Chapter 13 #2
‘Oh, aye, he is,’ she says. ‘He’s probably still up there, pacing the corridors like an old ghoul. But it’s his nephew who’s in charge these days. Or great-nephew, it must be, I suppose. Whatever he is, he wants nothing to do with us villagers; that’s one thing I can tell you for sure.’
‘Now, the old laird,’ says Ian, putting some parsnips into a brown paper bag and handing them to a customer as he speaks.
‘He was a different kettle o’ fish. A bit of a devil, mind, but always keen to do his bit and send some business our way.
But since they decided to turn the place into a hotel, that all changed.
Everything has to come from wholesalers now, to keep the price down. They buy nothing local anymore.’
‘But that’s terrible,’ I say. ‘That’s one of the best things about travelling somewhere; getting to try all the local produce. Can’t you speak to him? Set up a village meeting or something?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ says Ian, his good-natured face clouding. ‘He doesn’t even live here. I don’t think he’s even visited the place. He’s just a toff from Glasgow.’
‘It’s thought he might be a Nuckelavee,’ says Izzie in a low voice, leaning close as if imparting a secret.
‘Now, it’s only thought that by you, Izzie,’ points out Ian. ‘Don’t go scaring the lass.’
‘A Nuckelavee?’ I say, hardly daring to ask. ‘What’s a Nuckelavee?’
‘Why, a Nuckelavee is one of the very worst things there is,’ says Izzie dramatically. ‘A bringer of plagues, droughts and misfortune; particularly to the fishermen and farmers. They normally come from the Orkney isles, but this one comes from Glasgow, which is even worse.’
‘It has been a bad year for us farmers,’ says Ian glumly.
‘Nuckelavees or not. We used to send hundreds o’ tatties up to the castle every year, when the old laird was in charge.
And now nothing. It’s had a big effect on the farm.
I even tried to turn one of the fields into a pumpkin patch this year, but it was too muddy for it to work.
The wee ones kept getting stuck. And it was turnips we were selling, not pumpkins.
The wee ones always used to carve turnips at Halloween, but these days it’s pumpkins they want.
It’s all Americanised now, isn’t it? I blame that Justin Bieber. ’
‘He’s a Nuckelavee,’ says Izzie, as if that settles it. ‘I told you so.’
‘Justin Bieber?’ I ask incredulously. ‘But that’s—’
‘Not Bieber,’ Izzie interrupts. ‘Well, actually, he might be one as well. I’ll have to consult the cards. But no, I meant the new laird. He’s the Nuckelavee. Destroying the crops and bringing chaos to all.’
‘I think he’s a property developer, actually,’ puts in Ian. ‘That’s what I heard, anyway.’
‘Aye, that’s what they all say,’ mutters Izzie darkly. ‘He’ll be planning to sell the place the first chance he gets. Nuckelavees and property developers – they’re all the same.’
‘I’ll buy some tatties from you, Ian,’ I say, hoping to change the subject.
‘Wait, actually, tatties are potatoes, aren’t they?
On second thoughts, that’s maybe not such a great idea: I don’t really have anywhere to store them in my hotel room.
Or cook them. I don’t think Dante would like the thought of me trying to roast them over the fire, somehow. ’
‘If it’s the Dante I’m thinking of, then no, he certainly would not,’ says Izzie tartly. ‘Ideas above his station, that one. The village was always too small for him and his big ideas.’
‘Now, now, Izzie, I don’t think that’s quite fair,’ Ian puts in. ‘I was speaking to Dante’s mother just the other day, and she was telling me what a big help he’s been to her. Paid to have her roof fixed after that big storm, apparently. She reckons that new job of his has been good for him.’
‘Aye, I bet it has if he can afford to pay for things like that.’ Izzie sniffs. ‘Still, it’s good that he’s helping out,’ she adds, relenting slightly. ‘Maria’s been on her own for as long as I can remember. She’d never have been able to fix that roof herself.’
Their conversation moves on to other members of the village and the damage their houses apparently sustained in the last big storm, and I listen idly as I browse the little stall, eventually selecting a particularly fine turnip, and a couple of leeks, which Ian assures me will keep until I get back home, after which I’ll be able to make a fine soup with them; or even something called a ‘clapshot’ that I don’t dare ask about.
I nod confidently, then, with their permission, shoot some more video of them both serving customers, and chatting about village life, for what Sabrina will surely think is a nice bit of local colour when I edit it into an Instagram Reel later.
‘I know you don’t think he’ll see you,’ I say as I’m preparing to leave, ‘but I honestly think you should come up to the hotel and ask to speak to the Laird about getting his nephew to start buying his stock from the village again. You never know, he might listen.’
‘Aye, and Ian here might grow wings and fly,’ snorts Izzie.
‘Just have a think about it,’ I tell them both. ‘Wouldn’t it be worth it? Not just for you two, but for the rest of the village, too. There must be other local businesses that could benefit from working with the hotel?’
‘Aye, there’s plenty,’ says Izzie. ‘It’s just a question of getting someone up there to listen to us. Maybe if I made one of my persuading potions?’
‘Now, Izzie, we’ve talked about this before,’ says Ian quickly. ‘Remember what happened with the church minister?’
Much as I wish I could stick around to hear the end of this story, I’ve been standing here chatting for much longer than I meant to, so I leave them to argue it out between themselves, and with my bag of vegetables in one hand and my toiletries in the other, I make my way back to the harbour, still buzzing with the pleasure of shopping, even though it was for vegetables rather than clothes.
Still, shopping is shopping, and I’m just wondering if there might be time to pop into one of the little gift shops I spotted earlier before the bus leaves, when I reach the harbour and stop abruptly in my tracks, realising there’s something different about it: or something missing about it, rather.
No.
No, this can’t possibly be right.
I’m at least ten minutes early.
But the bus is gone.