by Sarah Maine
Libby started the engine. “I thought you said Angus and Maddy were out,” she said, as they drove off.
“Aye, but they might be back. If not, we’ll catch them at Jennet’s.” She held the phone to her ear, and waited. “Gone to voicemail. I’ll send a text and they’ll get it when they drive into signal.”
“And Rodri?”
Alice hesitated. “If I tell him, he’ll be torn between them and Hector. And he switches off when he drives.” She turned in her seat. “Oh God, Libby, where’s she taken them?”
Libby looked ahead, driving as fast as she dared along the twists and turns. “There’s three of them, and they’re sharp lads. They’ll be alright.” But they were children, and Laila had her back to the wall.
“You’d better be right,” Alice replied, chewing her lip, and Libby saw her brush an impatient hand across her eyes. “It’d destroy Maddy if anything happened to David. Same with Rodri. His lads are his world.”
And there was nothing else they could do. “Once Morag’s alerted the police, they’ll soon spot the car,” Libby said, hoping she was right. By this time they had turned off the main road and were following a network of smaller roads, Alice giving directions, and Libby began to recognise the route Rodri had brought her on back in March—a lifetime ago. The yellow gorse was dying back now, the nettles high. And as they rounded the last corner, they saw the narrow inlet of the sea spread out before them. Then Alice gave a shriek and pointed. “They’re here! Look!”
The blue Polo was parked off the road, just above the shoreline, and Libby pulled up beside it. Both women jumped out and looked inside. Discarded schoolbags on the back seat served only to heighten their fear, and they scanned the empty shoreline. Alice yelled: “David! Where are you? Donald! Charlie!” Oystercatchers rose and flew across the bay, and their piping protest was the only reply. The tide had turned and was ebbing, draining the shallow bay, leaving moored boats tipped on their sides.
It was then that Libby spotted a series of drag marks higher up the beach and gripped Alice’s arm. “The kayaks! Weren’t the kayaks there?” And she pointed to lines in the pebbly sand which led down to the water. They ran to the spot and saw a jumble of footprints, small ones, superimposed on each other, and one set that was larger. Oh God.
Alice was looking bewildered. “She’s taken them kayaking? I told you she was mad.”
Mad? Perhaps so. But dangerous. “Get back in the car,” she said, pulling at Alice’s arm, a pulse leaping in her throat. “Can we drive to the end of this headland?”
Alice ran after her. “No. The road stops just after the cottages. Why?”
“We need to see how far out they are.”
Alice seemed to pick up on her fear. “You don’t think—”
An accident, the wind strengthening, a treat gone so terribly wrong, a dreadful tragedy. Laila distraught. So sorry! Was it David she had in her sights, Hector’s son, but not hers? Or Rodri’s boys, by way of revenge?
They drove as far as they could past the cottages and got out of the car again, but found no good vantage point. The slice of ocean that they could see was empty, but it was clear that the wind was picking up, conspiring with tide and current to further Laila’s purpose.
Libby looked back down the inlet to the beach and the jetty. There was still water there, but was it enough? “Is there a boat we can take?”
“Angus’s fishing boat is the white one at the jetty, but he’ll have left it locked.”
“Let’s go and see.” She wrenched open the car door and got back in.
“Can you handle a boat?” Alice asked as they reversed.
“I could once.” They stopped beside the jetty, and Libby ran along it and leapt down into the boat. All the things that her father had taught her years ago at Gosse Harbour would serve her now. But Alice was right, and the door to the tiny wheelhouse was padlocked.
Desperately she scanned the other boats. But who would leave a boat unlocked, and with fuel on board? They might have paddles or oars, but speed was what was needed, and soon the water would be gone from the bay— Then she heard Alice cry out, saw her start running towards an approaching vehicle. It was Angus’s car, with Maddy sat beside him, and Libby sank back against the tiny wheelhouse.
And then Angus was on the jetty, lowering himself onto the deck. For a big man, he moved fast. “You can handle a boat, then?” he said, glancing from under bushy eyebrows as he stuck a key in the padlock.
“Yes.”
“Right. Cast off and we’ll be away.” The engine burst into life, barely giving her time to release the bow and stern, and they were off in a choking cloud of diesel.
Angus said nothing as he wove his way through rocks which were now fringed halfway up with exposed bladderwrack. Occasionally she felt a bump or there was a gut-wrenching scrape of metal on rock, and she knew that even had she got the boat going she would never have made it out. But Angus knew these waters and followed the deep channel as effortlessly as an eel until they reached the point where the bay widened to meet the ocean. “Take her now,” he said, and he left the tiny wheelhouse, a pair of binoculars in his hand. No further instruction, no backward glance. Instinctively she kept the bow at right angles to the waves, letting the prow rise and fall, gritting her chattering teeth.
The weather might have been alright when the boys set off, she thought, but it was worsening fast. Would they have sense enough to recognise the danger, and the strength of character to resist Laila and turn back? David might, and the younger boys would follow his lead. And yet there was no sign of them. Then Angus barrelled back into the wheelhouse and grabbed the wheel from her, pulling it hard to port as he opened the throttle. She held on to whatever she could as the boat corkscrewed over the waves. “Have you seen them?” she shouted above the roar.
“Kayaks,” he replied, pointing briefly, “empty.”
She clung on, feeling sick now and unable to stop herself shaking. He tore the binoculars from his neck and passed them to her. “Off to the port, keep an eye on them. Look for heads in the water.” She went to the door of the wheelhouse, bracing her legs against it to steady herself against the jagged motion, fighting the nausea, and the horizon leapt as she struggled to hold the binoculars steady. Then she glimpsed a red kayak, hull up, at the mercy of the waves. No heads.
The fishing boat rose on another wave, and for a moment she could see further and cried out. Two other kayaks were ahead with figures aboard, still paddling, riding the waves. She shouted at Angus, gesturing to him to change course. He nodded wordlessly, his face like granite, and again she braced herself against the door jamb and watched the writhing horizon. Then she saw another kayak, blue this time, right way up but empty, surfing an incoming wave. Two down, two upright. She slammed her mind closed on the thought.
The waves were flatter now as they left the shore behind them and she was getting a longer view, but she had lost sight of the two upright kayaks. Then she glimpsed something far distant on the horizon, a speck moving fast, throwing up spray on either side.
Angus saw it too and grunted. “Lifeboat.”
Lifeboat! Maddy must have called them— Then the waves flattened again and she saw the two kayaks, paddles flailing madly, not far off their starboard bow, and pulled at Angus’s arm. He grabbed the binoculars from her, stared through them a moment, then swore. He thrust the binoculars back at her, swung the boat sharply to starboard, and let out a mighty blast on the foghorn, his face a mask of grim fury.
She took up the binoculars again and, with horror, understood why. The paddles were certainly flailing, but not in the business of propulsion. They were being used as weapons, one attacking, one defending, the latter occasionally back-paddling as opportunities between waves allowed. But even from here she could see that the defending kayak was manoeuvring awkwardly, sluggishly, and then with a great leap of joy she saw why.
Hanging on to its stern she could see two shapes in the water, buoyed up, thank God, by life jackets. An
d now they had seen the boat and one lifted an arm. David, for it was he wielding the defending paddle, didn’t turn, but he must have been aware of the boat racing towards them. Laila paused in her attack and Libby saw her turn her head towards them. David took advantage of the moment to back-paddle away as Angus closed the gap between them.
“Take the wheel,” he said, pulling back on the throttle as they approached. “Easy now, just come alongside.”
For a moment she wondered why he’d handed over now, at this most critical stage, until she saw him reach a boathook from the wheelhouse roof and go to the gunwale in readiness, shouting instructions to her over his shoulder. It was difficult to see where the boys were and she was terrified of driving over them; all she could do was what he told her, and pray. She watched him poised there, and then he leaned right over, boathook outstretched, and a moment later reached down and deposited Charlie in a sodden mass on the deck. It was all Libby could do not to go to him, but Angus’s shout steadied her: “Starboard! Easy—” She dropped the throttle back while they twisted and danced to the rhythm of the waves. Charlie vomited, and then next moment Angus leaned forward again, and Donald, slippery as a seal pup, was dumped beside his brother on the deck. She heard Angus shouting something down to his grandson and the tone of his voice was fiercely jubilant, and she dashed an arm across her face, blinded momentarily as Angus dropped the boathook on deck and leaned forward with both arms outstretched. A moment later David sprang aboard, landing on his feet, to disappear into his grandfather’s embrace.
Libby throttled forward slightly and turned the boat to ease the unsteady motion, and only then did she think to look for Laila.
The red kayak was already some distance away, and Laila was paddling away from them, out to sea, with the calm efficiency of one born to water. The lifeboat must have seen the rescue of the boys, as it now altered course and went in pursuit of her. Angus looked over David’s head, his eyes narrowed as he followed Libby’s gaze; then he dropped a kiss on the boy’s wet hair and released him, taking the wheel from her.
“We’ll leave her to the lifeboat crew, I think. Let’s get these lads home.”
Later, much later, when Libby thought back over that afternoon, it felt unreal, or like something she’d been told about, that had happened to someone else. At the time the boys’ danger had kept her focussed, blocking out the fear, and the release of tension once they were on board was almost more profound than the fear had been. With the boys safe but shuddering on the deck, Angus had told her where there was a tarpaulin, and she had coaxed them to move together into the centre of the boat, away from Charlie’s vomit. She’d covered them as best she could, saying meaningless words of reassurance; at least it would keep the wind off them, and it was all that there was. Charlie had curled into a ball like a wounded creature and somehow fallen asleep, his face pressed into his brother’s shoulder, while Donald lay there, glassy-eyed and shivering, one arm flung across Charlie. Libby tucked the folds around them. “It’s alright now, we’ll soon have you home, and warm,” she kept repeating, wishing she could do more. David sat slightly apart, his back resting on the curve of the hull, his forearms on his bent knees, and stared down between his feet. He moved a little to allow Libby to pass the tarpaulin over his knees, and looked up at her. That familiar single-line frown.
His eyes, as dark and unfathomable as his uncle’s, gave her a long, considering look. “She tried to kill us,” he said. His tone was carefully neutral, slightly puzzled but calm.
“Yes—” Only the truth would do.
She glanced at Donald, immobile beside him. His glazed stare had not altered, but he must have heard.
“She said my father was coming home today? We were going to paddle round the headland and surprise him. Rodri had said that we could.” Then: “Is my father coming home?” David’s tone was strained but still controlled.
“Yes. He is.”
“That’s good.” He went back to his contemplation of the space between his feet. Then Angus called to her, and she was spared any further reply. But she knew that whatever else happened in these boys’ lives, they would carry this day with them forever.
Looking ahead through the glass of the little wheelhouse, she had seen the headland of Ullaness. The roofs and chimneys of Sturrock House were clearly visible beyond, and she could see the church, the manse, and the bright colours of the tents. And out on the end of the headland she could see figures. Angus passed her the binoculars. “Who’s there?” he asked.
She could see Maddy and Alice, as well as Callum and one or two of the students. And there was Rodri, looking back at her through binoculars of his own.
Angus grunted when she told him. “Right. Then get somewhere where they can see you and signal to them. Thumbs-up—anything. And I’ll toot on the foghorn. I canna stop here, no water, but I’ll pass as close as I can. They need to be knowing, so up you go now.”
Libby obeyed and left the wheelhouse. A fish crate lay in a corner of the deck well, and she pulled it to the side of the boat and stood on it, bracing her knees against the hull, and waved her arms wildly. But how to convey success? She did the thumbs-up, three times with both hands, hoping Rodri had binoculars fixed on her. Angus gave three short blasts on the foghorn, waited a moment, and then repeated, and Libby clasped her hands above her head like a triumphant football fan and then repeated the thumbs-up. The binoculars were still around her neck and she looked through them to see that Rodri was waving back, great sweeps of his arm conveying that he understood. Then David was beside her on the fish crate and he waved as well, and she saw Maddy wave back, then turn to collapse into Alice’s arms. David pointed down into the deck well to where his cousins were stretched out, and she saw Rodri’s sweeping wave again, before her vision blurred and she tasted salt on her lips.
“They’ve understood,” she shouted to Angus.
“Right. Then get back inside and hold tight.”
As the engine roared, the boat leapt forward, and Libby looked through an arc of spray towards the headland. The group of onlookers had fallen back, leaving just Rodri there on the rocky headland. She raised the binoculars to her eyes and saw that he was no longer looking towards them but was gazing fixedly towards the horizon, a lone dark figure staring out to where the lifeboat was now a distant speck.
Chapter 32
Libby
Angus’s boat arrived at the fish-gutting jetty soon after. Rodri would know where they would come in, Angus had told her, and he’d been right. And there all was a confusion of reaching hands, cries and tears, embraces and blankets. Rodri crouched down between his sons, holding them both close, and Charlie, woken from his sleep, sobbed silently into his shoulder, shaking in his grip. Rodri’s other arm was wrapped around Donald and he was speaking to him in a low voice. Alice tried to get a blanket around David’s shoulders but he shrugged it off, protesting that he was fine, and Maddy was holding on to her father.
Callum, she realised, had come with them, and was now surveying the scene in slightly embarrassed bewilderment. “You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“So everyone’s alright?” he asked. “Except— Where’s Lady Sturrock?”
“The lifeboat went after her. They’ll have picked her up by now.”
“Great. So shall we go? You look frozen.”
“Callum!” Rodri lifted his head, and his eyes met Libby’s. “Take Libby up to the house, will you. We’ll all follow.”
In the end it was only Rodri and his boys who went back to Sturrock House, together with Alice. “Angus said Maddy should take David home,” Rodri told Libby, as he ushered his sons into the kitchen. “He’s right, of course. Too much for one day.” His drawn face spoke volumes. Too much for everyone. “Bless you for coming, Alice.”
“We’ll soon be sorted, won’t we, lads?” Alice was already chivvying them out of the kitchen, forcing a tone of cheerful normality. “Hot baths first. Dad’ll come up and I’ll bring you some food
. Tea in bed tonight, eh?”
“Dad—” Charlie hung back.
Rodri pulled the boy to him, held him close, his own eyes squeezed shut. “Aye. I’m here. Get yourself in the tub and I’ll be up right away.” He released him and turned to Callum. “Will you make Libby something to eat? Libby, I need to go to my boys—”
“Of course. Go,” said Libby.
Callum, resourceful as ever, explored Rodri’s kitchen with a self-confidence which would stand him in good stead through life. “What possessed the woman to take the kids out kayaking on a day like this? Is she crazy?”
“Probably.” How much had Callum been told? she wondered. “Everything alright on site?”
“Yep. Fine. I left Mel starting to lay out those bones, see what we’ve got.”
A moment later he put a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of her, and she ate, ravenous suddenly. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked. “It looked pretty wild out there. And those poor kids . . .”
Alice appeared with an armful of wet clothes which she took through to the utility room, and the hum of the washing machine combined with the homely taste of scrambled eggs brought comfort, and Libby felt herself calming. “I’m fine now, but thanks.”
“Rodri said to offer you a bed for the night,” Alice said as she returned and poured baked beans into a pan. “I’ve put in a hot water bottle, same room.”
“There’s no need to—”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Callum. “We’ll be fine down on site, and if you’re alright now, I’ll be getting back.”
“If you’re sure. And thank you, Callum.”
He raised a dismissive hand. “No worries. See you tomorrow.”
“Sorted then,” said Alice, as he left. “I’ll take this up to the boys, and then I’ll be off.” If Alice’s ponytail was a barometer of mood, then hers was on the upturn.
A moment later, she was back. “I’m away then. Get Rodri to eat something, will you? I’ve lit a fire in the library. Hector’s got a special bed squeezed into the dining room. I checked on him and he’s asleep.” Hector. Libby had forgotten all about Hector. He was here now, of course, but what had he been told?
