by Janis Mackay
Mess your hair up, Fin called. They switched to selkie-speech now. The lorry was hardly a stone’s throw away at the other side of the wall. Fin bent down and scooped up a few faded carnations that lay in a jar beside the gravestone. “Sorry skeleton,” he whispered, stuffing the flowers into his hair. He heard voices. A door creaked open. The radio crackled low.
“Ye’ve got three feet. Then we’ll get shot o’ this lot.”
“Dinnae pit me ower the edge mind,” the other voice said. “Cos I wudnae pit it past yea.”
Fin shot a glance at Aquella. She’d made her hair wild with grass and twigs. She looked like her brother. Fin clutched at his moon-stone. Right cousin. Let’s give them a ghost show.
He ran his nails up and down the gravestone. A grating noise rose into the air. Aquella did the same, scraping her nails up and down the smooth marble. Then Fin began to moan. Aquella joined in. With her selkie voice she could moan and howl in a pitiful, unearthly way. Then Fin stretched his fingers up above the gravestone and shook them, the way dead man’s fingers had waved to him deep under the sea.
Magnus Fin didn’t dare peer out. He could hear their choked voices, just feet away:
“What the hell’s that?” one of them said.
“Cut it out, Rab.”
“You cut it out. I’m doin’ nothing.”
“I said cut it out or it’s you going over the edge. I mean it.”
“Oh God! See over that wall! Something’s coming out that grave. Look! Oh for God’s sake! What the hell’s that? Help!”
Fin heard a door bang. He heard a terrified voice cry, “Get out o’ here! Oh Mum!”
But Magnus Fin and Aquella weren’t finished. OK, Fin – on with the show!
They ran from their hiding places and clambered over the wall, wailing like banshees. With their arms waving about they danced in front of the lorry. Aquella, her hair like black fire, green dress twirling, put her hands to her neck and made horrible choking noises. “It’s the poison in the tanks,” she screeched. “Agh! That’s what killed me!”
On cue, Fin jerked up and down in his wetsuit like a frenzied break-dancer, his hair sprouting carnations and his green eye and brown eye staring wildly at the two men who sat shuddering in the front of the lorry, clutching each other. Fin made a great show of retching and choking. “Look spirit,” he cried in a high-pitched strangled voice, “our killers.” Fin and Aquella pointed towards the two men. “The dirty tippers!”
“Help! Get out o’ here. Oh Mum! I’m sorry – for everything I did.”
“I never wanted to get mixed up in this sordid stuff. They’re going to get us. I told the boss. Didn’t I tell him? This was never my idea.”
“Just ram your foot down, man. Just go!”
Fin and Aquella leapt back over the graveyard wall and crouched down out of sight. They listened while the men shouted and swore and finally rammed the lorry into gear and took off.
Fin stood up. “After them! Quick, Aquella. We have to find out where all the fridges and stuff are coming from.”
They leapt back over the wall and sped after the lorry. The track was rough and pitted with holes. In moments Fin and Aquella caught up with them. Unnoticed, they jumped on the back of the lorry, grabbed hold of a handle and balanced tiptoe on a small metal step.
The drive was more bumpy and juddery than any waltzer at the funfair. “Tarkin would love this,” Fin whispered, wondering suddenly where Tarkin was.
But there was no time for wondering. By this time the lorry had left the farm track and joined the road. The lights came on. The radio blared. The men seemed to have stopped arguing. The lorry turned up a narrow winding lane and slowed down.
“Soon as it stops, jump off and hide underneath,” Fin said.
But that wasn’t necessary. As soon as the lorry stopped, the men jumped out and slammed the doors. One of them threw the keys into a drain then they both ran off. They jumped into an old car, revved it and zoomed away.
Fin and Aquella held on for a while longer then, sure the coast was clear, jumped off their perch.
“Well, well, well,” said Fin, gazing up at a huge neon sign above a large metal gate. “Look at this: SAFE SOLUTIONS. YOUR ECO-FRIENDLY DISPOSAL EXPERTS. Jeepers! If that’s friendly, I’d hate to meet unfriendly.”
On the other side of the barbed-wire fence a few hundred fridges, freezers and battered tanks in all shapes and sizes were piled high. “Taking a few toxic short cuts, I’d say.” Aquella couldn’t believe her eyes. “How many did you find in that dump in the bay, Fin?”
“Loads.” A shiver ran down his spine. “I don’t like it here. It gives me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.”
“Poor Ronan,” Aquella said, shaking her head and staring at the mound of junk.
Fin pulled at the sleeve of her dress. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Magnus Fin and Aquella took the quick way back through a field of sheep. As they ran, flowers and moss and twigs dislodged from their hair. Approaching the village they could hear the sound of a foot-stomping jig coming from the village hall.
“We’ll catch the end of it,” Aquella said. “It’s my first ceilidh. I don’t want to miss it. And I’ve been ready all evening.” Her new green dress was now looking a bit dirty in places but Fin didn’t want to mention that.
“What about Ronan?”
“He’ll be fine. It’s sleep he needs. And Davie said he’d keep an eye on him.”
“Davie? Who’s Davie?” By this time they had reached the cottage by the shore.
Aquella beamed at her cousin as she pulled the last twig out of her hair and opened the front door. “The winkle picker, of course. He’s a pal of your dad’s.”
Fin nodded as he stepped into the house. It made sense that Ragnor would befriend winkle pickers, the hours he had spent down by the shore. And Magnus Fin was still nodding a minute later when he picked up the phone. “Yes, fridges and freezers and tanks full of some kind of toxic waste – honestly – loads and loads of them – all dumped and poisoning the sea.”
“Well, now that’s reported, you’d better go and put your new kilt on,” Aquella said.
“Tarkin already told them. The salvage operation – it’s already on its way. Good old Tark.” Laughing, Fin kicked his heels and five minutes later appeared with his face scrubbed, hair brushed and kilt on.
Aquella whistled. “Wow! You look just like a Scotsman.”
“That’s cos I am.”
“A selkie Scotsman,” she added, winking, “and pretty handsome if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Magnus Fin grinned, then blushed, then ran for the door. “Come on then, selkie – let’s dance!”
Chapter 40
“Take two partners for a Dashing White Sargeant.”
Tam, the accordion player, squeezed the red and silver box in and out with gusto and Johnny accompanied him on the fiddle while people looked for partners. Some folks bustled around munching peanuts. Jeanette took off her cardigan because she was too warm and Carol abandoned her high heels because it was much easier to do a Dashing White Sargeant in her stocking soles. Then Mr Sargent laughed and told everyone that this was his special dance and he wanted everyone up on the dance floor and anyone not dancing would get detention.
Martha looked at Frank and shrugged, and Frank looked at Tarkin, and Tarkin shrugged. They all said they were sorry, but they didn’t know the steps to the Dashing White Sargeant and maybe they should just sit this one out. But Francis said not at all and didn’t they all have to start somewhere, and here was as good a time and a place as any.
Ragnor was the star dancer and Keith said if they just followed Ragnor and did what he did they’d be fine. And Barbara said all you do is go round for eight and back for eight – like this, she said, whizzing round the floor and clicking her heels. She whizzed round so fast her long red hair spun out behind her.
Martha coughed, gulped, then took her son by the hand and said they sure would give it a go, and everyon
e laughed.
So no one noticed Magnus Fin and Aquella come in. They stood at the back of the hall, lit up by the warm colourful lights. They watched the folk from the village, all dressed in their best clothes, laughing, clapping and tapping their feet. They watched Barbara, in her new black and silver sparkly dress, skip around the room. They even watched in amazement as Tarkin stomped his way round the dance floor with Frank at one side and his mother at the other.
“Oh no,” Magnus Fin whispered behind his cupped hand. “Sargent’s here. Well, I didn’t put this kilt on for nothing. Come on. We can’t just stand here.”
“Yeah,” said Aquella, “let’s dance.” She was at her first ceilidh – Sargent or no Sargent – and already she felt her body sway in time to the music.
Barbara came running up the dance floor, clapping her hands. “Magnus Fin! Aquella! You’re just in time. And don’t you both look lovely!” She took them by the hands and pulled them to where everyone was gathering for the dance.
Tam and Johnny were already into the first few bars of the tune but Mr Sargent and his wife needed a partner. “Just a wee minute there, lads,” Sargent called out, lifting a hand to halt the musicians. “If anybody has a right to dance this dance, it has to be me.” So the music was stopped and Mr Sargent bounded over to Magnus Fin. “Now that’s what I like to see,” he boomed, “a young man in a kilt. And on St Andrew’s day too! My good lady and I need a partner – Magnus Fin – so, if Magnus Fin would do us the honour, Magnus Fin could dance the Dashing White Sargeant with the Sargents!”
Fin burst out laughing. “Aye, why not?” That left Aquella to dance between her Uncle Ragnor and Aunty Barbara.
And if Ragnor was the star dancer – well, Aquella was the moon itself. She danced like a wave of the sea and her long black hair spun round with every twirl of her lovely green dress. Up the threesomes went hand in hand to meet another threesome, feet drumming the beat. Folk whooped and cheered then under arms they dipped and on to meet the next threesome.
Round for eight they whizzed, and back for eight, and all the time Tam was keeping time, whacking his foot up and down on the wooden floor, his fingers flitting like frenzied things over the keys and the accordion bouncing up and down on his knee. Johnny flashed the fiddle bow like lightning. No one could resist the music.
Tarkin clicked his heels, grinning at Fin and Aquella as they spun round. He could whoop and cheer as loudly as anyone.
“It’s great you came along, Tarkin,” Frank shouted above the music as the whole company stamped their feet.
Tarkin nodded, “Aye,” he shouted. And it was. “Muckle great.”
Ragnor, Barbara and Aquella’s threesome met the threesome of Mr and Mrs Sargent and Magnus Fin. They moved in and out like waves. In for three, back for three. As they danced, the bright emerald eyes of Ragnor met the eyes of his son. Magnus Fin winked, first with the green eye, then with the brown. One for the land, the other for the sea, and both of them glistening.
How is it, son, asked Ragnor, under the sea?
Fine, Dad. Just fine. Or it will be soon.
And Miranda? Tell me, Fin, how is she?
At that moment all arms were lifted high as the music soared. Magnus Fin swung his kilt. Tarkin and Aquella cheered.
Fine, Dad. The sickness has gone. Miranda is well!
And it wasn’t long after, when folk were choosing partners for a Strip the Willow, that the sirens sounded. Magnus Fin, Aquella and Tarkin rushed to the window and peered out. Blue lights flashed on the road outside. It was rare in that small village to hear the wail of sirens. Soon everybody had rushed to the windows, craning their necks to see what all the commotion was about. Tarkin was busy explaining to his mother and to Frank, “I told you. We were on a clean-up mission. And I phoned the police. I told them all about it.”
Fin flopped down on a seat and sighed with relief. So they had taken the phone calls seriously. He felt a great weight fall from his shoulders. Now all he wanted to do was eat a sausage roll and dance.
But everybody made a fuss. Dancing was put on hold while Tarkin told everyone how toxic waste had been dumped in the bay. Fridges, would you believe – and loads of them! Magnus Fin, Aquella and himself had discovered it. Well, Magnus Fin most of all, Tarkin admitted, but he and Aquella had been a great help. And because of it seals were dying. And the Scottish Environment Protection Agency said they’d get things in place and start their clean-up at first light. With their equipment and their highly-trained divers, they hoped to have the salvage operation completed in a day or two.
The music started up again and it was three cheers for Magnus Fin, Aquella and Tarkin – and no one cheered louder than Mr Sargent. That was followed by a rousing rendition of “For They’re All Jolly Good Fellows!” and that was followed by piping hot sausage rolls. Fin ate a few then stuffed a few into his sporran. He knew a few hungry hoodlums in the sea who looked like they hadn’t had a good meal for years. Hope you fish like sausage rolls, Fin thought, beaming from ear to ear while stuffing yet another one into his sporran.
Chapter 41
All through the night, the bay was buzzing with cranking, splashing and whirring noises. But both Magnus Fin’s and Tarkin’s families were so tired after a night’s dancing that they slept through it all. By the time they all woke up that Saturday morning on the first day of December, half the village was lined up along the harbour wall, watching with fascination as the Scottish Environment Protection Agency, with divers wearing full chemical protection gear, salvaged fridge after freezer, after battery, after leaking metal storage tank.
Magnus Fin, though, in the cottage down by the shore, would be happy if he never saw another fridge as long as he lived. While his parents and Aquella ran into the garden after breakfast to observe the big clean-up, Fin sat at the kitchen table and helped himself to more porridge, another dollop of cream and another large drizzling of honey. When he’d licked the bowl clean he took some bread crusts, then ran up to his bedroom and stuffed them into his sporran, which was now swelling like an udder.
He could hear Aquella and his parents cheering outside. “Come on down, Fin,” his father shouted.
“Yeah, come on, son,” his mother chimed in, waving up to him. “It’s great fun. You wouldn’t believe how much stuff they’re bringing up.”
Fin pressed his nose up against his bedroom window and watched. It was like a party out there. With every new item that the deep-water crane forked up and dropped into the toxic-waste disposal vessel, a rousing cheer went up.
“And folk are saying the fat cat bosses of Safe Solutions will go to prison,” Ragnor shouted up to Magnus Fin. “So tell us, son, what do you want for Christmas? You can have whatever you want.”
Fin opened his window and stuck his head out. “Can I get, um – a mountain bike?” His voice trailed off and he quickly added, “Or a new pair of trainers would be fine.” He knew his parents didn’t have much money. And now they had Aquella to look after as well. He saw his parents look at each other for a while, considering. Then he saw them smile.
“What colour of bike, Fin?”
“Yippee!” he cheered, so loudly he wondered if it would waken Ronan. Ronan? He had forgotten all about Ronan – and about his own new seal skin.
From the garden Aquella caught her cousin’s thoughts. She swung round and nodded. Fin dashed downstairs and into the garden.
“Off beachcombing then, son?” Barbara asked. “You never know what you might find with all that junk dislodged.”
“I’ll come with you, Fin,” Aquella said. “Come on, race you to the beach.”
They hadn’t run far when Magnus Fin stopped and shouted back at the top of his voice, “Red!” Then he turned and sped along the beach path.
As they approached the cave they saw a curling wisp of blue smoke. “Looks like the fire’s still going,” Fin said, slowing down. “Do you think that man’s still there?”
“You mean Davie?”
No sooner had Aquella
spoken his name than the winkle picker stepped out of the cave. “Far too busy out there for me,” he said, nodding in the direction of the clean-up operation. Saying nothing more, he picked up his sack of whelks and set off along the beach path.
“Thanks, Davie,” Aquella called out after him, “thanks for staying with him. And thanks for everything.”
The winkle picker stopped for a moment, looked back at Aquella and Magnus Fin then smiled.
“Bye, Davie,” Fin said, waving.
“Bye, Magnus Fin,” he said, nodding his head. Then Davie adjusted his sack of whelks on his shoulder and, humming to himself, carried on his way.
Fin hesitated at the mouth of the cave. “Um, maybe you should go in. I’ll just wait here.” Fin stepped back to let Aquella past.
“No, Fin. I know he’s my brother, but he’s your cousin. And he’s sleeping on your seal skin.” She took Fin by the sleeve and tugged him into the warm cave. “Ronan?” she called, hurrying now to the back of the cave, “Ronan?”
She gasped when she saw her brother, then she laughed. She fell to her knees and clasped his hand. “Look at you in my puffy jacket. You look like me.”
He did, with his long black hair, his bright green eyes and now with Aquella’s puffy pink jacket on. Ronan was sitting up, leaning against the wall, a pile of whelks on one side of him and a tin cup of steaming hot tea on the other.
“Are you feeling better?” Aquella asked, squeezing his hand.
Ronan looked at her, blinked a few times then nodded. He still looked weak but a hundred times better than he had looked the night before. “Look, Ronan.” Aquella got to her feet to let Fin come forward. “This is our cousin, Magnus Fin. He is Sliochan Nan Ron and you slept on his seal skin.”
