Beneath the Water

by Sarah Painter

  ‘I bet he has you doing all kinds of weird things,’ Rob said, his words slurring.

  Stella hadn’t seen him so drunk since an ill-advised pub crawl during their second year at university. She had seen him tipsy plenty of times, of course, but that night he had been so drunk he had even tried to kiss Stella while she was helping him to the last stop of the night. Caitlin had been in the group ahead of them, thank goodness, and hadn’t witnessed the ungainly grapple which had ensued. Stella had planned to demand an apology once Rob was sober, but the sight of his suffering the following day and his clear amnesia of all events post pint number six had blunted the urge.

  The belligerent set to his face brought it all back and she tried to move seats. Rob stuck out a hand and grabbed her arm, hauling her close. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh. ‘Devil worship?’

  ‘What?’ Stella leaned away. ‘Let go, Rob. That hurts.’

  ‘Why does Jamie fucking Munro get everything handed to him on a plate?’ Rob addressed the entire pub, his voice carrying over the chatter as one arm made a sweeping gesture. ‘Answer. He made a deal with the devil.’

  ‘Oh Jesus, man,’ Stewart said. ‘You are in a bad way the night.’ He had been about to join their table but spun on his heel and went to join another group.

  ‘Come on, mister. Time for bed.’ Caitlin prised Rob’s fingers from Stella’s arm, mouthing ‘sorry’.

  ‘Need a hand?’ Doug put his hands underneath Rob’s armpits and lifted. Rob was not especially small but he shot upwards with amazing ease. Being a postman was obviously more of a workout than Stella realised.

  ‘Thank you,’ Caitlin said. ‘Stella?’

  It took the three of them to encourage Rob outside. Once they had folded him into the passenger seat of the car, Doug went back inside.

  Stella opened the rear door, but Caitlin put a hand on her arm, in the same place Rob had gripped. ‘No, you stay.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Stella was torn between the desire to stay away from drunk Rob, and friendship duty. Rob was pressed against the window, his eyes shut. If he went to sleep like that, Stella wasn’t sure Caitlin would be able to get him into the house.

  ‘No sense in ruining your night, too,’ Caitlin said. ‘He’ll be embarrassed when he sobers up.’ She pulled a face, the light from the pub windows illuminating her odd expression.

  Stella wanted to ask if he did this often, but was worried it would sound judgemental.

  ‘He’s just had a bad day,’ Caitlin said, as if reading Stella’s thoughts. ‘He Skyped with his mum earlier and that wound him up. I don’t know why.’

  ‘Skyped?’ Stella had assumed that Rob’s family lived nearby, that their proximity would have been one of the reasons Rob and Caitlin moved to this part of the world.

  ‘Yeah.’ Caitlin turned to check on Rob. ‘You know how it is with parents.’

  Turning back to the pub, Stella was surprised by how comfortable she felt walking in.

  ‘You didn’t want a lift, then?’ Doug said. ‘I thought we’d lost you for the night.’

  ‘Not now,’ Stella said, checking to see if there were any crisps left in the open packets. ‘It’s still early.’

  ‘You deserve some time off,’ Doug said approvingly. ‘You work too hard.’

  ‘How on earth do you know that?’ Stella was amused by his earnest expression.

  ‘You’re that type,’ he said sagely.

  Stella licked salt and vinegar from her fingers while she contemplated this. She had never thought of herself as especially hard-working. Conscientious, yes. She always did what needed to be done and had been praised by her temporary managers at any number of the office jobs she’d taken, even offered permanent contracts over and over again, but she’d never felt she’d worked especially hard. ‘I like working,’ she said, and realised as she spoke that it was the truth. She liked being efficient and helpful. It was true that her position as Jamie’s assistant seemed mostly an exercise in formulating lists of things he then refused to deal with or discuss, but she had certainly worked in more soul-destroying places. And besides, she wasn’t beaten yet. On Monday she would confront Jamie about the situation with his book deadline. After all, what did she have left to lose?

  ‘You’re unusual. Most folk can’t wait for the weekend.’

  ‘It’s all about balance.’ Stella knew that she sounded like Jamie now, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had been going through the backlog of articles and podcasts on his website, trying to get to know the business, and the sheer strength of his conviction was compelling. Or website Jamie, anyway. Real-life Jamie was more complicated: arrogant and brusque one moment, and then endearingly genuine and enthusiastic the next.

  ‘Is that right?’ Doug was smiling. He lifted his pint and the small shot of whisky next to it. ‘Like a drink in each hand?’

  Stella nodded, but her mood had dipped. She had always felt she was too mutable, too quick to alter her own opinions. Like soft wax pressed into the mould of whoever she happened to be with. When she had first got together with Ben, Caitlin had jokingly pointed out that Stella had stopped wearing long hippyish skirts and swapped them for skinny jeans and heels practically overnight. Stella had straightened her back. That was just growing up, leaving university and no longer dressing like a lefty student.

  She pushed the thought aside and focused on Doug, getting him to tell her about his worst delivery mishaps.

  ‘And then there was the time I dropped a parcel in a puddle and it soaked the paper. The insides were coming out as I handed it over to the wee wifie at the door.’

  ‘Was she angry?’

  ‘Nuh.’ Doug shook his head. ‘Mortified, more like. It was the biggest dildo you can imagine. Not even in plastic packaging. More like it was a personal gift.’ He paused for effect. ‘Or a loaner.’

  ‘Ew!’ Stella obliged him with a dramatic expression of disgust.

  ‘Are you talking about that sex toy again?’ Stewart was carrying a bowl of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream, which he put down on the table next to his mug of tea. ‘You’re obsessed, man.’

  ‘Haunted, more like,’ Doug said, the light glinting off his spectacles. He took a long pull of his pint. ‘Anyway, just cheering up the lassie, here. She’s needin’ a laugh.’

  ‘That Munro bastard giving you a hard time, hen?’

  ‘He’s very nice,’ Stella said. ‘To me, anyway. But I know you don’t like him. Nobody round here seems to, I get that loud and clear.’

  ‘It’s no his fault,’ Stewart said. ‘His father was a right bastard and it’s hard to get round that. Especially when he doesn’t mix. Naebody has anything to go on so they go on the bad memories, if you ken what I mean.’

  ‘I do,’ Stella said. ‘Did you know the family, then?’

  ‘Oh, aye. He was in my primary until he went away to school.’

  Stella had seen the local kids in their dark green sweatshirts, running around the playground. ‘They didn’t always send him private, then?’

  ‘It’s a question of logistics. If you want your kid to go to school nearby when they’re wee, you’ve got Morar Primary and that’s about it.’

  In most rural places you had limited choices, Stella knew that, but it was definitely more extreme in this area. The roads were vastly improved, as everyone kept saying, but it still took much longer to drive from place to place than you thought possible. Ten miles was not ‘nipping’, and twenty could take an hour and a half if you got stuck behind a tractor or a line of caravans. And that was before you factored in the weather. She had already begun to look longingly at the four-wheel drives.

  ‘Did you go to the house for Hogmanay?’

  ‘Aye, most years,’ Doug said. ‘You didnae, eh, Stu?’

  ‘My dad had a falling-out with Mr Munro.’ Stewart shook his head cheerfully.

  ‘Tell her,’ Doug said. He nudged Stella. ‘This is brilliant.’

  ‘Dad decked Munro.’

  Stella waited for
elaboration, but that seemed to be it. Stewart put a loaded spoonful of pudding into his mouth.

  ‘He was all for getting the polis at the time, but he never did,’ Doug said.

  Stewart swallowed with some difficulty and added: ‘Didn’t want that kind of attention. Guilty conscience.’

  ‘Why did your dad hit Jamie’s dad?’

  Stewart looked at her as if she were simple. ‘Because he was beating on Jamie’s mum.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Stella’s hand went to her mouth. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘He had a temper. Especially when he’d had a few.’ Stewart was scraping his bowl now, carefully getting every trace of the cream. ‘It was ironic that Dad was angry about it. Except when you ken how much he likes a fight. Any excuse.’

  Doug was draining his pint glass and now he stood up. ‘Another one?’

  ‘I’m okay, thanks.’ Stella was still working on hers.

  ‘I’m set.’ Stewart nodded at his tea.

  The bar had filled up and Doug joined the scrum, chatting easily to those around him. He seemed to know everyone, which, in a place like this, was entirely possible.

  ‘Jamie’s mum wasn’t very nice, but she didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘No,’ Stella said. ‘Was he often violent?’

  Stewart held out his hand and tipped it from side to side. ‘Hard to say. Mostly it was words, I think. He expected her to do anything he said, anything he wanted, but she would pick Jamie up from school in dark glasses.’

  ‘Shades?’

  ‘In winter, aye.’ He gave her a meaningful look.

  ‘Did no one report it?’

  ‘No point. She’d deny it. He’d deny it.’ Stewart shrugged. ‘And it wasn’t like now. You didn’t talk about this kind of thing. You dealt with it quietly and in the family or with the locals.’

  ‘If it was dealt with at all,’ Stella said.

  ‘Aye.’ Stewart picked up his spoon as if forgetting that he’d finished, then put it down again.

  ‘Did he hurt Jamie?’ Stella was trying not to picture a young skinny Jamie, cowering in a dark corner, frightened and alone, but the image was there nonetheless.

  Stewart shrugged. ‘Mebbe. Kid was probably happy to go away to school.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Primary five?’ Seeing her expression, he added, ‘That’s about eight or nine.’

  ‘Were you friends?’

  Stewart looked surprised. ‘Of course. You don’t really have a choice when there’s twenty kids in the entire school.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Stella felt stupid. There had been more than that in each class of her primary school.

  ‘But he left. People do, right enough. There aren’t any jobs around here so it’s hard to stay, but somehow we think worse of them anyway.’

  ‘For deserting the village?’ Stella asked.

  Stewart smiled. ‘Quitters. Exactly.’

  ‘And now he’s back. And with a ton of money,’ Stella said.

  ‘He always had money, that was another thing. It goes deep. Those that own the land and those who scrape a living from it.’

  ‘It’s not his fault, though, surely . . .’

  ‘I’m not having a go,’ Stewart said. ‘I’ve got nothing against him. He’s done well, and good for him. At least he’s been working, not just spending Daddy’s money.’

  ‘Lot of people don’t call it work,’ Stella said, ‘but it is.’

  ‘Just jealousy, if you ask me.’ Stewart drank some tea. ‘That lot would give their right arm to sit around writing books for a fat payout. Give their left arm to go to California, too.’

  Doug arrived back with his fresh pint, and conversation moved on to football and Doug and Mairi’s plans for their dining room. ‘We’re knocking through,’ he said proudly. ‘We’ll have a dinner when it’s all done. You’ll have to come.’

  ‘Doug’s curries are amazing,’ Stewart said, warming to the new subject with endearing enthusiasm. ‘He makes them from scratch.’

  When the bell rang for last orders, Doug got a final dram and Stewart ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. ‘He always gets that,’ Doug said. ‘It’s his version of a night cap.’

  Stewart offered Stella a lift home and she took it, grateful that Stewart didn’t drink.

  It was pitch-black, and the rain of earlier had transformed into freezing sleet which was hurled horizontally. Stella zipped up her leather jacket and pulled her new hat down over her ears. There was a blanket on the passenger seat of the car, and she put it over her legs while she waited for the car heater to warm up.

  Stewart was concentrating on the road and Stella admired his profile, wondering why he didn’t have a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. She opened her mouth to ask him, alcohol loosening her tongue, when he said, ‘You know I said it was ironic that my dad had been so angry with Mr Munro.’

  It took Stella a second to remember. ‘You said he liked a fight.’

  ‘Usually he stuck with folk he could win against. Me. My mum. But when he was really drunk, he’d have a go with anyone.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Stella said, hating how useless and small those words were.

  ‘He’s dead now,’ Stewart said. ‘Good riddance.’ The phrase had the ring of putting on a brave face, tough talk to hide pain, but Stewart flashed her a reassuring smile.

  Stella couldn’t help but smile back. Stewart was one of those people it felt good to be around.

  The car ate up the slope from the village to the main road, and Stewart took the sharp turning back down the hill to Munro House. The high-voltage security lights came on as they approached, and Stewart turned the car carefully in the courtyard before stopping.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Stella said, relinquishing the blanket.

  ‘No problem, doll.’

  She put her hand on the door handle and Stewart said, ‘Watch out for him, ay.’ It wasn’t a question; it was the strange reflexive addition of the vowel sound on the end of the sentence that so many Scots seemed to use.

  ‘Honestly, don’t worry about me. He’s really nice. Nothing like his father.’ Stella got out of the car and went to shut the door.

  ‘Blood will out,’ Stewart said so quietly Stella wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

  ‘What?’ she said, leaning down.

  ‘Bye, then.’ Stewart held up a hand in salute and Stella obediently closed the door so that he could drive away.

  After her Friday night in the pub, Stella felt like being alone. Caitlin had issued an open invitation, but Stella was overwhelmed by change and knew she had reached the end of her reserves. She had always tired easily, and had wondered if this delicacy was part of her condition or purely psychosomatic. After a quiet weekend, in which she slept a great deal and avoided switching on her mobile phone on the off chance it would get a signal and somebody – her parents, Ben, Caitlin – would manage to get through, Stella felt her energy returning.

  She drove to Mallaig to stock up on groceries and bought several paperbacks in the lifeboat charity shop, including a pristine copy of Jamie’s first hit, Your Best Body. She passed the lifeboat station just as the bright orange boat was launching, the water churning in its wake as it sped out to the open water. There was a man with a Co-op shopping bag who had stopped to watch, shading his eyes with one hand. ‘Is there an emergency?’ Stella asked, feeling the worry in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Naw, hen. Just a practice drill, like.’

  Stella stayed away from the main house, not wanting to encroach on Jamie’s territory or risk him changing his mind about her free lodging, and she didn’t see him at all. She caught sight of Esmé though, striding through the woodland which edged the property, and again as she crossed the beach, with the two dogs jumping in and out of the sea with abandon. Stella slept a great deal and went out for walks, taking big gulps of the chilly air like it was medicine.

  On Monday, Stella got to work in the room she had seen on her interview tour
. She ignored the odd exercise equipment and concentrated on the cardboard boxes. There were vitamin supplements she had never heard of and a hefty box of protein bars. Stella moved a good number to the kitchen and then sealed the box with tape and wrote the name of the bars on the outside in black marker. The next few boxes had other vitamin supplements and protein powder, and there was an unmarked plastic tub which housed a block of dried matter. It looked organic, like grass, and Stella’s first thought was that Jamie was doing some very unstealthy drug-smuggling. It didn’t smell of marijuana, though, more of something fermented and spiced. Exotic.

  Jamie chose that moment to put his head around the door. He looked momentarily bemused and Stella wondered if he had forgotten about hiring her. For a horrible moment, she thought it was going to be a rerun of her interview. Then he smiled and held a hand up in greeting.

  ‘Where do you want this?’

  ‘Oh, you found my tea. Brilliant.’ He wandered away, holding onto the block with one hand and a grip strengthener, which he was squeezing, in the other. He was talking all the while into a headset microphone, either having a very one-sided conversation or dictating.

  A moment later he popped his head back around the door. He no longer looked relaxed and his voice was tense. ‘You haven’t been in there, have you?’ He pointed across the hall to one of the many doors.

  Stella shook her head. If it hadn’t been on the tour, she hadn’t been inside, figuring that was a decent rule for this weird domestic–work environment.

  ‘Good,’ Jamie said. ‘Leave it.’

  Spoken like she was a dog nosing something unmentionable on the pavement. Charming.

  Stella worked her way through the boxes of supplies, making a note of substances and amounts in a spreadsheet. She estimated usage where possible and put alerts into her phone for reordering. Then she moved into the kitchen, partly to familiarise herself and partly because she was ready for coffee. Esmé was next to the Aga mixing something in a large bowl. ‘Apple and oat muffins,’ she said. ‘There’s soup for lunch if you want it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Stella said. ‘I didn’t expect to get fed. I can make my own food. Not that I’m not grateful.’ Stella stopped speaking with a massive effort. There was something about Esmé which made her intensely nervous.