Bird of Passage (17 page)

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘It’s lovely. Try it.’

He did as he was told. She was right. The water was very cold but fresh and good.

‘Do you suppose it
is
magical?’ she asked.

‘What’s it supposed to do?’

‘It’s a cure-all. Whatever’s wrong with you, it’ll heal you. That’s what they believed in the olden days.

‘I don’t feel any different.’

‘You have to give it time. And you’d better put the capstone back on or it’ll flood the whole world.’

‘Not likely,’ he said, grinning, but he did as he was told and slid the stone back into place. Nevertheless, the water still oozed in a thin trickle from beneath it.

Finn was a quiet lodger and a willing worker, but the more Alasdair and Kirsty sang his  praises, the more Isabel set her lips in a thin line and endured his  presence.  Always polite, he did whatever she told him without complaint. He offered to carry her shopping up from the village for her. He cut cabbages or dug carrots or brought a boiling of potatoes from the fields and washed them under the tap in the yard, but there was nothing he could do to endear himself to her and eventually he just stopped trying.

Isabel would have found it very hard to define exactly what she disliked about him, but she knew that in every way that mattered to her, Finn did not come up to the mark. She pitied his past, but she could not love this changeling who had invaded her home. He was too self contained. There was nothing remotely sweet about him, nothing vulnerable or loveable, as there had been about Francis. She had been drawn to the other boy’s helplessness, as she never would be to Finn. She could have mothered Francis, but Finn neither wanted nor needed mothering, and Isabel sensed a certain resentment, simmering below his  deferential surface. He was in the habit of obedience, that was all. But it did not come naturally to him. He was like a dog, beaten into submission, but with retaliation on his mind.

Although she would have admitted it to nobody, not even herself, Isabel was dissatisfied with her life. Sometimes, she would wake at three or four in the morning to a sense of futility, a downward spiral of days, from which there was no escape.  She had been widowed for many years now, and for a long while, she had wanted nothing more than to live in peace and quiet. The shock of the accident, the adjustments that had to be made, all of this upheaval had taken time and emotional energy. But now, a change had come over her. It was not that she was consciously searching for a new husband. But she was increasingly aware of her own isolation. Sooner or later, Kirsty would fly the nest. Isabel felt trapped in the circumscribed world of the island, where everyone knew her history and her business, and she knew everyone else’s. Sometimes she longed for the relief of anonymity, for the opportunity to make a fresh start, to re-fashion herself in some way, go to new places, do new things, meet new people.

I’m still a young woman, she thought. And look at me! Hair like a haystack. Baggy cardigans. Tweed skirts and wellington boots. I’ve nothing nice and if I had, there would be nowhere to wear it.

Her infrequent trips to her cousins in Glasgow disturbed her even more. She would wander around clothes shops, touching the fine fabrics, sometimes trying on a coat or a dress. During her most recent visit, she had gone to a hairdresser, asking for a new style. Her cousin had taken her into a department store where a young woman with plum coloured lips and nails to match, had done her make-up. She had stared back at this strange, new face in the mirror, half delighted, half horrified by the blue eyeshadow, the kohl liner, the long lashes, all framed by a sleek bob. But as soon as she got back to the island, the wind and rain transformed her hair into a mass of frizz again. She often wished she could move away and start afresh, but the thought of the upheaval frightened her. How could she do such a thing to Alasdair? He had no sense of her dissatisfaction. Perhaps she hid it too well.

Her only close friend was an older woman called Agnes who cooked for the Laurences at Ealachan.

‘Time you found yourself a new man!’ Agnes said, as they sat over a pot of tea in the kitchen of the big house, in the quiet spell between lunch and dinner. ‘You’ve been stuck up there are Dunshee for too long. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t marry again. Plenty of people do, Issie.’

But Isabel didn’t know where or how she would find a man in this place,  where everyone seemed either too young or too old, too married or too eccentric. She had worked at Ealachan herself, before her marriage to James, and there had been a time, quite a long time, when she had thought herself madly in love with Malcolm Laurence. It was a crush, really but the thought of him still gave her a small quiver of desire in the pit of her stomach. Once, he had patted her backside as he passed her on the stairs, a casual caress, so light that she could hardly believe he had done it, not knowing whether to be flattered or outraged. But she knew that none of it meant anything. His wife, Viola, was a formidable woman, stick thin and stylish, with fine blonde hair, a long straight nose, and skin like a piece of porcelain. Isabel always found her just a little inhuman. She kept Malcolm on a very tight rein indeed. No matter what her dreams and fantasies might be, Isabel knew that Malcolm had never seen her as more than a pretty face, or a nice soft body.

Now, seeing Kirsty grow into a young woman, Isabel found herself bitterly regretting the loss of that little red headed girl, who had once toddled so joyfully about the farm. She couldn’t help it. It just came upon her sometimes, swept over her, like a bereavement. It was both a pleasure and a pain in her heart, the way her baby had grown and was now slipping away from her. She had invested so much love in this only child. But once her darling bird had flown, there would be nobody to fill the gap in her life. Certainly not Finn.  

At school  Kirsty had chosen art as one of her subjects and – on the advice of Miss Wilson - had applied to study Fine Art at Edinburgh University. She would have preferred to try for the Glasgow School of Art, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it.

‘You read such things in the papers about art students!’ she said, disapprovingly.

To Kirsty, it seemed marvellous  that she should be able to study something she adored and get a grant to do it as well. On the whole, her grandfather agreed with Miss Wilson. He had begun to take a passionate interest in Kirsty’s future. He was fairly bursting with pride in her.

 ‘There will be no prouder man than me, on the day you graduate,’ he said.

‘Grandad, I haven’t even got there yet!’

‘What about Finn?’ said Isabel, slyly. ‘You’ll be leaving him far behind, won’t you?  He’ll miss you!’

It was a low blow and unworthy of her, but she couldn’t resist using a weapon which she had unexpectedly discovered in her armoury.

Kirsty hesitated. ‘I’ll miss him too. But then I’m away half the time as it is. He’ll be here when I come home. You all will. I’ll be back before you know it.’

In September of that year, one of the Glasgow cousins came to the island in his white van to take Kirsty to Edinburgh.  All that day, Finn had been noticeable only by his absence. Even when Kirsty’s belongings were packed and they were eating their evening meal, there was no sign of him. 

‘Skiving!’  Isabel was furious.

‘Leave him alone’ said Alasdair. ‘You know what’s wrong with him.’

‘What?’

‘
You know
.’ Alasdair nodded  in Kirsty’s direction.

‘Och, well, he’ll just have to get used to it, won’t he?
We
will, so
he’ll
have to.’

Kirsty said nothing. Leaving the island was one thing. She had been ready to spread her wings for some time now. But leaving Finn was quite another. Sadness at their imminent parting  flooded through her. As soon as she could decently do so, she left the table and went in search of him. 

It was a warm evening. The last of the swallows were assembling on the wires  but the nights were already drawing in and soon it would be dark.  She wandered through the outbuildings, calling his name, and at last climbed up to Hill Top Town. Sure enough, she found him standing on the very rim of the saucer of land, staring out to sea, as she had found him that first evening, all those years ago.

‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’

She tried to slip her hand into his, but he shrugged it off, thrusting his hands into his pockets. During this last summer, she had changed, physically, as well as mentally. She had a broad, pale face almost disfigured by freckles. Her eyes were dark green and whenever she smiled she displayed white,  slightly uneven teeth.  But her face was handsome rather than pretty, and it was her hair that was her chief beauty. She still had her dense red curtain of hair, long and glorious: far prettier than the rest of her. Sometimes when he looked at her now, Finn hardly knew her. Had she but known it, he and Isabel were sharing something of the same regret for the Kirsty they had lost.

‘You’re upset.’

‘I’m alright. I’ll miss you, but I know you have to go. I’ve always known it.  Always known this would happen.’

‘You can’t miss me more than I’ll miss you, Finn.’

‘Well, maybe so, but you’ll have plenty to keep you busy.’

‘So will you. It’ll be Christmas and I’ll be back home before you know it.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I will, honestly.’

‘It doesn’t matter. At least I’ll know where you are.’

‘Will you write to me?’

‘I’m not much of a hand at the letter writing, Kirsty. You know that.’

‘You could try. I’ll write to
you.
Oh Finn, what will I do without you?’

‘You’ll manage fine.’

He was right of course. She would. But would he manage without her?

‘ Let’s say goodbye here. I’d rather say it here, where it’s just the two of us.’

‘Goodbye then.’ He stepped away from her a pace. ‘There. It’s said. Away you go and make sure you have everything ready.’

She rushed at him and hugged him, circling his unresponsive body with her two arms, reaching up to plant a kiss on his prickly cheek.’

‘Finn...’

 ‘I hate goodbyes.’

It isn’t goodbye. I’ll be home soon.’

He gazed down at her in the twilight, his face grave. ‘I just don’t like change very much. It frightens me. Enjoy yourself Kirsty. But don’t forget about me.’

‘How could I ever do that?  Never in a million years.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Edinburgh halls of residence were on the south side of the city, below Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat. Each floor had eight single bedrooms and a large shared kitchen. Kirsty’s room was a clean but shabby cell, with a desk, a wardrobe, a sink, and a narrow single bed. On her first afternoon, she decorated it with a hand-crocheted throw and cushions, with her threadbare teddy nestling among them. She tacked up a couple of posters of richly coloured mediaeval paintings, bought an electric kettle and some mugs and now felt ready to turn her attention to her fellow residents. 

In the kitchen, she found a small blonde girl, peering into one of the cupboards, trying to decide which shelf to commandeer.

‘I think you’re in the next room to me. I heard you come in. Have your mum and dad gone then?’

The girl nodded. ‘Molly. My name’s Molly.’

‘I’m Kirsty. Want a coffee?’

The girl nodded again. She seemed to be a little choked with tears.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Leeds.’

‘Come on then. I’ve got a kettle in my room. And some mugs. Bring the milk with you.’

‘You’re well organised.’

‘Ah but I’m used to it.’

‘Were you at boarding school?’

‘Not what you might call boarding school, but I live on an island. I had to stay in a hostel during term time.’

‘That must have been hard.’

‘I got used to it. We all did.’

She made Nescafe, brought out a tin and lifted the lid to reveal a large fruit cake, white with almonds, sticky with cherries. ‘My mum thinks I’ll starve if I don’t have supplies!’

She cut two large slices and handed one to her new friend.

‘What are you going to study?’

‘English and Fine Art.’

‘Me too. Well, Fine Art’s my main subject. Do you know Edinburgh well?’

‘Not really.’

‘We’ll find our way around together then.’

‘I’ve never met anyone from the Western Isles before,’ said Molly

‘That’s because there aren’t many of us left. People drift away from the islands all the time.’

‘Like you?’

‘Ah but I might go back.’ Kirsty was suddenly serious. ‘Although perhaps not for good. I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind.

‘Do you have a boyfriend at home?’