29 #2
The ghillie is giving them lots of safety instructions, mostly about making sure there is something behind the deer – a hard stop – and to go for the chest, not the tiny head, and never to shoot in motion.
Everyone has a licence, including Dwight, who probably has holsters at home, Essie thinks drily. She’s not shooting, of course.
‘Reds, fallows and sikas,’ the ghillie was saying. ‘Nothing moving, and make sure you look at me for the go.’
The proud wolfhound by his side, sniffing, reminds Essie of the pups, and she finds herself being for once resentful for being away from the puppies.
Normally she loved hanging out with Connor and feeling one of the gang, doing posh grown-up things.
But she isn’t sure if she wants to do this, even though Al is obviously pleased she’s there.
She looks out over the early morning fields which run to the cliffs overlooking the very top of the country, and out to the islands beyond.
White birds are shearing up and down the edge, eyeing up the fish and the fields, happy in the bounty.
The faint burr of a tractor sounds, but in the great expanse of land it could be coming from almost anywhere.
The air is cold, but still, for once; the land is in a dip from the cliff edge and they are sheltered.
It is a cold day, but beautiful beyond imagining; so clear, she can see the little puddle-hopping aeroplane her friend Morag runs, taking off again from their tiny runway, en route to delivering post and vegetables and happy tourists and reunited family, and the occasional transiting farm animal.
White vapour trails across the light sky and Essie feels a lightness in her, looking down into the little town, where, back in Seagate, Wee Jim is stripping window frames with a blowtorch, a tool that makes him possibly too cheerful, if no more talkative.
It is, undeniably, a lovely morning, and despite Connor still being avoidant on the job front, she is feeling more optimistic than she has done in quite a while.
‘Do you know where the nearest Starbucks is?’ Tristan says loudly. ‘ Oslo !’ Then he laughs heartily at his own joke.
The ghillie watches them patiently. He’s seen it all before. Al doesn’t mind so much; Zara makes quite a lot of the same jokes, all the time. Nonetheless, he looks up and casually says, ‘You know deer have excellent hearing, yeah?’
‘What, and they’ll think I’m disrespecting the neighbourhood?’ says Tris, but he settles down as the men start to space themselves out as they’ve been told.
Essie watches them, lets them go ahead. She finds herself thinking of Felicity as she looks at the ghillie’s dog, Bran.
They’ve been warned not to touch him; he’s a working dog.
Essie finds herself thinking that Felicity should have coupled up with him, they’re much more suited, which is a ridiculous thing to think about dogs, but then she looks at Connor, tall, pink-cheeked, handsome.
Obviously she and he belong together. Whereas Dwight, tanned and wee and crazily dressed – it was ridiculous.
‘Are you coming?’asks Connor quietly, turning his head.
‘Only to watch,’ she says. ‘I leave the whole deer-killing business up to Al.’
‘Hypocrite,’ says Al, smiling. ‘You’ll like the venison stew.’
‘I will,’ she says. ‘Get over yourself. I’m not denying being a hypocrite. I’m admitting to being a total wuss.’
*
The forest is a light covering of spring green, humming and bouncing with new life; tiny streams tumble; new leaves unfurl on every branch.
There are nests visible high in the trees; a woodpecker can be heard, far off.
Old trees fall apart beneath their feet, rotten to the core from their wet winter as nature discards and builds again. The sun dapples through the trunks.
Essie follows the paths, here and there, careful not to make a sound; it feels like a game, a magical exploration.
She remembers her parents trying to drag her here for walks when she was young, on Sundays, and her vociferous complaints.
But the silence of people tiptoeing and the gentle pad, pad, pad of the dog’s feet against the rippling, crackling life of the wood feel almost holy on this sunny morning; the forest is enchanted; the circles of toadstools absolutely ready for a fairy with a fishing rod.
She feels as likely to see a human-faced faun as a deer.
Then, suddenly, the ghillie holds up his hand, and everyone freezes.
Nobody breathes. Nobody moves. There, over by the tiny burn, the beautiful stag’s great head lifts as it sniffs the wind.And the world stands still.
Essie has been completely in her own world, utterly enchanted by the deep Scotland she has found herself in, and her eyes grow wide as she remembers what they’re here to do.
She glances at Al, who is entirely concentrating on the animal and slowly raising his gun. Tris and Trumpet have their guns pointing now, each with one eye closed, trained on the great beast. Connor is starting to raise his, but reluctantly.
Essie can’t believe it.
They all glance at the ghillie, who drops his arm . . .
‘NO!’
Essie surprises herself by the sound of her voice; by the shout she had had absolutely no intention of making.
The guns go off, above the treeline, skewed by her noise; the stag bounds, faster than seems possible without being able to fly, over fences and tree trunks.
There is a flash of red in the trees and the stag is gone, nothing but an incredibly fast bob of white as his tail vanishes.
Everyone stands for a moment, frozen in disbelief. The guns come down. Essie has that sinking feeling you get when you realise you have made a terrible, unwarranted error you really didn’t mean to make.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ says Tris, in a terrible temper.
Essie doesn’t care. She whirls round.‘Don’t kill that beautiful creature!’
‘We’ve been through this, sis!’ says Al finally in anguish. ‘Don’t come if you can’t handle it!’
The ghillie is sucking his teeth, clearly profoundly unimpressed. Tris is tutting audibly. Connor is bright pink. Dwight is messing with his toothpick again, seemingly unconcerned. At the noise, there is a great flutter of wings overhead, as birds take off into the early summer sunshine.
Essie is tearful and furious at the same time. She wants to stamp her foot on the moss underfoot. Everyone is staring at her.
‘Seriously,’ says Al. Tris is sneering.
Essie is burning bright red now, full of embarrassment.
‘What if we’d swerved our shots and injured him? What then? And he’d taken off with his leg hanging off?’ Al is genuinely upset, very unusually for him. Essie sees, suddenly, that he means it when he says he cares about these animals, even if it looks perverse from the outside.
‘I know,’ says Essie, staring at the ground.
‘You never thought about that!’
‘No,’ she mutters.
‘You never think about anything or anyone, do you? Spent enough time making Mum’s life a misery.’
‘Oi,’ says Dwight, wandering over with his cowboy stroll, gun casually tucked across his shoulders in a way the ghillie had already expressly forbidden at the safety briefing. ‘Leave off her, alright?’
‘I’m talking to my sister.’
Dwight takes his stupid toothpick out of his mouth. ‘Not like that, you ain’t,’ he says.
Essie looks up, astounded. Tris bursts out laughing in a highly stylised sarcastic fashion. Connor blinks. It would never, Essie thinks, occur to him in a million years to stand up for her like that.
Al takes a deep breath and simmers down. It’s not like him to fly off the handle; he just spends so long defending his job.
‘Okay. You’re right. Sorry, sis. I mean, you’re still a moron.’
Dwight nods as if he’s the sheriff keeping the peace.
‘S’okay,’ mutters Essie.‘Don’t tell Mum.’
‘I won’t.’
‘You will.’
‘I will.’
They are all standing around the forest glade.
‘Do you know what: I think I’ll just head down,’ says Essie.
The ghillie ignores her, indicating another group of deer cropping young tree shoots by the side of a clearing.The boys stealthily move off.
Essie retraces her steps, down across the lichen-covered logs, the uprooted trees, the tangles of daisies and budding nettles, as furious as she has ever been.
Doesn’t fit in in the city, doesn’t fit in here.
She is angry about everything. She comes face to face with a fawn at the bottom of the tree line, who stares her in the eyes, then immediately bucks off at an incredible rate. ‘You’re welcome!’ she shouts after it.
Halfway down the green hill, heading back to the car – Al can drop off his new best friends, she is thinking crossly – she hears footsteps and turns round, half-expecting another bollocking from Al. To her genuine surprise, it’s Connor. He smiles awkwardly.
‘Hey,’ he says.
‘Yes?’ she says.
He looks at her. ‘I’m using you as my excuse,’ he says, reaching out and taking her hand. His gun is gone, she notices; he must have handed it back to the ghillie. ‘I don’t have the stomach for it either. They’re so beautiful.’
‘So you had to say you were going to look after your girlfriend?’
‘Is that okay?’
She beams.‘It is. Did they not rag you something awful?’
‘They can do it later.’
And she joins her hand to hers, even as they hear gunshots. Connor winces.
‘I am a terrible coward,’ he says.
‘Good,’ she says.