Epiworld (6 page)

‘Sorry.’ Demi nibbles her food in silence, her face suddenly miserable.

‘Nah; I’m the one who should be sorry.’ I move closer, put my arm around her. ‘To be honest when I saw this cave I wanted a bit of an adventure. It’s cool here. I thought I’d stick around for a few days.’

‘What, instead of at the hotel, in a nice warm bed?’ Demi giggles. ‘You’re mad! Why didn’t you bring your backpack? You haven’t got any warm clothes here.’

‘I’ll fetch the backpack tomorrow,’ I lie. ‘It’s fine in the hotel for now.’

For a while we say no more, just cuddle up, staring into the fire, until at last Demi checks her watch.

‘It’s nearly eight o’clock! I’d better go before Dad sends out a search party! I said I’d be back by now.’

‘I’ll walk you home.’

She blushes. ‘OK.’

‘What about the rest of this drink? We haven’t touched the crisps yet.’

‘Och, you keep them, in case you get hungry in the night.’

I put on my shirt and trousers, almost dry now except for the cuffs, and escort her back to the mouth of the cave. The sun has almost melted into the sea; the sky is an aquamarine blue with flecks of white cloud. I can still see along the now deserted beach.

‘It never gets very dark this far north,’ says Demi, ‘even this late in the summer. It’ll be light for weeks yet.’

We climb the dunes onto the grassy mound.

‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing to what looks like small white buildings, and large coloured triangles dotted about the field in the distance.

‘The campsite,’ replies Demi. ‘We take caravans, motor homes, and tents. There’s the farmhouse where I live. We own the campsite, and the beach. Most of the people who use it are holidaymakers. That’s why I thought you were staying at the site. Come on.’

It takes us ten minutes to cross the field to the campsite. I count twenty funny-looking vans with only two wheels, some with people inside, some without, with cars parked beside them, five four-wheeled vans, and two or three triangular material dwellings – tents, Demi calls them – of different colours. 

‘It’s near the end of the season, so we’re not full just now,’ says Demi. ‘Most of this lot will be going home tomorrow. The site should be empty by the end of next week.’

‘How did the two-wheeled vans get here?’ I ask curiously. ‘They don’t have any steering.’

‘Och, don’t be such a wind-up merchant, Travis!’ laughs Demi.

Soon we come to a farmyard, passing a building with signs fixed above the wooden doors: ‘Ladies Showers and Toilets’; ‘Gents Showers and Toilets’; ‘Laundry’; ‘Washing Up’. There’s also a large barn full of hay, a cowshed, a small wooden hut with chickens clucking inside, and a vehicle with big wheels parked outside the barn.

‘Well, here we are,’ says Demi.

The house is painted pale blue. It has a white door with see-through glass, and a sign above it saying: ‘Glenbarra Farm’. A light shines in the hall, and a notice in the window reads: ‘Reception. Please ring for attention’; another one says: ‘No unauthorised vehicles beyond this point’; a third announces the opening and closing times of the Site Office.

‘Dad will have finished on the farm for the day. Want to come in?’

‘Will he mind?’

‘No. Well, yeah, he might. I mean Mum and Dad are funny about me hanging around with boys. It’s hard to explain, really.’

‘I’ll go, then.’ I don’t care either way.

‘No,’ she begs, ‘don’t go. It’ll be fine, honest.’

‘All right.’

I follow her inside. There’s a table with a large book and a pen, a small brass clock, and a brass bell. I can’t resist pressing the bell. I jump when it tingles loudly.

‘Oops!’ giggles Demi.

Another door opens. A woman appears, an older edition of Demi, with shoulder-length blonde hair, and the same, strange accent, wiping her hands on a towel.

‘Sorry, but we’re closed. Oh!’ She jumps. ‘Demi! What the hell are you playing at?’

I dart out of the door before she sees me. I suppose it’s the idea of more questions: who are you, where do you come from, what’s your name, are you on holiday...

Demi says, ‘Sorry, Mum. It was Travis’s fault, he was messing around.’

‘And who’s Travis when he’s at home?’

‘A friend.’ There’s silence. ‘He walked me home. Where is he? Travis?’ Her face appears. ‘What are you doing back there? Come in!’

I shake my head, laughing.

‘Demi!’ shouts her mother. ‘Shut the door, please, hen, there’s a draught!’

I’m able to see them clearly through the window, keeping well out of the way so they can’t see me. They’re in a room with two large brown chairs made of leather, pale yellow walls, and a patterned red carpet. I don’t know what the large screen on the wall is. The window is open, so I can hear what they’re saying.

‘Demi Fraser, your dad’ll have a hissy fit if he finds out you’ve been with a boy!’

‘Mum!’ gasps Demi. ‘Make a show of me, why don’t you! Travis is outside, listening! You don’t have a go at our Cameron when he brings his girlfriends home. He’s got about five different girls on the go!’

‘Cameron’s nearly eighteen.’

‘Travis is a student like Cameron. He’s backpacking, visiting the island.’

‘Is he staying here? I don’t recognise the name. What’s his surname?’

Demi is starting to sound irritated. ‘He’s not camping here!’

‘This is the only camp on the island, numpty! So he’s dossing around, is he?’

‘He’s staying at the hotel in Crianvarich. God, Mum, you’re so nosey! I can never bring back a friend without them being interrogated!’

‘Interrogated? Who’s being interrogated?’

A tall, heavily-built man wearing overalls enters the room, carrying a mug.

‘He is,’ says Demi. ‘Travis, I mean.’

‘Aye?’ He flops down on a chair. ‘Travis, is it?’

‘Yeah, he’s outside. He won’t come in. He’s shy.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Her new boyfriend,’ says Mrs Fraser.

‘Boyfriend!’ booms Mr Fraser. ‘We’ll see about that!’

‘Dad!’

I skirt around the back of the house. The front door creaks open, and Mr Fraser’s voice barks, ‘Where is he?’

‘Och, Dad! Leave him alone!’

‘I only want to see who he is.’

‘He’s gone,’ drifts Demi’s flat voice. ‘You’ve probably scared him off! Thanks for nothing, Dad!’

‘I won’t have lads sniffing around here. Not until I say so!’

The door slams. I creep back to the window. Mr Fraser parks himself on the chair again, and Demi stands over him, looking furious. Mrs Fraser enters from an adjoining room.

‘Are you having any tea, Dem?’ she asks. ‘It was ready ages ago.’

‘I had fish and chips,’ snaps Demi, ‘from the van.’

Mrs Fraser tuts. ‘You knew I was doing beef tonight. Well, it’ll have to stay in the oven till tomorrow. Get a cup of tea for now, hen, and there’s a piece of cake if you want it.’

‘Nah,’ says Demi grumpily, ‘I think I’ll go to bed. G’night.’

Mrs Fraser shakes her head, and goes back into the adjoining room.

Mr Fraser picks up a small box from the table, and points it at the screen on the wall. Pictures start to flicker on it. I watch, mesmerised, wondering why they just stay in that box, and don’t move around the room like they do in twenty ninety-nine.

‘Well, kiss your old dad goodnight, hen,’ he says. Demi hesitates, then bends down and kisses him on the cheek. ‘Remember Amy Campbell!’ he adds.

‘Och, aye,’ says Demi, annoyed, ‘I remember Amy Campbell!’

‘Good girl. You listen to your old dad. Sleep tight, hen.’

I wait to see if Demi comes out again, but after ten minutes she fails to show.

Time to sneak away, then.

I’m about to go, when I hear someone call out my name. I look up, and see Demi leaning out of one of the upstairs windows.

‘Sorry,’ she whispers.

I shrug.

‘Dad keeps going on and on about Amy Campbell,’ she explains. ‘She’s a girl in my school who ran off with a lad on holiday last summer. She’s the same age as me. They tracked her down in Aberdeen, and she had a baby. That’s why my parents are so strict with me. They don’t like me making friends with boys, especially the ones who come here on holiday. They say I can’t start seeing anyone till I’m seventeen. That’s two years away! They’re such hypocrites; Mum had our Cameron when she was sixteen!’

‘They’re only looking out for you,’ I tell her. ‘You don’t want to end up like that girl, do you?’

‘Oh, shut up, Travis; you sound like Dad!’

‘Sorry. I’d better go, anyway. It’s getting dark.’

‘Back to the cave?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wish I could stay with you, but I’d be scared spending the night in the cave. Will I see you tomorrow?’

‘Maybe.’

Her face breaks into a smile. ‘Great! I’ll come and find you!’

She blows me a kiss, withdraws her head, and shuts the window.

T
hat night Hudson’s voice calls to me, begging me to open my eyes, but I don’t hear him through the pod; that’s left my body, and is in my jacket pocket now. I must be dreaming. My body shakes as though someone is trying to wake me up, and there’s a bright, blinding light which hurts my eyes – then suddenly the light disappears. I’m sweating. My body is heavy, and my tongue is sore where I’ve bitten it. I’m on the floor of the cavern, not on my slab bed. My bedding is all over the place. I’ve landed on my arm broken in the fight with the Prey. It hurts when I try to move it.

Dazed, I sit up, staring for a few minutes through the mouth of the cave, where I see pale daylight, and the sea rolling up and down. The big white birds are back, flying around, calling to one another. It’s morning.

The fire has died down now. There’s a bit of rubbish and wood left, but I should collect more. I peer up at the roof, and can just make out a small crack of light, very high up; so that’s where the smoke escapes to.

My belly rumbles. I need food.

There are leftovers from last night, but the drink tastes bitter, and the crisps are stale. I’ll throw them on the fire later. When I empty the bottle I could use it to collect drinking water from somewhere. What else is there to eat? More fish? Not from the ‘chippy van’ whatever that is, but from the sea. I’ve been thinking I should learn to fish.

I clamber slowly down the steps onto the cave floor, landing in a small puddle. The tide is out, so I’m able to walk straight out to the beach instead of having to scramble over the rocks. I flex my arm, and roll my shoulder. When I examine it in the daylight I see that it’s starting to bruise.

The beach is deserted except for the birds, and it’s a lot colder and windier than yesterday. My hair and my clothes flap around wildly. I wonder if I’m about to be swept up into the grey and darkening sky. The sea is dark, too. The waves are large and angry, crashing hard against the rocks, sending sprays of water flying into the air, and there’s no sign of the sun.

Demi isn’t here yet, but I suppose it’s still early. I rummage in my pocket for the little clock to check the time. Ten minutes past six. Demi won’t even be out of bed.

I feel guilty taking the clock from the table by the door in the Frasers’ house, but they have plenty of clocks, and I need to know the time, so I’m borrowing it. It’s small and heavy. The clock face is set in a ball shape, and next to that is a type of metal bag with little sticks coming out of it.

My stomach rumbles, louder this time. I don’t fancy fish after all, not this early. My eyes follow the beach to the scraps of seaweed floating on the shore. It’s vegetation, after all. It’ll be salty, but it might be all right if I soak it in plain water. I want something else to go with it, though.

Hens! Demi’s farm has hens; and what do hens give? Eggs!

I could boil the seaweed and the eggs, so I must find water, and something to boil it in. Perhaps the water doesn’t have to be fresh: sea water might be all right.

I clamber up the dune onto the grass cliff, and stare across the plain towards the farmhouse. The first thing that strikes me is how bare the field is: the motor homes and the tents have all gone. There’s nothing but grass. I recall Demi saying it was the end of the holiday season, and that most of the holidaymakers would be going today, but I’m surprised to see they’ve left already.

I hear the sound of machinery in the distance as I leg it across the field. I know farmers start their day early. Mr Fraser will be about, probably with farmhands helping with the cows and other work. I’ll have to be careful I don’t get caught nicking the eggs. I feel guilty, but I’m hungry, and I’ve got no money for food. I lick my lips at the thought of eating boiled eggs. 

The chickens are roaming around the yard, pecking at the ground. I run to the coop, open the door, and go in. As I grab a handful of eggs a voice behind me shouts, ‘Hey!’

I jump up. There’s a man striding towards me with a pitchfork in his hand. He’s shirtless, showing off big, rippling muscles. I try to dodge him, but I’m not quick enough. A large hand pulls at my jacket, and I’m dragged backwards.

‘What have you got there?’ His accent is broader than Demi’s.

‘Nothin’!’

He has his arm around my neck now. I claw at it, trying to get it off, but he’s too strong for me.

‘Lyin’ little git, I saw you put somethin’ in your pocket!’ He puts his free hand in my pocket, takes out an egg, crushes it, and rubs its goo in my face. ‘Thievin’ little toerag!’

‘Angus!’ shouts another man’s voice. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s this lad, Mr Fraser,’ says Angus. ‘I caught him liftin’ the eggs!’

I recognise Demi’s dad from last night.

‘Well, there’s no need to strangle him, for God’s sake!’ He pulls Angus’s arm away from me. I stumble forward, coughing. Egg drips from my face. ‘The last thing I need is you being up for murder! Is it true what Angus says, lad? Were you stealin’ my eggs?’

I nod, unable to speak.

‘There! I told you!’ says Angus triumphantly. ‘I’m goin’ to ring the polis...’

‘Travis!’ Demi is running towards us, dressed in her pyjamas. She flings her arms around my neck. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘You know him?’ asks her dad.

‘Yeah, it’s Travis, the boy who walked me home that time.’ Demi lifts my head up. ‘Oh, Travis, you’re dead thin!’