Body of Water (10 page)

For now, all I wanted was to put distance between me and him. Physical pain may have ignited my sobs but it was the emotional pain that kept them fuelled. Despite the wind that cut across my path as I sprinted up the slope, adrenaline powered me through the effort.

Once inside the house I took the stairs two or three at a time and locked myself in my bedroom. I swallowed down my tears, sat cross-legged on the bed and pulled my injured hand out of my pocket. It felt so painful that I was reluctant to even look at it. When I did, the swollen mess made me sob anew and I fell back onto the dusty pillows. What the hell was I going to do? I pulled my phone out of my bag and tried to call Beth but there was no signal. I didn't even remember seeing a phone in the house.

A sound above me caught my attention and I held my breath so I could listen. Maybe my father was awake? I jumped up, unlocked my door, and ran to his. I rattled the handle and banged on the door with my good hand before listening again. The sound stopped. I called out but there was no response. There had to be a phone here somewhere.

Downstairs, I searched the rest of the house to make sure that I hadn't overlooked a phone but to no avail. I would've gone back to the pub but the look between Maggs and Dom earlier unsettled me and I didn't feel like I could trust anyone except maybe Tammie.

I decided to bathe and bandage my hand and later that morning I would get help from someone else. I winced as the water ran over the split skin on my knuckles but the softest towel made a good, if bulky, dressing.

Back in bed, I switched off the lamp and closed my eyes but the painful throbbing in my hand distracted me. I tucked it under my other arm. The warmth and pressure soothed it just long enough for me to fall asleep.

I dreamed again. The dog, the man, the fear and anger. But this time the dog had been skinned. Then the dream segued into something more immediate. I stood at the top of the cliff, overlooking the beach where Dom stood, watching the waves. A figure appeared from the water and said something inaudible to him after which Dom came back to the house and climbed the stairs to Mackay's room. Then the screaming started again.

Upright in bed, wet with sweat, my chest heaved with effort. Daylight crept around the edges of the heavy curtains. The house felt cold so I burrowed myself into the covers as far as I could, turning to my side and pulling my knees up to my chest. It was late June and I didn't think it should be this cold.

I jumped at a knock on the door, wincing when I moved my hand.

"Leven?" It was Dom. "Are ye awake?" His voice sounded softer but it was still gruff.

Tears rolled down my face. I wished he'd leave me alone. My hand felt worse than ever. Despite swallowing one sob another escaped. I shifted my weight to push my face into the pillow. As I did so I caught my hand and gasped for breath as more pain stabbed through my fingers.

"Leven?" He knew I was awake but ignoring him. He must do. After a pause he said my name again and then his footsteps signalled his retreat downstairs.

Closing my eyes, I spent half an hour desperately trying to go back to sleep but, as the smell of cooking permeated the room, my empty stomach could bear no more.

After pulling on another pair of jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt, I shuffled out onto the freezing landing. Halfway down the stairs I turned back to put on two pairs of thick socks and my dressing gown.

Dom stood at the cooker, his back to me.

Assuming I'd get a frosty reception at best I said nothing and reached out to pull up a chair. Forgetting myself I used my crushed hand. "Shit!"

He jumped and a saucepan flew through the air followed by a loud clang as it struck the stone floor. "What do ye think ye're doing?" Dom roared, stepping back and crouching over something. He swore loudly and snatched his right hand back. "Fetch me the pipper." He reached out towards the table where a roughly-folded newspaper rested. I handed it to him, petrified that he might attack me before I remembered that I'd thrown the first punch last night. He scooped something up and tossed it into the bin. "There goes ma meat an' tattie pie."

"I'm sorry."

As he stood at the sink I found myself watching the tectonic plates of his back shift while he scrubbed the pan. He wore a thick jumper but his impressive physique still showed through.

"Ye scared me oot of ma wits."

He must have been browning off the meat for his pie. Rolled pastry languished on a floured block. So he could cook. Maybe he wasn't such a heathen after all.

My stomach growled, demanding food. "I'm really sorry. Is there anything to eat? I've had nothing since-"

"See for yerself." He cut me off without a glance in my direction. "Ah'm not here tae look after ye as well."

The spark snapped back on inside me. "I don't need looking after."

He snorted. "Ye look like skin and bone tae me."

"I've got a swimmer's build." My voice rose too high to convince him.

He turned to face me. "Ye like tae swim, eh?" He looked interested in this fact and his eyes changed to focus on something between us, invisible to me. He relived a memory until a humourless chuckle brought him out of it.

"How old are ye?" He asked the question without looking at me. Instead, he pulled up the bottom of his jumper to examine it. Juices from the pan had spattered across the thick woollen fabric and he reached for a damp cloth to dab at the marks. My eyes were fixed on his taught, hard abdomen. Each segment was clearly defined and a thin trail of hair ran along the vertical. I would definitely not take my shirt off in front of him.

"I was eighteen in April." The smoky heat irritated my eyes until I clamped them shut and let the burning sensation pass. At least now he wouldn't catch me ogling him.

"Ye look older but ye still look like ye could do with some meat in yer belly."

"I'm pescetarian."

He laughed, a flurry of hoarse barks. Blunt white teeth flashed amongst his dark features. "Ye what?"

My skin prickled. "I don't eat meat."

"Yer a moppy!" Whatever a moppy was he found it hysterical. He clutched his sides and made more of it than I considered necessary. Conscious of a sudden blush my face burned even more. I should have been grateful to feel hot in this cold house. I moved closer to the AGA.

"Moppy...?" I could only guess that this was some sort of local put-down.

"Ye ken. A moppy. Hops aboot. Eats carrots."

"Rabbit? Right. Got it." I rolled my eyes. As if a million vegetarians hadn't heard that as many times before. "No, I'm not vegetarian, I'm pescetarian."

His blank look disarmed me momentarily.

I sighed. "I don't eat meat but I do eat fish."

"Ah prefer fish maself." He opened the oven and pulled out a plate of sausage, bacon and congealed scrambled egg. "Guess ye won't be wanting this." He pulled up another chair and sat down, his thighs so big that they didn't fit under the table. It rested on them, wobbling as he tucked into the meal. He made a show of eating, a gleeful child who'd found a weak spot in another. I could only imagine the grief he'd be giving me about my diet despite his own preference for fish. I envied him though, being able to eat like that and still carry so little body fat. Watching him eat reminded me of a lion eating a deer. His ivory teeth tore through the meat and his powerful jaw ground it hungrily before his thick neck flexed with each swallow.

As he finished he shoved the plate towards me and gestured to the sink of soapy water.

I'd be damned if I was washing up on an empty stomach. I didn't take the plate but crossed my arms in defiance. Again the pain in my hand and arm made me wince. "I thought the housework was your job."

"Ah thought ye could help." His look hardened. "There's enough work here for two."

"I wouldn't want to put you out of a job. I mean, what would you do?"

"Get back tae ma own life, Ah hope."

"Which was?"

He paused. "Fishing."

I smiled and picked up the plate. I guessed that explained his physique. I'd watched enough documentaries to know that commercial fishing was physically demanding work. "So if I help with your work you'll split your wage?"

He shrugged. "Half of nothing is still nothing."

I blinked. "You don't get paid?"

Sitting back in his chair, which creaked ominously, he flicked a speck of bacon fat off the table then met me with a defiant expression. "Ye ken a slave that does?"

I pondered this. Perhaps he only looked after my father in return for food and lodging. Out here it seemed like a suitable enough arrangement. Maggs had inferred he was badly treated but slave? "I thought-"

A short grunt sounded in his throat. "Ye thought wrong. Don't ken who's been telling ye what but ye don't ken the half of it. Maybe ye and Mackay need tae talk when he's feeling all right." Standing, he snatched the plate from me and stared me down until I looked away.

"Yes, I'd like to see my father now and find out what's really going on here." It was a half-lie. I didn't feel ready to see my father just yet so I intended to keep a low profile until I was. I'd almost ruined that by hammering on his door last night though and reminded myself not to do it again. If Mackay was ill enough to stay out of my way but well enough to tell me what I needed to know then that was fine with me.

"What's that supposed tae mean?" Dom's brow bulged, a bumper on a truck. I imagined that he could toss me like a bull if I provoked him. Part of me wanted to try.

I pressed on. "Did something happen to you? Last night you seemed scared of the water."

"Ah'm not scared of anything." Dom's voice was low, but the phrase sounded like a mantra, not a statement.

"How did you come to care for my dad?"

"We have a contract. Nothing more."

"Contracts can be broken."

"Not this one, moppy. He's a stubborn old man. Ye'll never talk him intae letting me go."

"I'll give it a bloody good try."

Dom turned to me, his grey eyes electric. "Ah dinnae ken what tae make of ye. Ye seem tae think Ah'm after yer father's money but Ah've no need of it. There's only one thing Ah want from him."

Now we were getting somewhere. "What's that?"

"He took something from me. If ye help me tae get it back Ah promise ye'll never see me again. But Ah'm starting tae wonder why ye're here. From what folks are saying ye're dead tae him."

"I'm just here to meet my father," I said through gritted teeth.

"And that's all ye want? Then ye'll be gone?"

"Trust me; I'll paddle my own dinghy to get away from this shit-hole if I have to."

He seemed satisfied with that but his eyes still glittered dangerously. "Did Maggs say anything aboot me?" He tried to sound nonchalant but failed. His overly casual tone gave him away.

"Why? Something to hide?" I watched him as he opened the cupboard under the sink and retrieved a plastic bowl and a large metal pail. He set the bowl down in front of me, slightly to my right and poured fluid from the pail into it.

He reached over the table to take my injured hand which I instinctively withdrew.

"Ah won't hurt ye again. Ah promise." He lifted my forearm, pushed back my sleeve, and slowly lowered my hand into the water. I felt a fizzing over my swollen hand that spread across my whole body. The water remained still and clear. My hand stopped throbbing and the pain disappeared.

I couldn't believe it. "No fu-"

"Ye swear tae much, moppy." He was firm but he didn't raise his voice.

Dom smiled grimly as I ducked my head in silent apology. Holding my arm up by the sleeve of my dressing gown, he swirled my hand in the fluid. The effect was hypnotic and I started to feel sleepy.

"Just let it work its magic," he said.

After several minutes of bathing my hand Dom ran his palm over his face. "Water?"

"What about it?"

"Would ye like a drink of it?"

"Oh right. Yes please."

I slumped back in the chair and folded my arms across my chest as I tried to make sense of him. He didn't want to be here, and certainly not looking after anyone. He was moody and aggressive. Last night he'd crushed my hand and now he was bathing it. Maggs insisted that he was a gentle giant and now I'd seen a glimpse of that but I still felt wary of him. He was unpredictable.

He set a glass of water down and fell back into a chair, his limbs overflowing. "So, did she say anything aboot me tae ye?"

"That you're not as big a cun-"

"Language, moppy."

"Sorry. That you're not as big an idiot as you seem."

There was a knock at the door and Dom got up to answer it. I drained my glass while I listened to the incomprehensible exchange between him and the caller. Dom's natural accent remained impenetrable to me but the conversation sounded pleasant enough.

Dom returned with a small square package. At least it looked small in his hand. He placed it on the table between us. "It's yers."

I didn't reach for it at first but craned my neck to better see the writing. As soon as I saw Beth's carefully formed words I snatched it up and tore it open. It was kind of her to think of me and I was eager to see if she'd written me a letter along with whatever she'd sent. She must have sent it just after I'd left for it to get here so quickly.

My wish was granted and her letter connected me back to my life back home albeit briefly. It was almost as good as having her here. I read it twice and Dom didn't interrupt me. When I finally picked out a pale blue box, nestled in polystyrene chips, he cleared his throat.

"What is it?"

I laughed. "A house-warming gift."

Dom peered over the edge of the box as I lifted the lid and took out a papier-mache figurine. I didn't know what it was at first; small, grey, bullet-shaped.

"It's a seal," Dom said. I wouldn't have paid attention to his words had it not been for the fear and suspicion carved into each one.

In one quick movement he had snatched it from my grasp. How could a man so big move so fast?

"Why would someone send ye this?"

"Careful! Beth is my best friend and she makes them for me. I guess she thought it would be fitting seeing as I'm here."