Entry Island(81)

And somehow he understood, for the first time since she had left, what it was he felt. Grief. For the lover he had lost. Almost as if she had died. Except that the body was still there. Walking, talking, taunting, tormenting him.

He clutched the rail, holding himself steady, his body rigid with tension, and he was caught almost unawares by the trickle of hot tears that ran down his cheeks.

*

It was still dark when he got back to the hotel. The long, low, two-storey building lay silently beneath the yellow glow of the streetlights. There was no hint of the drama which had played itself out there just a few hours before. Sime wondered how many of the team were asleep, what whispered words had passed between them in rooms and corridors. But found that he didn’t really care any more. The acute sense of humiliation had passed, leaving him empty of emotion, and indifferent to the opinions of others.

The night porter gazed at him from behind the reception desk with a surreptitious curiosity. In his room, the tele-shopping channel was selling an exercise machine to provide a whole-body workout. Sime locked all the doors and turned the TV off. He kicked away his shoes and slipped between the sheets still fully dressed. It was just after 5.30 a.m., and he lay shivering until gradually he started to recover some heat. A slow-burn warmth began to seep through his limbs, permeating his thoughts. He felt his body go limp, the red glow of the digital display on the clock fading to black as lids like lead closed on aching eyes …





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


The notices of eviction arrived just days after my father’s funeral, but none of us has any intention of leaving.

I feel the wind in my face, cooling my sweat as I toil over this stubborn ground. It is not cold, but the summer sky is laden with rain, and the stiffening of the breeze tells me it won’t be long in releasing it. I have a spade in my hands, digging stones out from beneath my feet, trying to make something arable out of this wilderness. The soil here is thin and sandy and full of stones. But if we are to survive this cursed famine then we need to grow more food.

I look up from my labours and catch sight of Ciorstaidh running down the hill towards me. She is pink-faced and breathless, and I am pleased to see her until she gets close and I catch the look on her face.

When she reaches me she takes several moments to recover her breath. ‘They’re coming,’ she gasps.

‘Who?’

She is still having troubling finding her voice. ‘The Sheriff-Depute and about thirty constables. And a band of men from the estate led by George. They’ve all been drinking ale at the castle to fortify themselves.’

I close my eyes and in the darkness can feel the end of everything I have known just a breath away.

‘You have to persuade the villagers to leave.’

I open my eyes and shake my head slowly. ‘They won’t.’

‘They must!’

‘This is their home, Ciorstaidh. They won’t leave it. To a man, woman and child, we were born here. Our parents and their parents, and theirs before them. Our ancestors are buried here. There can be no question of leaving.’

‘Simon, please.’ Her voice is pleading. ‘There’s no way you’ll win. The constables are armed with batons and carrying irons. And whether it’s right or wrong, they have the law on their side.’

‘Damn the law!’ I shout.

She flinches, and I see the hurt in her eyes and regret raising my voice.

She finds control from somewhere and drops her own voice to a whisper. ‘The sailing ship Heather dropped anchor this morning in Loch Glas. No matter what kind of resistance you put up, they mean to clear Baile Mhanais and put everyone aboard her.’ She pauses. ‘Please, Simon. At least try and persuade your family to leave before they get here.’

I shake my head, full of foreboding. ‘My mother’s more stubborn than any of them. And if she won’t go, then I won’t either.’

She stares at me as if trying to formulate words that will make me change my mind. Before suddenly, quite unexpectedly, she bursts into tears. I am torn between my confusion, and an urge to protect her. I step up the slope to take her in my arms. The sobs that rack her body vibrate through mine. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she says.

I slide my fingers through her hair and feel the smallness of her skull in the palm of my hand. ‘Don’t be silly. None of this is your fault. You can’t be held responsible for the actions of your father.’

She pulls back and stares at me with tear-stained eyes. ‘Yes I can. He wouldn’t be doing any of this if it wasn’t for me.’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘George saw us together. That day up on the hill, when I gave you that first hamper.’ She paused, almost as if she were afraid to go on. ‘The bastard told our father.’