Beneath the Water

by Sarah Painter

  Caitlin had warned Stella that she wouldn’t be in to meet her upon arrival and that Stella should let herself in with the key under the mat.

  ‘That’s ridiculous, you can’t leave your key outside your front door.’

  Caitlin had laughed, the sound crackling in and out with the terrible mobile reception. ‘You’ve been in London too long.’

  Stella stumbled up the path to the cottage, cursing the pitiful glow from her phone and wishing she had a torch. The rain was still sheeting down and her hair was plastered to her skull within seconds.

  She located the key and let herself into the house. The hall was tiny, with openings to the left and right and a steep flight of stairs facing the front door. Struggling against the wind, Stella slammed the door shut, and a coat hung on a small hook promptly fell onto the floor. To the right was a living room, a lamp on in one corner, and to the left a kitchen with a dining table pushed against the far wall.

  Stella thought about making herself tea or sitting in the quiet rooms by herself, and decided she was too tired from the drive. She wanted to switch the light off on the day and close her ears to the howling wind.

  When Stella woke up, it took a moment to realise where she was. The little room was unfamiliar, but the previous day’s long drive, her arrival in the rain and the dark and eventual crashing in this comfortable bed came back in a rush. She was in Scotland. Ben had called yesterday and she’d flipped out and driven to Scotland. Good grief.

  A door opened downstairs, and with it came the welcome smell of toast. Stella got dressed quickly, pulling on yesterday’s clothes, which were crumpled and splattered with mud, and ventured onto the small landing. There were two other doors – one led to the bathroom that she’d used the night before and the other was ajar, revealing an empty double bed, the duvet pulled up neatly.

  Downstairs, Caitlin was moving around the little kitchen with a manic energy Stella remembered well from university. She had shared a house with Caitlin and three other girls and Caitlin had always been the one to instigate cleaning sessions, new fitness regimes and long jolly walks on a Sunday. ‘You’re up!’ Caitlin said, throwing a tea towel in the direction of the cooker. It hit the edge of the worktop next to the appliance and slid off onto the floor. Caitlin bounded across the small space and enfolded Stella in a hug. When Stella had waited for what felt like a polite amount of time, she dropped her arms and moved away only to be pulled back tighter by Caitlin.

  After another moment, Caitlin released her from the embrace but held her at arm’s length, apparently unwilling to let her go. ‘How are you?’ Caitlin had her head on one side, her face sympathetic and her hearty voice toned down to what would be normal volume for most people. ‘Don’t answer that! Stupid question.’ Caitlin smacked herself theatrically on the forehead. ‘Tea. You need tea, right?’

  ‘Most definitely,’ Stella said, perching on the metal bar stool in the corner of the tiny room. The padded top, encased in burgundy faux-leather wheezed in a decidedly rude manner as she put her weight on it.

  ‘Brilliant, right?’ Caitlin said. ‘I died laughing. Trumping furniture.’

  After a general catch-up with Caitlin – work was fine, Rob was fine, Caitlin was fine – Caitlin picked up her rucksack and sailed out the door, hurling apologies. ‘Can’t take a day at the moment, but make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything. I’ll be back at five-ish and we can go to the pub.’ She ran back for a last squeeze, solid in her layers of technical fleece and high-performance mountain gear. ‘I’m so happy you came.’

  The front door closed with a bang and Stella listened to Caitlin’s footsteps on the path, the sound of the gate. She expected to hear a car start, but there was nothing. Perhaps Caitlin parked further down the street. Or maybe she walked to work. Stella realised how little she knew about her friend’s day-to-day life and how long it had been since they’d lain in bed together, watching sitcoms and eating toast, avoiding their studies and talking about mutual friends, mutual plans.

  Caitlin had left a list of instructions on the kitchen worktop which included how to operate the television remotes and the central heating. On top was a key for the front door and a pair of binoculars. At university, Caitlin would’ve used binoculars for one purpose only: trying to peek into the house across the street which was home to ‘the hottest boy in Earth Sciences’.

  After washing her face and adding a few layers to her outfit, Stella ventured outside. She took several deep breaths before setting off. There was a liquid fullness in her chest and she wondered whether she ought to make a check-up appointment once she got home. The word ‘home’ set off a fresh round of pain, so strong it made her dizzy. She didn’t want to think about going back so she pushed the thought away. As surreal as her impulsive flit was, she couldn’t imagine making the return journey. It was fine. She was here now, in this place, and she was going to explore. One step at a time, that was the key.

  Caitlin and Rob’s cottage was one of a row of three. Old buildings with modern additions like double-glazing and satellite dishes. The houses were long and low to the ground, like they were hugging the earth for security or had half risen up from beneath. They were covered in brown harling, the stone or brickwork completely hidden, and there were layers of thick white paint around the window openings. Stella did up the buttons of her cardigan and zipped up the fleece-lined raincoat she had just pulled on. Clearly, this was a place in which everyone and everything wore layers.

  The ground was sodden from the rain in the night and the air was cool, but there was no longer a gale and the sky was light, with the promise of pale sunlight. Stella set off along the street in the direction of the village centre. It was further along the road than she’d expected, and all she could see was the occasional house or gate. The road sloped down and became narrower, and Stella had to step onto the grass verge, soaking her Converse, as cars passed. She was just beginning to think that a stroll had been a bad idea, when the road turned a corner and she saw the water. A break in the clouds meant that light was flung across it, turning the surface into a dark-grey and silver mottled mirror, an expanse of mercury glass. Clinging to the slope were the assorted houses of the village, and down near the edge of the water, across the curve of the loch, sat a large white building with several roof peaks and big windows.

  Arisaig wasn’t going to win any awards for size, but as the sun brightened, it suddenly looked precious and inviting. Then the clouds closed again and the landscape was pitched into gloom. It was a ridiculous place, Stella thought. Dual personality. But that fleeting glimpse of light on water had given an inkling of its charms.

  At a T-junction, Stella hesitated. Having seen the village from above, she knew she must be heading down and towards the water, so she took the left-hand fork, following the road down a slope which became very steep, tipping Stella’s feet forward in her trainers. The edges of the road closed in, thick with rhododendrons and birch, until the sky was just a narrow slice and the temperature dropped. The road twisted until Stella wasn’t sure she was still headed in the right direction, and then, abruptly, the view opened wide.

  Stella looked down onto the slated roof of a beautiful grey stone house. It was grand in size and style, with stepped gables and little turrets and several tall chimney stacks. Beyond it, the sea stretched out until it merged with the sky.

  The road, which curved to the left past the house, was barred with a gate, and there was a small ‘Private’ sign. Stella wished she could go closer; the house looked both inviting and closed-off. She could imagine hiding in a place like that. If only she had the funds or the lineage. She turned back, taking the hill with small careful steps, until she reached the junction. Although the right-hand road had seemed to go in entirely the wrong direction, it soon turned and she found herself dropping down into Arisaig.

  There were a few people in bright raincoats and walking boots milling around the entrance to a building called the Land, Sea and Isles Centre, but mainly Stella saw what
she assumed to be locals. A couple of pensioners sitting on a bench looking out at the sea loch had a Thermos flask with a green tartan pattern and a small dog tucked halfway inside the woman’s coat.

  Stella paused at the lochside and tried to feel something. She was in a wild and beautiful place, she told herself. Having an adventure. There was an expanse of water and the islands of Eigg, Rùm and Skye in the distance. Stella could see that it was a good view, if you weren’t all that interested in colour. A wind sprang up, finding its way under her collar, and she turned from the water and trudged back up the hill to the main road.

  She passed a shop and, more to escape the drizzle which had begun than any sense of curiosity, ducked inside. The shop was split in two, a small bakery on one side and a general store on the other. The general store was stuffed with an unusual variety of items. Stella looked at the packaging for surgical tights and buttons – alongside parcel tape, cat food and apples – and felt as if she had stepped through a portal to a time that not even she truly remembered. The grocery counter was deserted, but after a few minutes, a woman came through from the bakery side and took up position by the register.

  Stella thought about the contents of Caitlin’s small fridge and felt she ought to contribute something. She’d arrived without gifts, not even a bottle of wine. She picked up butter from the chiller cabinet and began searching for jam.

  ‘On holiday?’ the woman said, in a not entirely friendly way.

  ‘Visiting friends,’ Stella said.

  ‘In the village?’

  ‘Yes,’ Stella said, examining a locally made jar of bramble jelly.

  There was a pause and Stella realised that the woman was waiting for her to elaborate, so she added, ‘Caitlin and Rob Baird.’

  ‘Oh, aye. I know the Bairds.’ The woman smiled for the first time. ‘I’m Marion. You should take a boat out to Eigg while you’re here. My husband will give ye a good rate. Tell him you’re a friend of Rob’s.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Stella said. She had no intention of going out on that freezing grey expanse, had no idea why anybody would.

  ‘Is there a hotel here? Other than the one by the loch?’

  ‘There’s one at Morar,’ the woman said, frowning a little as if Stella had insulted her in some way. ‘And the pub has rooms.’

  ‘I passed a house,’ Stella said, ‘on my way in. It looked posh enough, I thought it might be—’

  ‘That’ll be Munro House.’ Marion’s frown deepened for a moment.

  If it was a hotel, then Stella could wander in and have a look around. She didn’t know why she’d felt so drawn to the place, but she had nothing but time, and it was a relief to feel the stirrings of curiosity.

  ‘No.’ The woman shook her head, her expression flat. ‘Not for a while.’

  ‘Okay.’ Stella turned back to the shelf. She picked up an onion and chilli chutney along with the jam and went to the counter. There were bottles of booze lined up behind the till, mostly cheap brands of gin, vodka and whisky, but there were a couple of single malts. ‘How much is the Ardbeg?’

  ‘Forty-five,’ Marion said, turning to get it down.

  ‘Great,’ Stella said, trying not to think of her bank balance.

  ‘Nothing good ever happened there.’ Marion was bagging Stella’s purchases and she didn’t look up.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Munro House. It’s a bad place.’

  Teasing the gullible tourist. Nice. Stella forced a smile to show she was a good sport. ‘Really? That sounds fun.’

  Marion didn’t smile back.

  Back at the cottage, Stella washed up the breakfast dishes, swept the kitchen floor and tried to read a novel. After lunch she gave up on trying to act like a normal person and went back to bed for the afternoon. She told herself that she was still tired from the long drive the day before, but the truth was, she craved the magical switch-off of sleep. She set her alarm before crawling under the duvet, not wanting Caitlin to find her in bed. It would only make her worry and Stella was keenly aware that she was already a burden. Sleep came swiftly, bestowing the blessed release from thought and feeling that Stella craved.

  ‘I’m back!’ Caitlin yelled from the hallway. Stella opened her eyes, feeling just as weary, as if the three hours of sleep had been a hallucination. ‘Are you ready to get out of here or do I have time for a cup of tea? I’m gasping.’

  Stella found Caitlin in the kitchen, still with half of her outside layers on. She hit the switch on the kettle and got out a couple of mugs.

  ‘Rob not back?’ Caitlin said, flinging her scarf onto the counter and leaning against it.

  Stella shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘He said he might not bother coming home after work. He’s got parents’ evening at the school. We’ll go on to the pub and I’ll leave him a note.’

  Stella’s neck prickled at the thought of going out, even with Caitlin. She didn’t want to meet anybody new, have to make small talk and smile. She felt cold inside, as the hollow space left by Ben yawned open.

  ‘They’re a nice bunch and the food is good. Not fancy, but good pub food, you know?’

  When they got to the bar at the Arisaig Inn, Stella saw instantly what Caitlin meant. She meant the restaurant food of her childhood, not gastro stuff. Chicken and chips, gammon and pineapple, pie and mash, or fish, chips and mushy peas – all served on plates, not chopping boards or slates with the chips in a tiny replica fry basket. ‘Don’t get the salad,’ Caitlin warned, needlessly. ‘It’s a bit old school. Coleslaw and iceberg.’

  Stella was sitting on a cushioned bench near the massive stone hearth, complete with roaring fire. Her visions of having to speak to hundreds of friendly locals – Caitlin collected friends as easily as colds – hadn’t come true, and now, with half a delicious nutty ale already in her system and the prospect of some deep-fried food, she felt more positive.

  ‘I’ll get the next round,’ Stella said. ‘Gin?’ Caitlin had gone for a long drink, something clear with a slice of lemon.

  ‘Lemonade,’ Caitlin said. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘We can walk,’ Stella said, feeling guilty. ‘It’s no distance.’

  ‘That’s all right—’ Caitlin began, but at that moment the door to the pub opened, letting in a blast of cold air along with loud male voices.

  ‘Uh-oh. It’s the boys,’ Caitlin said, smiling.

  Stella pretended she hadn’t heard and continued her trajectory to the bar. She was buying some time, steeling herself for social interaction. It was an old habit, but as she waited to catch the attention of the barman, she imagined herself donning a cloak. Dark-blue velvet and edged with silver, it had a deep hood and hidden pockets and it made her feel safe and warm and strong. By the time she was back at the table, with a drink in each hand, she was ready to face the small crowd.

  ‘Stella, this is Doug, Stewart and Bark.’

  ‘Bark?’ Stella asked the man with red hair cropped close to his skull and long pale eyelashes.

  ‘Aye, short for Barclay.’

  ‘Like the bank?’

  ‘No.’

  All right, then. Stella took a sip of her Laphroaig, concentrating on the smoke-and-engine-oil flavour, rather than the man who was now glaring at her.

  ‘Stella is my pal from uni,’ Caitlin was saying, the light accent she’d picked up since moving to Scotland with Rob becoming more pronounced.

  ‘You staying for long?’ the man Stella thought was Doug asked.

  ‘Not sure,’ Stella said. ‘Things are a bit up in the air at the moment, life-wise.’

  ‘Oh, aye. I ken what you mean,’ Doug said. ‘I was going to go to Stirling but I changed ma mind.’

  ‘Were you going to study there?’

  ‘Nah. There was a job, like. But then I stayed put. Still gonnae go one day.’

  ‘Are there many jobs around here?’ Stella asked, pretty sure she knew the answer. ‘I’m thinking I might stay a while. I’ll need to do something.’ />
  The boys pulled faces, and Stewart said she’d be lucky.

  ‘You’re thinking of staying?’ Caitlin said, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Maybe.’ Stella shrugged. ‘I’m not sure of my plans.’ An image flashed into her mind. Her kitchen worktop with the rectangular white appointment card sitting on its oiled wooden surface. A tiny door into another reality.

  The boys had started their own conversation, sensing that Stella and Caitlin might be having a private discussion.

  ‘You can stay with us as long as you like,’ Caitlin said. Stella had the urge to hug Caitlin. She was such a good friend. She had even managed to make the invitation sound genuine.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, to be honest.’ Stella put a hand on her arm. ‘I’m a mess. I’ll stay a few days and then decide. Don’t worry, I won’t intrude longer than that . . .’

  ‘Munro is after a helper, mind,’ Doug said, putting his pint glass onto the table and sitting down. ‘Mairi went up and met him but he was needing someone good with computers.’ Doug shook his head. ‘Mairi’s clever and all, but she cannae be doing with emails and spreadsheets and that stuff.’

  ‘Ach, don’t send her there, man,’ Stewart said, sitting on the bench next to Stella, squishing against her. ‘Especially not after that girl—’

  ‘That wasn’t in the house,’ Caitlin said quickly, cutting him off.

  ‘What are we talking about?’ Stella said.

  ‘At the big house,’ Doug said. ‘The superstar. Local boy made good, back from America.’

  ‘Gracing us with his presence,’ Stewart said.

  ‘Except naebody’s seen him,’ Doug added.

  ‘But he’s looking for an office assistant?’ Stella said. ‘Which big house?’

  ‘Mebbe. Unless he’s found someone.’ Bark shook his head. ‘Bad family, mind. You don’t want to get mixed up with him.’

  ‘Gossip,’ Caitlin said. ‘You lot are a bunch of sweetie wives.’

  ‘And I hear he’s up to all sorts.’ Doug made a significant face.