Death on a Shetland Isle

by Marsali Taylor

  I’d heard Magnie’s mother speak of her. As she’d got older and more reclusive, the house had fallen to ruin around her, and her weekly order from the shop (so gossip said) had been a crate of cat food and several bottles of whisky.

  ‘The knitting centre’s a way o’ making more jobs here on the isle. The current population is around sixty folk, mostly either retired or wi’ young families. There’s a primary school, but to go to the secondary, the bairns hae to bide in Lerwick all week, from the age of eleven, and you can understand the parents arena keen on that, so folk tend to move away when their bairns get to that age. For work on the isle here, well, it’s good farming land, and there are small-scale enterprises, like the Blue Coo ice cream, and of course there’s fishing – but it’s no’ easy for communities like this to survive. Buying things here helps the island economy, so do hae a look in the shop for postcards and souvenirs.’

  I noticed the fireman, Berg, nodding in agreement, and wondered whereabouts in Norway he came from. There were marginal communities in the fjords too, as the cities sucked everything towards them.

  Magnie paused for a breather, then pointed forwards towards the centre of the island. ‘Now, if it’s older archaeology that interests you, then there are a couple of very interesting places, and we’re back to the Finn folk to talk about the first one. It’s Finnigert, a great wall a metre thick, that divides the island from north to south. We ken noo that it’s Neolithic, but tradition says it was built by the Finn folk. See, this guidman, Kolbenstaft, had a lock o’ bother wi’ sheep eating his corn. He said to his wife one night that he’d gie his best cow to ony een that would big him a dyke to keep them oot. Well, that very next morning, when he went out, he fun’ a most splendid dyke, joost where he wanted it – and no’ a trace o’ his best cow. You can follow the wall right across the island.’ He smiled. ‘On your way, you’ll find a stone circle. Haltadans, it’s called, and the story is that it was trows who were celebrating a wedding so hard that they forgot about sunrise and were turned to stone. It was a limping dance, and there’s a tune for it, which is a trowie tune – one of the tunes a fiddler said he heard coming from inside a green hillock.

  ‘Closer at home, if you’re no’ one for walking, then we have Houbie here, wi’ the Fetlar Interpretative Centre, which’ll tell you aa’ aboot life here in centuries past. Gord, there, where the shop is, was excavated by the telly Time Team back in 2002, and they found a Viking hoose wi’ a most beautiful blue stone floor. The blue roof on the headland there, that’s the hall, where you can have your lunch. Just a peerie way oot past it, there’s a mound known as the Giant’s Grave, and that’s a Viking ship burial. The Time Team excavated that and found a tortoise-back brooch.’ He passed round a photograph, then bent to his bag and brought out a sheaf of coloured pages. ‘And this is a leaflet that the bairns in the primary school did, to shaw visitors the walks in Fetlar, so you’ll no’ get lost when you explore tomorrow. The whole island’s seven miles long, and four broad, so that gives you an idee o’ distances.’

  The heads bent over the maps, with murmurings of interest. Beside us, a gannet dived in a flash of snow-white wings. The sun had gone behind Lambhoga now, leaving only an amber glow in the still-blue sky. Over on Yell, the mist was starting to creep white tendril fingers over the hills, a sign of a fine day tomorrow. From the aft deck, a thread of guitar notes drifted down towards us.

  Jenn stepped forward. ‘Timings for tomorrow: breakfast at 07.00, we’ll muster at 08.00, and then start ferrying you ashore after that. The villagers have organised a minibus to run people to either end of the island. It’ll go back and forward as a shuttlebus, so you can wait for it where you are, or start walking and be picked up on the way. As Magnie said, there’s lunch in the hall, from 13.00 to 14.00. The hnefatafl contest begins at 14.00. We’ll have dinner on board at 18.00, then ferry people ashore for the dance. It starts at 19.30.’

  Gavin’s arm came around my waist. ‘Dancing together … we haven’t done that since the Scalloway Up Helly Aa.’

  ‘Fun,’ I agreed, and found myself giving a huge yawn on the word. His arm tightened.

  ‘Early night?’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll be on duty at four again, while we’re at anchor like this. The trainees can sleep, but someone has to watch over the ship.’

  Alain’s eyes followed us to the aft companionway, and I felt myself awkward all over again. But he had chosen to be Rafael Martin, I reminded myself, and Rafael Martin had no claim on me.

  We came into my cabin, and closed the door against the world.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sunday 1st August, Lerwick

  Low water 04.25 (0.5m)

  High water 10.44 (1.9m)

  Low water 16.43 (0.6m)

  High water 23.01 (2.1m)

  Moonrise 03.17; sunrise 04.46; moonset 20.22; sunset 21.34

  Waning crescent moon

  The water was already lightening when I awoke the next morning. We lay curled around each other, Gavin’s arm over my waist, my hand on his shoulder. Cat had oozed himself into what was left of the pillow. I lifted my head to look at my watch. Quarter to four. Time I was on watch.

  I slid out from Gavin’s encircling arm and felt him stir, murmuring a sleepy query. ‘Watch time,’ I said. ‘You go back to sleep.’

  I dressed quickly: jeans, navy gansey, officer jacket, cap. I’d shower after my shift was over. I bundled my hair into a band, put my cap over it, and headed upwards.

  It was a grey morning. The sky was covered with an even mist of cloud, darkening to thick stripes on the west and north horizon, with just a hint of brightness to the east, a glimpse of blue to the south, to suggest that it would clear as the day went on. The water lay mirror-still between curves of olive-rust seaweed. Dew darkened the decks and brightened the green of the grass.

  The ship was quiet, with the trainees sleeping below; only the officers were on watch. Nils was sitting on the bench by the nav shack, nursing a cup of tea. He turned his head to greet me as I came up the steps and spoke softly into the morning hush. ‘All is well. There is no movement on the anchor. The tide will turn at 04.35. Ten minutes after Lerwick.’ He rose and stretched. ‘I will sleep all morning, while the trainees explore. Well, I give you the ship.’

  ‘I have the ship.’ I left Petter making morning coffee, and padded off for a safety check, down the aft steps and through the banjer first, with its rows of hump-occupied hammocks swaying gently in the dim light. As I passed my slumbering watch, I heard the soft buzz of a mobile phone vibrating, and saw a light shine through the canvas. I smiled to myself. Somebody had forgotten to switch their alarm off. An arm fumbled with it, a head moved. I slipped down into the pantry and tunnels, sniffing for smoke, went up again by the forrard stair, gave a quick check into the paint locker, and continued onto the foredeck. I stood there for a while, one hand on the ropes, the other on the rail, and watched the hills flush with colour as the light strengthened. A Manx shearwater bobbed on the water beside the boat. It looked up, spotted me, and scurried away. There was a light on in one of the houses, with someone passing back and forwards in front of it. The sound of a baby wailing carried across the water. Gradually the wails died to whimpering. The light was switched off. I wished the mother good luck at getting back to sleep.

  I was just about to return to the main deck when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye; someone coming quietly along the port side of the ship. It was a man, tall, with a cap pulled down to shadow his face. He went into the space between the two rows of toilets, and I heard voices whisper up from the boards under my feet, too soft for me to catch the words. My brain caught up with my ears. I’d taken over the ship before I’d gone below, so that phone had buzzed after four, too late for an alarm call for one of my watch. It had been a phone call. Meet me, before anyone else is about. I need to talk to you. The voices below me whispered, urgency rising from the stealthiness.

  I let go of the ropes and slid one foot forward, then the
other. No; the voices softened. I must have been directly above them. I slid back, and lowered myself to one knee, bending my head downwards in the hope of catching some actual words, but it didn’t help. I couldn’t even tell if the voices were male or female, just that the whispered dialogue was urgent, one voice urging something, the other countering. At last there was a sentence I did catch, hissed low and vehement: ‘We’ve come too far to give up now.’

  I bent my head lower until my nose was almost touching the deck, but I heard only quick, short breathing, as if someone was suppressing anger. Then footsteps clattered down the starboard aft stair. It was Petter, bringing me a coffee. There was silence below me, followed by the soft rush of feet. I raised my head to look, but saw only the back of the tall man, disappearing round behind the port side of the banjer house.

  Petter had brought ginger nuts as well as coffee. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You didn’t pass any of the trainees on your way along?’

  He nodded. ‘The one of Nils’s watch who looks out of place. I can’t remember his name.’

  ‘Daniel,’ I said. Then I realised that Petter had come along the opposite side of the ship from the way the tall man had gone, and anyway, Daniel wasn’t on my watch, so it couldn’t have been his phone ringing. He’d made the call, to meet someone from my watch … Oliver? ‘What was he doing?’

  Petter gave me a curious look. ‘Coming back from the heads, I presume. Why?’

  I persisted. ‘You didn’t see anyone on the other side of the ship, going into the banjer?’

  He shook his head. ‘There was someone, but I couldn’t tell you who it was. One of the men.’

  It could have been Oliver I’d seen, meeting Daniel in the middle of the night, while Laura was asleep. We’ve come too far to give up now.

  Petter was staring at me.

  ‘It’s just,’ I said, lamely, ‘that he’s so out of place. I can’t help wondering if he’s up to something, and I heard people whispering below me, just now. I wondered who it was.’

  ‘What do you suspect?’

  Murder … I spread my hands. ‘I haven’t any right to suspect anything. He maybe was given the trip for a birthday present, or because his mother thought he should be forced to socialise … what should I know? It’s just that something doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Your instincts are saying that.’ Petter nodded. ‘Mine too. If you like, I could go ashore this morning, and follow where he goes.’

  I had an uneasy feeling about that. Then I had a better idea. ‘Yes. Yes, do that … but don’t follow him, trying not to let him see you. Go with him. Chat to him, be sociable, as if you just happen to be interested in the same places. If you’re watching him, he can’t get up to mischief. Whatever he’s planning, he won’t do it with a witness.’

  Gavin and I could watch Oliver, and Laura would be safe for today.

  By 06.30, a soft breeze had sprung up, blowing warm from the east, and a haze of sun turned the still damp road to a shining ribbon. I was just thinking about taking Gavin down a cup of tea when Alain came up behind me, and leant on the rail. ‘All’s well?’

  ‘Anchor solid,’ I agreed. ‘The makings of a bonny day.’

  He nodded, still staring out beyond me. Then at last he turned his head and smiled, and the familiarity of the movement caught at my throat. His voice was so soft that only I heard. ‘Wish me happy birthday, Cass.’

  I gave him a blank look. He’d been a spring baby. We’d celebrated his twenty-first with a bottle of real champagne aboard Marielle when Edinburgh was pink with cherry blossom. April 18th. I wasn’t good at remembering birthdays, but I’d never forgotten his. I swallowed to clear my throat. ‘Happy birthday.’

  His voice was rough. ‘It’s not really my birthday.’ He tilted his head to mine so that our eyes met. ‘It was the day I woke up in hospital. San Juan, Puerto Rico. The first day that I remember.’

  I felt as though a hand had clenched over my heart. I couldn’t speak, just waited.

  ‘I’d been picked up with a head injury mid-Atlantic by an Argentinian fishing boat. I was clinging to a horseshoe buoy, but there was no ship’s name on it.’

  I remembered that. We’d lost one on the way over, and bought a replacement in Boston. We’d never got round to writing Marielle on it.

  ‘The ship’s skipper did an emergency trepanning.’ He pushed the curls away from his temple to show a neat, round scar. ‘Then they took me to the first hospital on their way home, San Juan. I woke up on the first of August.’ He turned round to face outwards again, and made a sweeping gesture with both hands. ‘Nothing. Nobody. Whoever I was before, it was gone. Once I got better, they tried all the Spanish newspapers, local and in Spain, but there was no response.’

  My heart ached. They would have spoken to him in Spanish, and when he’d replied, fluent as he was, dark-haired, high-cheekboned, tanned, they’d have taken him for a Spaniard. Why should they have tried French, or English?

  ‘So I rechristened myself. Rafael Martin. The only thing I was sure of was that I’d been a seaman. The town paid for me to go back to school, get the qualifications I’d had before – I know I’d had them before.’ He pushed the memory away with both hands, and turned to smile at me. ‘I’m a vagabond, Cass. Would you take on a man with only a third of a history?’

  ‘I’m a vagabond too,’ I said. It was the wrong thing to say; his hand came over mine and squeezed, hard and brief. He’d always gone straight for what he wanted. I took a step backwards. ‘I’m in a relationship.’

  ‘So I see.’ He’d never been fazed by setbacks either. ‘Would you really prefer a landsman to adventuring with me?’

  I’d forgotten, in the grieving I hadn’t felt I deserved, how infuriating he could be. ‘This ship and Gavin are all the adventure I need,’ I said. ‘I’ve grown up, even if you haven’t.’

  ‘What’s the point of growing up, if it stops you having fun? Besides, if I sowed my wild oats, I don’t remember it. I have to sow them over.’

  ‘Well, you can sow them without my help,’ I retorted, and pushed myself away from the rail. ‘I’m busy running this ship.’

  I swung away from him into the nav shack and began checking the Navtex, pressing the buttons with hands that weren’t quite steady. The 05.00 forecast confirmed what I could see: winds E, light, swell slight, visibility good – a bonny day.

  Nothing. Nobody still echoed in my head. Would you take on a man with only a third of a history? I’d achieved stability after all the wandering years, I had my parents back, I had Gavin. I didn’t want to be charmed into throwing all that away.

  The smell of freshly baked bread drifted out from the galley: breakfast time. It was only as I headed down the narrow nav shack stair, cap under my arm, that the full implications of what Alain had said struck me. If he really didn’t know who he was, then I would have to tell him.

  Not now, though, not here.

  It was going to be a fun conversation. I tried it out in my head. You know how you were found drifting from a ship, with your head injured? Well, I put you there …

  I shook my head, and contemplated not telling him for a moment, but I knew that wasn’t an option. I’d think of some way to do it. There was no hurry; he’d lived with not knowing for eleven years. My heart rose suddenly at the thought of his parents. I’d been too miserable to contact them after his death, and I’d felt guilty about that ever since. Now there was good news for them: My son was dead, and now he is alive … he was lost, and now he is found. They’d left Shetland, but someone in Yell would know where they’d gone. Father Mikhail could find out for me; that would make the least fuss. He could ask the Yell minister. Maybe even the minister could write to them and tell them where Alain was. Perhaps seeing his mother again would jog his memory.

  That gave me a sideways thought. It was odd that seeing me had meant nothing. In novels, someone who’d lost their memory had it brought back by familiar surroundings, or by meeting someone they’d known before. There hadn’t
been a flicker of recognition at our first meeting, not even a puzzled look, as if he couldn’t place me. If he’d had the least inkling he might have seen me before, surely he’d have bombarded me with questions?

  Either it was true, and his past was gone beyond recall … or, I suddenly thought, away from his presence, he was lying. He knew he’d slipped up in the church. I’d recognised him, I was suspicious, perhaps he knew that Agnetha had been checking up on him, and he wanted to divert me away. He’d been rescued as he’d said – that was the only way it could have happened – but the lost memory thing was a sprat to lure a whale. He’d always enjoyed making a tall story out of a minor incident, spinning a yarn in the pub afterwards.

  I remembered that glimpse of a yellow oilskin in Lerwick, the glossy dark head of the woman he’d been speaking to. I wouldn’t go for an explanation yet. I’d wait and watch.

  Breakfast was an odd, constrained meal. I was too conscious of Alain beside me and Gavin opposite, his face closed against me. He’d been up and dressed when I went into the cabin. I wondered if he’d seen Alain and I talking so intimately; if he’d seen Alain take my hand. I was glad to get away on deck and do a last GPS check of our position before all the hustle of getting the trainees ashore began. I was off duty by that time, but I stationed myself beside the peg board, checking that everyone signed out properly, and helping the trainees over the side and into the inflatable. Daniel was in the third load, so I nodded to Petter to go in that one, and joined Jonas on the inflatable for the next two loads. We were using the Leagarth pier, a double stone slip running out from below the Interpretative Centre.

  One last load. Laura was among the group waiting, with only six others. I glanced around for Oliver, and she caught my look. ‘Oliver’s not feeling great this morning. He’s going to spend a couple of hours lazing about, then maybe he’ll come over for a look around the village.’