The Blackhouse (34 page)

‘Sure. I’m getting nowhere fast with this anyway. Give me two minutes to clean up and get out of this boiler suit. And I’ll have to let my gran know where I’m going.’ Fionnlagh gathered his tools back into their box and took them into the house with him. Fin watched him go and wondered why he was torturing himself like this. Even if he was Fin’s biological son, Fionnlagh was still Artair’s boy. Artair had said to him that morning,
It hasn’t mattered for seventeen years, why the fuck should it matter now?
And he was right. If it had always been that way, why should knowing about it make any difference? Fin kicked at a spiny turf of grass with the toe of his shoe. But somehow it did.

Fionnlagh appeared in jeans and trainers and a fresh white sweatshirt. ‘Better not be too long. My gran doesn’t like being left on her own.’

Fin nodded and the two of them set off along the top of the cliffs to the gully that Artair and Fin used as boys to get down to the shore. Fionnlagh made easy work of it, not even taking his hands out of his pockets until he jumped the last four feet on to the flat, slightly angled slab of gneiss where the young Fin had once made love to Marsaili. Fin found climbing down to the rocky outcrop a little harder than when he had last done it eighteen years before, and fell behind as Fionnlagh skipped sure-footedly over the slippery black wedges of rock to the beach. He waited on the sand for Fin to catch him up.

‘My mum said you two used to go out together.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

They headed down to the water’s edge and started walking towards the Port. ‘So why did you break up?’

Fin found himself slightly embarrassed by the boy’s directness. ‘Oh, you know, people do.’ He laughed at a suddenly returning memory. ‘Actually, we broke up twice. First time, we were only eight.’

‘Eight?’ Fionnlagh was incredulous. ‘You were going out when you were eight?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t really call it going out. We had a kind of thing between us. Had done ever since we started school. I used to walk her home to the farm. Are her folks still there?’

‘Oh, sure. But we don’t see very much of them these days.’ Fin was surprised and waited for Fionnlagh to elucidate, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, ‘So why did you break up when you were eight?’

‘Oh, it was all my fault. Your mum turned up at school one day wearing glasses. Awful things. Blue, with wings, and lenses so thick they made her eyes look like golf balls.’

Fionnlagh laughed at the image Fin had conjured up. ‘Jees, that must have made her attractive.’

‘Well, exactly. And, of course, everyone in the class made fun of her.
Four eyes
, and
goggle eyes
, all that kind of stuff. You know how merciless kids can be.’ His smile faded into sadness. ‘And I wasn’t any better. I was embarrassed to be seen with her. Avoided her in the playground, stopped walking her home from school. I think she was devastated, the wee soul. Because she was a pretty little girl, your mum. Very self-confident. And a lot of the boys in the class were dead jealous of me. But all that went when she got the glasses.’ And even as he remembered it, he felt a stab of guilt and melancholy. Poor Marsaili had gone through hell. And he had been so cruel. ‘Kids. They have no idea how hurtful they can be.’

‘And that was it? You just stopped being an item?’

‘More or less. Your mum pursued me for a while. But if I saw her coming towards me in the playground, I made sure I was suddenly involved in a conversation with someone or joining in a game of football. I was always out of the school gate ahead of her so I wouldn’t have to walk her up the road. Sometimes I would turn around in class and find her just looking at me with big doe eyes, glasses discarded on the desk in front or her. But I always pretended I didn’t notice, And Jesus …’ Suddenly something came back to him that he hadn’t thought about in nearly thirty years. ‘There was that time in church.’ The memory returned in unexpectedly vivid detail.

Fionnlagh was intrigued. ‘What? What happened in church?’

‘Oh, God …’ Fin shook his head, smiling remorsefully. ‘Except, I’m sure God didn’t have much to do with it.’ The incoming tide forced them to step smartly up the beach to avoid getting their feet wet. ‘In those days my parents were still alive, and I had to go to church every Sunday. Twice. I always used to take a tube of sweets with me. Polo Fruits or something. It was a kind of game to relieve the boredom. To see if I could get them out of the packet and into my mouth without being caught, and then suck them away to nothing without being seen. I suppose it was a kind of small, secret victory against the power of religious oppression if I could work my way through a whole packet without them ever knowing. Although I doubt if I thought about it quite like that at the time.’

Fionnlagh grinned. ‘Couldn’t have been too good for the teeth.’

‘It wasn’t.’ Fin ran his tongue ruefully around his fillings. ‘I’m sure the minister knew what I was up to, he just never caught me. There were times he would fix me with a steely eye, and I would just about choke on the saliva gathering in my mouth as I tried not to swallow until he looked away. Anyway, there was this one Sunday when I was trying to slip a sweet in my mouth during a prayer. You know, one of those long, maundering prayers that the elders deliver from the front of the church. And I dropped the tube of sweets on the floor. Bare floorboards, loud clatter, and the bloody thing rolled right out into the middle of the aisle. Of course, everyone in the church heard it, including all those up in the gallery, which used to be full in those days. And everyone opened their eyes. And there was hardly a soul in the church who didn’t see that tube of Polo Fruits lying there. Including the elders, and the minister. The prayer stopped mid-sentence, and hung there like a big question mark. You know, I’ve never known a silence to last as long in my life. And I knew that there was no way I could get those sweets back without admitting to them being mine. That’s when a little figure darted out from the pews on the other side of the aisle and snatched them up.’

‘My mum?’

‘Your mum. Wee Marsaili took those sweets in full view of the entire congregation so that she would get the blame instead of me. She must have known the trouble she would be in. I caught her eye about ten minutes later. Big, golf-ball eyes peering at me through those awful lenses, looking for some hint of gratitude, some recognition from me for what she had done. But I was just so relieved to have escaped a leathering, I looked away as quickly as I could. I didn’t even want to be associated with her.’

‘What a bastard.’

Fin turned to find Fionnlagh looking at him, half serious, whole in earnest. ‘Yes, I suppose I was. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I can’t deny it. And I can’t go back and change it, or do anything different. It’s just how it was. Poor Marsaili. She must really have been in love with me, that wee girl.’ Unaccountably, and to his acute embarrassment, the world became suddenly blurred. He turned away quickly to look out over the bay, furiously blinking away the beginnings of tears.

‘It’s a sad story.’

Fin took a moment or two to recover himself. ‘I spent the next four years more or less ignoring her.’ He was lost now in a childhood world he had all but buried. ‘To the point where I’d almost forgotten that there had ever been anything between us. Then there was a dance at the end of our last year of primary, and I asked a girl from the lighthouse called Irene Davis to go. I was at an age when I wasn’t that interested in girls, but I had to ask someone, so I asked Irene. It never even occurred to me to ask your mum, until I got a letter from her. It arrived in the post a couple of days before the dance.’ He could still see the big, sad scrawl, dark blue pen on pale blue paper. ‘She couldn’t understand why I had asked Irene instead of her. She suggested it wasn’t too late to change my mind and ask her instead. Her solution to the problem of Irene was that your dad could take her. She signed it,
The Girl from the Farm
. But, of course, it was too late. I couldn’t unask Irene, even if I’d wanted to. In the final event it was your dad who took your mum.’

They had reached the end of the beach, standing almost in the shadow of the boatshed where Angel had been murdered.

‘Which only goes to show how much you know when you’re eleven years old. Just five years later your mum and I were madly in love and going to spend the rest of our lives together.’

‘So what happened that time?’

Fin smiled and shook his head. ‘Enough. You’ve got to leave us a few secrets.’

‘Aw, come on. You can’t let it go at that.’

‘Yes, I can.’ Fin turned around and started heading back along the sand towards the rocks. Fionnlagh hurried to catch him up, falling in step beside him, following the footsteps they had left on the way out. Fin said, ‘So what are your plans, Fionnlagh? Are you finished with school?’

Fionnlagh nodded glumly, kicking a shell along the compacted sand. ‘My dad’s trying to get me a job at the yard.’

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘I’m not.’

‘So what do you
want
to do?’

‘I want to get off this bloody island.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

‘Where would I go? What would I do? I don’t know anyone on the mainland.’

‘You know me.’

Fionnlagh glanced at him. ‘Aye, for five minutes.’

‘Listen, Fionnlagh. You might not think so now, but this is a magical place.’ And when Fionnlagh gave Fin a look, he said, ‘The thing is, you don’t appreciate that until you’ve been away.’ It was something he was only just beginning to realize himself. ‘And if you don’t go, if you stay here all your life, sometimes your view of the world gets skewed. I’ve seen it in a lot of people here.’

‘Like my dad?’

Fin glanced at the boy, but Fionnlagh was keeping his eyes facing front. ‘Some people just never get the chance to go, or don’t take it if it comes.’

‘You did.’

‘I couldn’t wait to get away.’ Fin chuckled. ‘I won’t deny it, it’s a great place to get away from. But it’s good to come back to.’

Fionnlagh turned to examine him closely. ‘So you’re coming back, are you?’

Fin smiled and shook his head. ‘Probably not. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to.’

‘So, if I went to the mainland, what would I do?’

‘You could go to college. If you get the qualifications you could go to university.’

‘What about the police?’

Fin hesitated. ‘It’s a good job, Fionnlagh. But it’s not for everyone. You get to see things you would never choose to. The very worst side of human nature. And its consequences. Things you can’t really do anything to change, but still have to deal with.’

‘Is that a recommendation?’

Fin laughed. ‘Maybe not. But someone’s got to do it. And there are some good people in the force.’

‘Is that why you’re leaving it?’

‘What makes you think I’m leaving?’

‘You said you were doing an OU course in computing.’

‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ Fin smiled pensively. ‘Let’s say I’m looking at alternatives.’

They were nearly back at the rocks now. Fionnlagh said, ‘Are you married?’ Fin nodded. ‘Kids?’

Fin took a long time to reply. Too long. But a denial would not roll off his tongue as glibly as it had with Artair. Finally he said, ‘No.’

Fionnlagh clambered up over the rocks and turned back to give Fin a hand up. Fin grasped the proffered hand and pulled himself up alongside the teenager. ‘Why would you not tell me the truth about something like that?’ Fionnlagh said.

And, again, Fin was taken aback by his directness. A characteristic he had inherited from his mother. ‘What makes you think I didn’t?’

‘Did you?’

Fin looked at him squarely. ‘Sometimes there are things about yourself that you just don’t want to talk about.’

‘Why?’

‘Because talking about them makes you think about them, and thinking about them hurts.’ There was an edge to Fin’s voice. He saw the boy reacting to it and relented. He sighed. ‘I had a son. He was eight years old. But he’s dead now.’

‘What happened?’

Fin’s will to keep it pent up inside was cracking under the boy’s relentless questions. He squatted down at the edge of a pool in the rocks, sunlight flashing on its glassy surface, and trailed his fingers through the tepid salt water sending ripples of light off to its miniature shores. ‘It was a hit and run. My wife and Robbie were just crossing the road. It wasn’t even a busy street. This car came round the corner and, bang. Hit the two of them. She went up in the air and landed on the bonnet. That’s probably what saved her life. Robbie went right under the wheels. The driver stopped just for a second. We figure he’d probably been drinking, because the next thing, he put his foot down and was gone. No witnesses. No number. We never did get him.’

‘Jesus,’ Fionnlagh said softly. ‘When did that happen?’

‘Just over a month ago.’

Fionnlagh squatted down beside him. ‘Fin, I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry I put you through the pain of it all over again.’

Fin waved aside the apology. ‘Don’t be daft, son. How could you have known?’ And at his own use of the word,
son
, he felt his heart miss a beat. He glanced at Fionnlagh, but the boy seemed lost in thought. Fin let his gaze fall back on the water, and he saw, beneath the reflection of the sky, just a hint of movement. ‘There’s a crab in there. Your dad and I used to catch dozens of them down here.’

‘Yeh, he used to bring me here a lot when I was wee.’ Fionnlagh pulled up his sleeves in preparation for thrusting his hands into the water to catch the crab. Fin was shocked to see that both forearms had nasty purple-yellow bruising along the line of the bone. He grabbed Fionnlagh’s wrist.

‘Where on earth did you get bruises like that?’

The boy winced, pulling his arm away from him. ‘That was sore.’ He pulled his sleeves down to cover the bruises and stood up.

‘I’m sorry.’ Fin was distressed. ‘It looks nasty. What happened?’

Fionnlagh shrugged. ‘It was nothing. Did myself a bit of damage when I was putting the new engine in the Mini. Shouldn’t have been trying to do it on my own.’