and over our shoulders, so that we knelt together in a rectangle of light. He brought that still concentration here too, hands clasped on the wooden pew, russet head bent over them. I looked away and focused on my own prayers, but the words wouldn’t come. The little figure was too heavy in my pocket. I ended up reciting the ‘Our Father’ slowly, then took it out. I eased the needle from its head, then wrapped it up once more.

  Father Mikhail swept in, in his best scarlet. We murmured the entrance greetings and the Gloria together, then there was a pause. The readers’ rotas only covered the Sunday masses. Gavin gave a look around, then stepped forward. I took a deep breath, then followed. It was only standing-in as readers, but it felt like some public declaration, to walk together down the aisle, and bow our heads to the altar before standing at the lectern. Gavin motioned me forward, which gave me Revelation and the psalm: the multitude of people robed in white, the psalm that began The Earth is the Lord’s. ‘Who shall stand in his holy place,’ I heard my voice read out, and the answer, ‘… those who do not lift up their souls to what is false.’ The hooded crows and the fourth woman, who’d worshipped the devil up on Gallow Hill.

  Gavin took over from me for a reading from St John, the reminder that we are all God’s children. ‘Sin is lawlessness,’ his voice read gravely, and I wondered if that was his policeman’s viewpoint. Breaking the law was a sin. No, St John had it the other way round, sin was breaking the law. ‘… little children, let no one deceive you …’ They’d had charlatans and con-men in Biblical times too, people who worshipped idols.

  The Gospel was the Beatitudes: blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are those that hunger for righteousness, blessed are the merciful …

  When it was time to come forward for communion, Gavin stood back and motioned me forward. I tried to forget him behind me, to focus only on the blessed Presence I was about to receive. There was a cluster of small chi
ldren ahead of me, with their mother. The first was old enough to receive communion, and the others each got a blessing. The mother was busy mustering them, so it was only I who noticed that the little boy who’d gone first had dropped his communion wafer on the floor. His neck and ears went scarlet. He stooped quickly to rescue it and put it in his mouth, then he turned to make sure his mother hadn’t seen. His eyes met mine. I looked away, but not before I’d seen the guilt and shame flood his face. I wanted to say to him, ‘It’s okay, it was an accident,’ but he was already scuttling back to his pew without looking at me again.

  I didn’t have time now to think where, or when, but I was filled with a sense of déjà vu. Somewhere, I’d seen that look of guilt, of being at faat: ‘You caught me.’

  At the end of Mass, I gave the handkerchief-wrapped figure to Father Mikhail. ‘It’s a witch figure. Maybe … maybe you can think of a way of destroying it so it does no further harm.’

  ‘Cass,’ he said, and shook his head. ‘I have been hearing stories from Scalloway, but that you, a practical sailor, should listen to such nonsense!’ He unwrapped the figure and let it drop on the concrete path. The black head cracked and lay aslant to the body. ‘Will you jump on it first, or will I?’

  I felt his common sense blow away the atmosphere that had gathered like a black mist around me. ‘Me first,’ I said, and landed squarely on it. I was wearing light sandshoes, so I did more damage to myself than I did to the figure, but the relief was enormous. Father Mikhail’s black shoes pounded it to fragments. Behind me, Gavin was laughing.

  ‘There,’ Father Mikhail said. ‘Please give my regards to your dear mother.’