Laying a Ghost (17 page)
“I suppose I’m connected to a lot of people on the island.” He gave Sinclair a smile and passed him the sugar. “I’m getting some renovations done on the house, and it turns out the man who’s doing them is some sort of distant cousin. What’re the odds?”
“Ah, yes.” Sinclair stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into his tea with a meditative look on his face. “John McIntyre. Good worker and well thought of on the island. His mother’s a fine woman and one of my parishioners. You’ll have heard, perhaps, that she’s a recent widow? Tragic, but the Lord gives and the Lord takes away.” He sighed and sipped his tea. “John’s not one for the church going though, I’m afraid. His mother’s expressed some concern to me about his state of mind; when you have a loss to deal with and no spiritual support -- well. And of course, he’s not married, so he has no family of his own to lift his spirits.”
Nick tried to think of what he could say that would make it sound like he didn’t really know John all that well, and then he realized that he really
didn’t
know John all that well. There was something between them, something powerful -- or maybe it was just that they both wanted there to be, that they were caught up in the newness and intensity of it. NRE, Matthew had called it. New Relationship Energy. “He said something about some friends of his who are married to each other? It sounded like they were pretty close.”
“Michael and Sheila Stewart.” Andrew Sinclair nodded, again with that slightly questioning look flickering in his eyes, as though the facts he knew were warring with what his instincts told him. “Rumor has it -- and when you’ve been in a place like this as long as I have, you soon learn to take rumors with a wee pinch of salt -- that Michael and John were rivals for Sheila’s affections when they were younger, but I think she made the right choice myself. There’s something a bit strange about a man of John’s age who doesn’t make any effort to find himself a young lady, wouldn’t you say? I don’t know where I’d be without Mrs. Sinclair, that’s a certain fact!”
Nick sipped at his own tea and thought quickly. “I think some men are just happier on their own. Maybe there’s no one on the island who’s available and ready to settle down? It must be hard, being fairly isolated. Difficult to meet people, and even the ones you meet might not be interested in living here?”
Andrew Sinclair pursed his lips and gave a reluctant, slightly grudging nod before attacking -- and it was starting to feel like that -- from a different angle. “It’s sad to see the way the young people can’t wait to move off the islands.” His eyes narrowed. “I just hope they don’t regret turning their backs on their heritage and responsibilities. Your mother never came back here, did she?”
“No. She never got the chance.” It was calculated to create an assumption that she might have, and Nick was gratified to see Sinclair’s face express what might have been at least a hint of regret. “But I’m here now, and I plan to stay.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Sinclair said heartily. “It’s all going to seem a little different to you, I suppose, but it’s a beautiful place and the fishing’s good.” He looked at Nick a little dubiously. “Or would you be one of those vegetarians, then?”
Nick laughed. There was nervousness behind it, sure, but it was good to be able to answer a question honestly and without worrying how it would be taken. “No, I’m not a vegetarian. Not much of a cook, either, I’m afraid. I was actually thinking that I might try to find a course, a cooking class. I guess there wouldn’t be anything like that here on Traighshee, but maybe on
Andrew Sinclair stared at him as if he’d just said he planned on taking lessons in Ancient Egyptian. “Cooking? Well, there’s a small community center on the island here and some of the, uh, artistic types run classes on pottery and such, but cooking, well, I’m not ashamed to admit that I stay out of the kitchen myself. That’s Mrs. Sinclair’s territory, and you know what the ladies are like!” He chuckled and then shook his head. “Maybe you should think about getting someone in to cook and clean for you? I could ask around the congregation and see if there’s anyone available?”
“I appreciate the offer, but let’s give it a few weeks?” Nick hoped he wasn’t being impolite without realizing it. “I think I might be able to do it on my own. But if you thought there might be someone who’d be willing to give a man a chance in the kitchen, that would be great. I can use all the help I can get, there, and I would like to be able to be self-sufficient.”
“Of course.” Sinclair’s cordiality returned as he stood up. “Just let me know if I can be of any help. We’re all very pleased to see a Kelley back on the island -- and, perhaps, sitting in the church on Sunday?”
Nick wasn’t quite sure if that was a seal of approval or a final test, but before he could form a diplomatic negative he heard the sound of footsteps and John appeared at the open kitchen door, his gaze lingering on the minister thoughtfully.
“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair.” John’s voice was polite rather than warm. He glanced at Nick and nodded briefly. “Morning, Nick. Thought I’d just make a start on the roof, unless there’s anything else you’ve found that needs attention?”
Nick did his best to sound casual and not to let his eyes linger too long on John. “No. I mean, yes, the roof would be great, thanks.” John disappeared again. Turning his attention back to the minister, Nick reached out to shake his hand. “I really appreciate you taking the time to come and introduce yourself. Especially since we’re neighbors. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He gave the man what he hoped was a friendly smile.
“But not on Sunday?” Sinclair asked archly. He shook his head, chuckling. “I won’t press you. But you’d be most welcome, and if you’re looking into your family history, you must come over and look at the parish register some time; fascinating reading.” He made his way to the door and then paused. “Your uncle’s grave -- you’ll be wanting to see it? He left instructions regarding a headstone so there’s nothing that needs to be done, but I can show you where he’s buried. A sad loss.” For the first time since he’d arrived, he sounded natural, even regretful, as if he was genuinely sorry about Ian Kelley’s death.
“Thank you. I never knew him, but I’m starting to wish I could have.” That was a little bit more of a lie than Nick was comfortable with -- not because there wasn’t a part of him that would have been interested to know his uncle while the man had still been alive, but because he couldn’t help dreading that he might still get the opportunity to meet the man in spirit if not in flesh. “I’ll ... I’ll come over later in the week and visit his grave.”
Andrew Sinclair nodded and then winced at a squeal of metal on metal as John extended a ladder before leaning it against the wall a few yards from the door with what seemed like an unnecessary amount of noise. “Well, I can see you’re busy, so I’ll leave you to it.” He lowered his voice. “The islanders -- sterling people, as I’m sure you’ll find, but not always the most reliable workers. You might want to keep a close eye on John if you’re paying him by the hour. Make sure he doesn’t take advantage of you.”
In a different mood, Nick would have laughed. He was grateful that he didn’t feel even slightly tempted to now. “Don’t worry. It may not look like it, but I can take care of myself.”
He wondered if that had sounded even remotely convincing as he went outside with Sinclair and watched as the man walked away, heading for town instead of back to the church. When Sinclair was at least a quarter of a mile away, Nick turned and walked over to the foot of the ladder, which John had already climbed, and stood looking up at him.
“Well, much though I’d love to be taking advantage of you, it won’t be today.” John’s voice carried on the clear, still air. “Now I’m up here I can see a few more places where you’re missing tiles and it’s not just a matter of slotting the new ones in, do you see? You have to take off the ones above as well.” He began to climb down, the ladder shaking so that Nick automatically put out a hand to brace it, and then stepped off onto the grass beside Nick. “Might be best if you get someone to look at it.” He stared across the field at the retreating figure of the minister. “Bloody Englishman,” he muttered, managing to make it sound like a combination of character flaw and insult. He nodded at the ladder. “Do you want to go up and see for yourself, then?”
Nick shook his head. “Not really. What do you mean, Englishman?”
“I mean he’s English, what else, and he can keep his bloody opinions about us to himself.” John snorted. “Fifteen years he’s been here, and he still doesn’t have a clue.”
“He sounds like everyone else to me,” Nick said, and John gave him a look. “What? He does. Did you know he thinks I should get someone in to cook and clean for me?”
“In the first place, he doesn’t sound like
me,
” John said testily. “He’s from fucking Penrith. And when he tells you that you need someone to do your housework, he’s thinking of you settling down with some nice, God-fearing lassie and getting her pregnant inside of the year, so if I were you, I’d stick to starving in squalor, but what the hell do I know anyway?”
“A hell of a lot more than me.” Nick watched John’s face, trying to figure out how annoyed he really was. Maybe not really, he decided. “I don’t even know where Penrith
is
. Although I can’t say I’m all that interested in starving. Or squalor. You think that means I should get a lassie?”
John opened his mouth, saw the grin Nick was having trouble suppressing, and narrowed his eyes. “It’s across the border and that’s all you need to know. And stop smirking at me like that, or I’ll send you half-a-dozen of them to make your life miserable and serve you right.” He gave Nick a decisive nod and then leaned back against the wall of the house, a grin of his own spreading across his face. “Och, go and put the kettle on, will you? After being polite to him I need something to take the taste away.”
Nick licked his lips. “I could give you something else to take the taste away.” He met John’s eyes. Then, before John could do anything than blink at him, he turned and went inside.
He’d done no more than fill the kettle before John appeared in the doorway, studying him in silence before shaking his head and walking over to him. “You’re not going to get much work out of me if all I’m thinking about is kissing you, you know.” He stood closer than normal, but not actually touching Nick, his gaze traveling over Nick’s face. “And after that, kissing you is all I
can
think about. Satisfied? Or are you waiting for me to hammer something and hit my thumb because I’m remembering you naked beneath me?”
“I don’t know that there’s anything that needs hammering.” Nick felt pleased that he could get that kind of a reaction out of John, but it didn’t feel natural, trying to flirt like this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even wanted to. “Speaking of which, if we’re not going to fix the roof today -- and who am I going to get to do it? -- then what
are
we going to do? We can’t paint the ceiling in the spare room until the leak’s fixed.”
“When I was getting the ladder out of the garage I had a look at your uncle’s car.” John stepped back just a little. “If you know where the keys are, we can see if we can get it started. I know you don’t feel like driving it just yet, but it makes no sense letting it rust. And I left word with Niall this morning to come over and give you a price on the central heating sometime this week; I’ll call him back and tell him to bring along his brother Terry; he’s a roofer.”
“That’d be good. Get everything done at once.” Mention of the car had brought any sense of relaxation Nick had been feeling to a grinding halt. “I think I found the keys in the desk. At least they looked like car keys.” Nick turned and headed for the sitting room, where he’d left the keys sitting out. “Maybe I can sell it?”
John’s hand came up to touch his arm, halting him. “Maybe you can think about using it?”
“I can walk. The exercise will probably be good for me.” But Nick didn’t sound confident, even to his own ears, and he let John turn him until they were facing each other.
“You’re thinking it could happen again and you’d hurt yourself, or someone else?” John asked. “Or is it just that when you get behind the wheel you can’t stop remembering?” His hand rubbed against Nick’s arm, warm and strong. “It doesn’t have to be something you do today, but you can’t spend your life walking or being carried from place to place by someone else.” He took a deep breath. “But don’t think I’m not sympathetic. I’ve spent the day jumping at every shadow thinking maybe I can see them now, too. Or is that just when I’m holding your hand, do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Nick was grateful for the change of subject. “I’ve never had that happen before. Usually, someone can either see stuff or they can’t. I don’t know what that was.”
“That’s not making me feel any better. Christ, it’s really not.” John shook his head. “I was hoping you’d tell me that you know just what happened, because I’m still thinking about it and sort of flinching away, if you know what I mean.” He walked past Nick and picked up the car keys, tossing them over to Nick who caught them one-handed without thinking. “How old were you? The first time?”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t remember.” He followed John reluctantly out the door and toward the garage. “Too young to know that I was seeing something I shouldn’t have been. I saw things for a long time before I mentioned it to my mother, and then there was all this serious discussion about it. What I saw, when I saw it, did I ever hear things that weren’t really there? Well, how was I supposed to know? They were really there to me.”
“There’s so many lies we tell children trying to shield them, and so much we see and pretend we don’t.” John’s eyes were a little distant. “I wouldn’t have blamed you for thinking people were lying to you when they said they couldn’t see them.” He gave Nick a sidelong glance as they got to the garage. “Did she believe you? Your mother?”
