Chapter 10 Tilda
TILDA
I tell myself this is research, not procrastination.
It’s a bit of both, I guess. I’ve driven to the far side of the island to look at the wildflowers on the machair, leaving Flora on the sofa with the radio playing in the background for company.
Finn’s words from the first time we met are echoing in my ears, and now I’m officially a Benruar resident – even if it is only for six weeks – I don’t want to get into trouble for breaking the rules.
The track dwindles to a path, and then to the faintest indent on the grass. I wander along, smelling the fresh salt air. The wind carries a chill as it blows my hair loose and I pull my hands inside the sleeves of my hoody.
There’s a cordoned stretch of beach up ahead with a weathered sign.
SEA BIRDS NESTING
KEEP OFF THE DUNES
I remember last time and take note, skirting the posts and sticking to the firm sand. The path dips down between the grassy shoulders of the dunes and onto the beach. The sea is flat and grey, matching the sky.
At first, I think the lump on the tideline is a piece of driftwood, but some instinct tells me to be cautious.
I edge closer until I can see – it’s a seal, grey and bright eyed, with a loop of green netting caught around its chest like a cruel sash.
It wriggles and I back away, my heart thumping.
I’ve no idea what to do. I think I might have scissors in the car, but I don’t even know if we’re allowed to touch seals. I can’t leave it like that, though.
I’m still backing away, trying to keep my movements slow and deliberate, when I hear a voice behind me and turn to see two women bustling towards me.
They’re in mismatched waterproofs – one in blue waders, the other in a fluorescent jacket.
As she draws closer, I see the words BENRUAR SEAL RESCUE are printed across the breast. They’re holding huge pieces of plastic board and have matching determined expressions on their faces.
The one in waders marches up to me and I brace for another bollocking for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and it’s not Flora’s fault this time.
“Dervla,” she says, sticking out a sandy hand, surprising me with an Irish accent. “And this is Mhairi.”
Mhairi gives a nod of greeting, her grey curls flying in the breeze.
“Right then, let’s get this little one sorted,” Dervla says, taking the plastic boards and veering off to one side. Mhairi does the same, and somehow in a few moments they’ve placed themselves behind the seal pup with their legs akimbo.
“Do you need…” I point at the tangle of net. “I think I might have some scissors in the car?”
“Not unless you want to risk a nasty bite,” Mhairi says in a low Highland voice. “I think we’ll wait for the man with the bag of tricks.”
As if summoned, an all too familiar battered Land Rover comes into view, parking at the top of the sand. I can feel my entire body stiffening before he even comes into sight. Of course. Who else would it be?
Finn jogs down the beach carrying a crate, the two dogs ghosting his heels. My eyebrows raise involuntarily at the sight of the two – banned – spaniels on the beach, until he points to a driftwood log and crooks a finger. They sit. Of course they do.
He doesn’t look at me, he’s already kneeling, one knee in the wet sand, his voice a low, gruff murmur.
“What’s the story?”
“Ghost net,” says Dervla, “tight under the flipper.”
He nods and unzips his bag, pulling on a pair of thick gloves, and moving quickly to open the crate and place it in front of the pup.
“Right then, little one,” he says gently. “I’m sorry this is a bit undignified, but we’ll have you sorted out and patched up in no time.”
“Can you hold the crate steady?” Finn looks up at me for the first time.
“Of course. Where do you want me?” I’m hovering, wanting to be useful but feeling anything but.
“Just put your weight on the end there.”
I lean down on the metal crate, the metal cold and gritty with sand. The two women move the paddles closer to the little pup, so it wriggles inside because there’s nowhere else to go. Finn closes the door and fastens it firmly.
“Right. I’ll take it up in the truck. We’ll get it sorted.”
Mhairi puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t look so worried, my dear. We’ll get little Nori sorted out in no time.”
“We’re not naming it,” says Finn, exchanging glances with Dervla, who chuckles.
“Come on then, Nori,” says Mhairi. “We’ll get you back to the rescue centre for some TLC.”
“Nori is seaweed,” mutters Finn.
“Precisely.” Mhairi gives me a conspiratorial look and grins. “Well done, you’ve taken part in your first seal rescue. That’ll be a nice story to tell everyone when you get back from your holiday here on Benruar.”
“Oh,” I say, pushing back the tangle of hair that’s blowing over my face, “I’m not on holiday here, I’m living at the—”
“Tilda’s working at the distillery,” Finn manages, but I can tell it’s an effort.
“Oh well, in that case you must come back with us and see the rescue through.” Dervla beams. “You can help me carry the boards back while Mhairi gives Finn a hand with the crate. Heavy buggers, seal pups.”
She passes me two of the plastic boards and we start walking back up towards Finn’s Land Rover. They load the crate into the back. It’s only then that I remember the dogs and turn to find they’re still sitting in the exact spot where Finn told them to wait.
“Come on,” he says casually, and the two spaniels dash up towards him, leaping into the back seat. He gives them both a pat and reaches into his pocket to find them both a treat before climbing into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll head up and you can follow on behind,” he says to Mhairi.
“We’re parked beside you,” she says kindly. “Come on, you can follow us home.”
I’m torn between wanting to see what a seal rescue entails and wondering if Flora’s at home pining, but I suspect she’s fast asleep and snoring on the sofa, so I turn left when we get to the end of the bumpy stone beach track and follow behind the little green Jeep.
It’s covered in stickers and looks like it’s held together by rust and goodwill, but we make it up to the very top of the island, where a low, white-painted farmhouse stands up on a hill overlooking the rocks and out to sea.
“Come on inside,” Dervla says, putting an arm around Mhairi’s waist. “We’ll get little Nori sorted, and then I think we all deserve a cup of tea.”
The rescue centre is tucked behind the farmhouse in what must have once been a stone barn.
Inside it’s surprisingly clinical – white tiled walls and stainless-steel surfaces gleam under fluorescent strip lights.
But there’s a homemade quality to it all – hand painted signs marking different areas, a cork noticeboard covered in polaroid photos of rescued seals, and plastic storage boxes labelled in Sharpie.
Three circular tanks of different sizes line one wall, and there’s a smell of salt water mixed with disinfectant and something fishy, like the seal enclosure at the zoo.
Finn’s standing by a table scattered with medical supplies.
There are rolls of white gauze, bottles of saline solution, scissors, and shears of various sizes laid out on a piece of blue surgical cloth.
A battered green first aid kit sits open at one end and there’s a thick towel folded neatly beside a pair of heavy leather gloves.
Working together, they unfasten the crate from above so that Nori is sitting down in the dip.
Mhairi is wearing the heavy leather gloves now, and she puts a towel over the pup’s head.
“We want to work as fast as possible and cause as little trauma as we can,” Dervla explains as she passes Finn a pair of shears and a tube of something.
“Watch her windpipe, darling,” she says, glancing over at Mhairi.
“Don’t worry, I won’t harm you, little Nori.” Mhairi looks up at me and winks. “I always get my way when it comes to names,” she says with a grin.
Finn slicks the plastic netting with the stuff in the tube.
“That’s lube,” says Dervla. Mhairi looks up again and waggles her eyebrows at me.
“For goodness’ sake,” Finn grumbles, shaking his head but there’s a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Not that kind,” Dervla says, chuckling again.
“None of this is dignified, I know.” Finn keeps up a low stream of chatter as he slides the blunt tip of the shears under the strands of plastic. “We’ll get you back in the water and away from these two madwomen as soon as we can.”
I watch his long fingers as he works, they’re gentle and precise in a way that’s unexpected. They move with impossible tenderness, and his voice is a low rumble as he murmurs reassurances to the frightened pup. Something in my chest tightens.
“All the best people are mad, don’t you think?” Dervla says, lifting the plastic out of the way so Finn can reach the last thread.
“Right,” grunts Finn. He checks the seal pup with gentle fingers, then dabs the rubbed patch with some saline and gauze. “We’ll keep you in for the night for observation, then see how you are in the morning. Is the obs pen ready?”
“Always,” the two women say in unison.
Five minutes later, little Nori is settled in for the night in a sectioned off corner of the smallest tank, where mesh panels let the water flow through, but keep her contained in one spot.
There’s a monitoring camera mounted on the wall above and a clipboard hanging from a hook with hourly check boxes.
The shallow water reaches halfway up Nori’s body.
“Deep enough to keep her comfy,” says Dervla, “but not deep enough she’ll struggle.”
She tips some sloppy liquid into a container on the side, and I put my hand to my nose. The smell is horrific.
“Revolting, isn’t it?” Mhairi beams. “They love it. But I think maybe you’d rather some tea.”
“I—”
“No arguments,” Dervla says, hooking my arm with hers. “I want to hear what you’re up to at the distillery. You’re a dark horse, Finn.”
He looks at me with the ghost of a smile.