by Aly Sidgwick
A hand touches my hand. I jump. But iss jus’ Mrs Bell. She asks if I want to dance with her, cos I’m sittin’ all alone. Joyce is watchin’ from across the room, so I say okay an’ Mrs Bell waltzes me round for a bit.
When gramophone time is over, we say a prayer for Rhona an’ her mother. This time ev’ryone looks at me. Not jus’ Joyce. I look at the floor an’ pretend to be prayin’ really hard. When I look up again no one’s watchin’ any more. We don’t pray for Mrs McRae today.
#
Sunday.
Today they let me telephone Rhona. Mrs Laird dials the number an’ talks to Rhona behind her hand. Then she calls me over. I grab the receiver.
‘We just came back from church,’ Rhona says. Her voice sounds weird, like she’s been runnin’ really fast.
‘What are the clouds like there? When are you comin’ home?’
‘Soon,’ says Rhona.
I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t.
‘The weather here is very fine today,’ I tell her.
‘Mm hmm? That’s nice. Perhaps you should go for a walk.’
‘I already asked,’ I say, with my eyes on Mrs Laird. ‘They won’t let me.’
‘Well, I’m sure they have your best interests at heart,’ says Rhona. Then she goes quiet again. In the background there’s a man talkin’. I think I hear a swear word.
‘I have to go now, Katherine,’ says Rhona.
My throat goes lumpy.
‘Will you call me soon?’
‘Yes. Yes, I will.’
I hear the man’s voice. Louder this time.
‘Goodbye, Katherine,’ says Rhona, an’ hangs up.
#
Monday.
Joyce brings boat-trip fliers back from the village. She hands them round an’ says more than once that there’s a group discount. The other residents seem to like the idea of a trip to Skye. It scares me, cos it all hangs on me now. If I say no, the trip is off, an’ ev’ryone will be angry.
After dinner the weather’s really nice, an’ ev’ryone except me is allowed outside. I watch them through my bedroom window, lyin’ out there on the old striped deckchairs. Once or twice Joyce looks up, an’ I jump behind the curtains, but not fast enough.
I count the heads below the window. Then I cross the landin’ an’ open Mary’s door. Her room is on the other side of the house, an’ from here I can see in the other direction. Downhill towards the village, with the long, flat tongue of sea an’ jaggy mountains beyond. The ground inside the perimeter fence is bumpy, like a wrinkled-up towel, an’ I know that my secret place – the bite – is hidden in one of those wrinkles. But this is not what I’ve come to look at.
Skye. There it is, like a strip torn off the bottom of the sky. Dull grey an’ featureless, above a brilliant white patch of sea. The bigger hills are to the left. Is Rhona to the left or right of them? I wish I could remember what Wikipedia said. On this side of Loch Ghlas, a cloud of seagulls twinkles to shore. The fishing boats must be coming in.
I squint my eyes at the place where the sea ends an’ Skye begins. Rhona might be standin’ on the beach there right now an’ I’d never know. If only I had binoculars. I raise my hand an’ wave a bit, jus’ in case. Maybe she’s got binoculars an’ can see me standin’ here.
A boat trip might not be so bad. If I manage to control myself, if I try really hard, there won’t be a scene, an’ I won’t be the centre of attention. Anyway, it’d be worth it to see Rhona again. She’ll hug me, an’ smile, an’ tell me how well I look. Iss been so long. She must be dyin’ to see me. I might even tell her about my dreams. Silly Joyce. I’ll never tell her those things, no matter how hard she pushes.
Part of me is still scared of the sea, though I don’t really remember bein’ in it. In some ways, I think I might find my old self there. We switched places, me an’ her, in Loch Oscaig, an’ I’m the one who made it to shore. The newspaper men should pester her, not me. She knows exactly what she was runnin’ from, or towards.
In the quiet moments I still feel her out there – sad an’ cold an’ all alone – an’ this pain grows inside me, like I have to go back to her. But I know I’m not ready. They think they can force me to do that. Like jabbin’ me in the back will get results faster. But things don’t work that way. Until I’m as strong as the girl in the loch, her tales of foreign lands would only crush me.
The boat, I’m not sure about at all. I think she climbed out of the snow on her hands an’ knees. An iceberg broke off from the land, with her on it, an’ the Gulf Stream carried her away. On an’ on, all the way here, till the ice melted under her an’ her strength gave out. Then she handed me the song, an’ I carried it to shore.
This heirloom isn’t mine to keep. I can’t make sense of it like she did, but I hold onto it till the day I can give it back. Maybe I will die then. I’ll hand back the baton along with the song, an’ she’ll be the one they pull from the waves. Not me. On that day, I think both of us will find peace.
A scufflin’ sound makes me wheel round. Mary stands in the doorway, wearin’ a pink sun hat. Her forehead rests on the door frame, an’ for a second I think the hat’s caught on it. She hangs, an’ stares, an’ doesn’t speak. My face goes hot.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
Mary holds out her hand, an’ when I take it she leads me away from the window. Into the hall we go, an’ down the stairs. We step carefully, side by side, as Mary hangs onto the banister. She doesn’t meet my eye, but that’s okay cos I know she’s concentratin’. I think iss a phobia she has. Somethin’ to do with fallin’. At the door, we stop.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. But Mary jus’ smiles. She opens the door, looks at me once an’ leads me out into the garden. Joyce looks fit to explode, an’ for a second I think she’ll drag me back inside. But she doesn’t. As long as Mary holds my hand, I’m safe. I know they think Mary is fragile. Iss why they bend over backwards not to upset her. I’m pretty sure Mary knows that too. We sit on the deckchairs till the sun goes down.
#
Wednesday.
I’m not hungry this morning, but no one tries to make me eat, cos Mrs Bell is havin’ one of her bad days an’ they’re all busy with her. I sit in the conservat’ry, lis’nin’ to the clatter of china an’ the shoutin’ of the staff an’ Mrs Bell’s shrill, short screams.
There are lots of ash keys on the roof. A magpie comes shufflin’ round the path, peckin’ between the stones. It keeps flyin’ away then comin’ back. I watch it for a long time.
I don’t want to see the sun today. I wish the leaves would cover the roof completely. Swallow the house an’ block out all the light. Then I wouldn’t have to look at the outside. I wouldn’t have to remember I’m trapped.
No one sees me sittin’ in here. In the end I go back to bed.
#
Thursday.
Joyce comes upstairs to peck at me. Sittin’ by the bed. On an’ on, all pushy like. About the boat, mostly, an’ hypnotist stuff. She wants me to do that again, the hypnotisin’ thing. Says it’ll help ’em answer questions. I say no, of course. But this is not good. Joyce has got powers now that she didn’t have before. With her say-so, they could do all kinds of bad stuff. Like make me sing the lullaby, or let any of the staff come in my room, or stop me sittin’ in the conservat’ry. Joyce can be a real bitch when she wants, an’ I don’t fancy bein’ the one she explodes at. This is not good. I’ve got to be careful.
In the afternoon, iss Internet time. I want to read about Norway, but Caroline’s sittin’ real close, so I don’t dare. Instead I look at pictures of dogs an’ satellite maps of the Alps. When my time is up Caroline asks if I’d like to go outside today. I get all happy an’ say yes, but all she says is, ‘Well, you’d better talk to Joyce.’ Then she goes next door an’ makes herself a cup of tea. She doesn’t ask if I want one, an’ she doesn’t give me a chocolate biscuit.
#
Friday.
The weather’s really bad today, an’ t
hat puts me in a good mood. It rains all day, an’ in the afternoon there’s even a thunderstorm. Some people here are scared of storms, but not me. When the first boom goes off, I’m in the day room. Some of the ladies start wailin’, an’ in runs Caroline, goin’, ‘Shush, shush, it’s all right.’ Already people are gettin’ up an’ runnin’ round, an’ that’s good cos none of the staff take any notice of me. What I really want is to go out in the rain, but I’m scared to push my luck that far, so I jus’ run to my room an’ fling open the window. Straight away I feel a hundred times better. The rain smashes down, bouncin’ off the sill, pricklin’ my face with tiny cold drops. As I watch, a flurryin’ movement pulls my eye to a herd of deer. I catch my breath. Under the lightnin’ they look like holograms. Flickin’ like pictures in a flip book. But they’re real. I know they are, cos I hear their hooves. When the wind wafts this way, the drummin’ comes with it. I feel their fear as they crash through the heather. Their confusion. They swarm towards the outhouses. Then left. Then right. For a second they run right for me. Then the whole sky flashes silver an’ they shriek to a stop. Their leader swaggers sideways, an’ they watch him. Trustin’ him to show the way forwards. The wind blasts their coats. Then the buck bursts away, an’ like ghosts the lot of ’em dive into the mist. My eyes stay glued to the place they disappeared, an’ as I stand here breathless this funny feelin’ hits me, that I should run out an’ follow ’em. The moor is unrecognisable now. Gloomy one minute an’ full of patterns the next, the air has become a giant Caithness globe. On an’ off it flashes. On an’ off an’ on an’ off an’ on. I hang onto the window frame, hardly breathin’ as this goes on, an’ when the rain shunts to a stop I feel quite dizzy. Carefully, I lie down on the bed. Fat droplets dribble from the roof, an’ as I look past ’em at the sky I wish I could see in the other direction. Downhill. What if I went to look through Mary’s window? Nah, she’s super-scared of thunder as it is. I shouldn’t bother her.
If I was out in that rain, I’d probl’ly have run for the thorn bushes. I bet that’s where the deer hide when it rains. Then again, maybe they don’t bother. Do deer mind the rain? Iss prob’ly jus’ the thunder they don’t like. I wonder where they go to when they run away. What do they think is goin’ on?
Another rumble fills the sky, an’ my heart leaps. But straight away there’s an absolutely gigantic crash. The room explodes with golden light. I jump off the bed.
‘Holy shit!’ I splutter.
Screams shake the house. I run to the window, but everythin’s dark again. I can smell smoke. The screams grow wilder. Breathin’ quickly, I run to my door an’ fling it open. The hall lights have gone out, but I see shapes out there. Shona an’ Mrs Bell are closest. Down on their knees, clingin’ to the carpet. Mrs Bell is screechin’ the Lord’s Prayer.
‘What’s happened?!’ I shout, but no one replies. Mrs Bell keeps screamin’. Then I hear feet runnin’ upstairs an’ Joyce’s voice shouts, ‘Ladies! Ladies! It’s okay!’
Blue rectangles mark the open doorways, an’ as I’m lookin’ at ’em I notice one door’s still closed. Mary! I barge in without knockin’ an’ stand pantin’ in the dark. For a minute I don’t see her there, under the window. She looks like she’s cryin’, an’ the sight of that almost sets me off. I swing her round, an’ her wet face flashes in the light. Then I see she’s laughin’. Iss creepy to see her laughin’ without really laughin’. Jus’ a tiny, cute wheezin’ noise.
‘Are you hurt?!’ I ask, but Mary looks through me. Grippin’ her shoulders, I stick my head through the window. Outside, the garden is a mess of black an’ white bits. Lightnin’ flashes an’ the bits glitter merrily. Then I see the gap. The ash tree on its side, on top of the conservat’ry. When I breathe in, the air is smoky. Mary laughs an’ laughs an’ laughs. I cradle her in my arms, an’ wait, an’ smile.
9
Saturday.
Today’s music therapy is cancelled. Instead, some men come to check the storm damage. There’s a hole in the dinin’-room wall, an’ they spend most of the day tacking blue plastic sheets to it. The weather is wet an’ blustery. Sometimes the wind blows the plastic away or fills the house with glass dust, an’ when that happens the men shout a lot. No one was hurt last night, but we’re all quite shaken up. They say we won’t have the power back till tomorrow night, so we have to jus’ make the best of things. Joyce walks up an’ down, shoutin’ orders at the men. Talkin’ on her mobile telephone. The house is freezin’, so we wear our anoraks all day. There’s jam on bread for breakfast, an’ cold beans on bread for lunch, an’ cheese sandwiches for tea. I spend most of the day playin’ snakes an’ ladders with Mary, but now an’ again I go downstairs to look at the hole in the wall.
Iss hard to describe how lost I feel now the ash tree’s gone. It almost feels like a person has died. The conservat’ry too. How will I manage now? That was the only room I could see Skye from, since they stopped me goin’ outside. I’m ashamed to admit it, but the view from Mary’s window is a big reason why I’m spendin’ so much time with her.
#
Sunday.
Today the weather’s calmer an’ the clouds are low. When I come downstairs I find a lady with beautiful hair at the back door. She waves when she sees me, calls me by my first name an’ explains through the letterbox that she comes bearing gifts. There’s no key in the lock, so I have to wake up Mrs Laird to let her in.
The lady turns out to be from the church in the next village, an’ she’s driven up to bring us a thermos of tea. Iss round an’ silver, like the boiler in the upstairs cupboard, an’ iss got a little tap at the bottom. We gather in the library, which is the warmest room, an’ share out the tea. There’s sandwiches too, an’ pink wafer biscuits, but the hot tea is the best thing of all. At first the church lady talks about Jesus. Then she starts askin’ me about the thunderstorm. I tell her it wasn’t really scary, an’ she asks me what kind of stuff I do find scary. Then she asks about my mum an’ dad. But iss nasty how she’s starin’ at me, all close, an’ lis’nin’, an’ I don’t want to talk about those things. My face goes red an’ I shrink back towards the others. ‘I think clowns are scary,’ says Jess, but the lady jus’ laughs an’ keeps starin’ at me.
Soon the food has all gone. The lady takes the Tupperware to her car an’ comes back with a big blue parcel that she tries to give to me. Iss wrapped in fancy paper, with a big bow on top, an’ a card. But Joyce dives between us, shoutin’, an’ grabs the present from my hands.
‘You crafty swine!’ shrieks Joyce. ‘I just knew it!’
Shocked, I step back. Caroline comes runnin’ an’ the two of ’em march the lady to her car. The church lady says terrible words an’ looks back over her shoulder, but by now Mrs Laird is leadin’ me away. I see Caroline stuff the parcel through the car window. Then the front door closes an’ Mrs Laird takes me to a room on the other side of the house. When Joyce comes inside she stuffs a handful of black tape into the bin. Her face is tight with rage, but I’m too scared to ask why.
#
Monday.
I feel hemmed in today, like I can’t breathe, an’ though I’m scared of gettin’ caught, I go to the back door. The key is in the lock, so I turn it quickly an’ sneak out for some air. If I’m only a minute, Joyce will never know. But iss someone else I bump into. A fat red man, covered with sweat. There’s a chainsaw in his hands an’ bits of wood everywhere. The ash tree! My whole body shakes, an’ I have to run inside.
Later they load the butchered remains onto a pickup truck an’ drive her away. Prob’ly to the village, for firewood. This is the last time I’ll see her. My good old friend. For weeks now, she’s been the most stable part of my life. Never throwin’ surprises at me, never makin’ an unexpected move. I knew exactly what to expect from her, an’ when. Like me, she thought she’d stand out there forever. Swayin’ in the wind, never breakin’. But fate had diff’rent plans. With her gone, the world feels chaotic.
#
Tuesday.
>
The electricity is back an’ the house is warm again. Ev’ryone sleeps in extra late, an’ most of us miss breakfast. For lunch we have a big pot of potato stew, an’ iss the best thing I remember eatin’ in a long time. For the time bein’, we’ll be eatin’ meals in the day room. We’re allowed to use the dinin’ room again, but no one wants to cos the blue plastic wall makes it so cold. There’s glass dust over everythin’, which keeps comin’ back no matter how much iss cleaned off. I don’t much fancy gettin’ glass in my food. Mrs Laird says that that can kill you.
#
Wednesday.
I wake with a bad feelin’ in my stomach an’ can’t get back to sleep. Have I been dreamin’ again? I try to remember, but the details drain away as I try to catch them, leavin’ nothin’ behind but ripples.
A face flits in the corner of my eye. Somehow I know iss the face of a real person. Watchin’ me, always, all this time. I turn over, draggin’ my cold sheets with me, an’ a terrible thought comes into my head: that I will never, ever be able to escape. That even when I can’t see it, the face will keep seein’ me.
My scalp is moist. I stroke it with tremblin’ fingers, till the hair tangles. My eyelids flutter as my heartbeat rises. Bones soft an’ cold, in a soup of sweat. The face looks on, an’ analyses me, an’ seems amused. It raises its fist an’ I cower. Iss a man’s face. Thick an’ ugly, an’ full of the threat of violence. Black hair strangles down. Darkness turns to red. Suddenly my mouth is singin’.
Solen er så rød, mor
og skoven bli’r så sort
Nu er solen død, mor
og dagen gået—
No!
A cold surge, an’ I rush towards the light. Fast, the veil lifts. A sudden distortion. Then my nose is pricklin’ hard an’ I’m squashed against the floorboards. Tears leave my eyes. But iss okay. The song has stopped. I crawl to the corner an’ stuff myself into it. Cold waves rush through me. I am full of sharp edges. The face has gone away, but the fear will not.
