Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I t was only a short walk to Fiona’s house, but Esme’s hands were frozen and she was glad to get inside. Euan was in his bedroom and Esme sipped her tea in the living room while Fiona checked on Hamish. The room was essentially the same as when Oliver had lived here, but it was also completely altered. There were rectangles of discoloured paint where two framed photographs had hung, one of Fiona and Oliver holding a sword to cut their wedding cake, and the other a professional family portrait with, as Esme remembered it, Euan looking uncomfortable in a shirt and tie. There were additions, as well as gaps. A brightly coloured woollen throw lay on the arm of the sofa and there was a cheerful clutter of handmade pottery arranged in the fireplace. More significant, however, was the overall energy. Everything just had a more relaxed air, with little bits of household stuff lying around, where before there had been only regimented cleanliness. It wasn’t that the room was messy now, but it did look more lived in. There was a pile of graphic novels stacked on the floor next to the easy chair. Esme wondered if Euan had heard her arriving and cleared out to his room.
Fiona walked in, her face soft in the gentle lighting. ‘I think he’s down,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘I thought it would be harder, with this all being new for him, but he seems to have gone off…’ She smiled, looking happier than Esme could ever remember. ‘Listen to me, jinxing it. We’ll see how he goes tonight. I might be less smug at three in the morning.’ Her forehead furrowed. ‘And I’m a bit out of practise.’
‘Fingers crossed he’s tired out with the travel.’
Fiona shook her head gently. ‘That’s not how wee ones work, sadly. The more tired they are, the worse they sleep. They go past it.’
‘Well, that sounds inconvenient.’
Fiona laughed. ‘It’s only temporary, so I’m going to enjoy every moment.’ She sat on the other end of the sofa and picked up her mug. The tea had to be cold by now, but she took a sip anyway.
‘Do you know how long he’ll be with you?’
Fiona shook her head. ‘Eilidh should be out of hospital by the end of the week, but she’ll need at least a week to recover.’
‘I didn’t know you had family.’ She regretted the words as soon as they came out. ‘I meant, I don’t think you’ve mentioned your niece before. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Fiona said. ‘Oliver wasn’t a fan of my family, so we didn’t spend much time with them before. I stopped talking about them because it only caused rows and I must have got out of the habit.’
Esme knew well the controlling type. Her ex, Ryan, had set about isolating her from her friends and her nursing course. She nodded her understanding, but kept her lips compressed shut. This wasn’t the time to jump in with her own experiences.
‘I’m a little bit worried,’ Fiona said. Her lips compressed as if resisting opening up.
Esme waited. It had taken seven years of island life for Fiona to call her a friend, she wasn’t one to rush. And now Esme knew that part of that had been Oliver’s influence, but she knew that some of it was just Fiona’s way. Growing up in the human world as a supernatural creature probably added to the instinct to be insular.
‘I just…’ Fiona stopped, looking down at her mug. ‘When Euan was a baby, I couldn’t have been away from him for a couple of weeks. I know Eilidh has no choice about the surgery, but I’m surprised she wants me to have Hamish for so long. After, I mean.’
‘You think there’s something else going on?’
‘We’re all different,’ Fiona said slowly. ‘I know that. And it’s not easy being on your own with a wee one.’
Esme wasn’t sure when Oliver had arrived in Fiona’s life or for how long she had been a single mum to Euan.
‘But I can’t help worrying that there’s something more she’s not telling me. I offered to stay and help out, but she was adamant I should bring Hamish home with me instead. I can’t imagine choosing to have my baby so far away, not when there was another option.’ She stopped speaking abruptly, as if having said more than she intended.
Esme nodded her understanding, but didn’t speak. She could sense that Fiona had more to say and she wanted to give her the space to do so. There was a silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the wind testing the window frames.
Finally, Fiona looked at Esme. ‘It’s a minor op, apparently, but she wouldn’t tell me more. Just brushed it off. But she said she wanted to rest after so that she recovered properly and was back to full speed. Not just muddle through and then be half-fixed for months.’
‘That sounds very sensible.’
‘It does.’ Fiona still didn’t look sure. ‘Do you think she was playing it down?’
‘The surgery?’
‘What if it’s more serious than she’s letting on?’
Esme didn’t have an answer for that. She pulled a sympathetic face. ‘You’re doing everything you can. You’re looking after Hamish and that’ll be a big help.’
Fiona brightened. ‘I’m going to take him to Seal Point tomorrow.’ She turned slightly self-conscious. ‘See who we can wave at.’
Esme woke up with a painful sensation in her chest. She opened her eyes to find two green eyes close to her own.
‘What’s wrong, Jet?’ She felt stupid as soon as the words had croaked past her parched throat. Jet wasn’t Lassie. He wasn’t about to lead her to a lost child down a well.
Seeing that she was awake, Jet jumped from her chest and settled himself on the pillow next to her head. She rubbed her chest where he had been standing, easing the ache, then reached out a hand from underneath the covers and stroked Jet’s smooth fur. He began a deep rhythmic purr, as if very happy with the world.
The moon was shining through the curtains and Esme felt a rush of energy, the sleep clearing from her mind. She got out of bed, Jet opening an eye and glaring as if she had disturbed his deep slumber and not the other way around.
Knowing that she was going to stand in the moonlight and that it was freezing outside, she pulled on clothes, layering a woolly jumper over her PJ top and choosing her thickest socks. By the back door, she added a coat, hat and scarf, even though her whole body was vibrating with excitement, making her fingers clumsy as she fumbled with the zip and buttons on her coat. The silvery moon visible through the kitchen window seemed to be calling to her, impatient.
Outside, the wind had dropped and the air was unnaturally still. There was a tingle in the atmosphere that was nothing to do with the cold. It was as if the island was holding its breath. The moon was even more beautiful seen through the clear night air and she stood still for a moment, just drinking in the sight. The air was so still and quiet that she could make out the sound of the sea from her garden, just faintly. It seemed to be getting a little louder, as if it wanted to be heard. She swept her gaze over the garden and the lane beyond, seeing the familiar environment anew. All was bathed in moonglow and it was intoxicating.
Following an instinct she didn’t want to examine too closely, Esme walked out of the quiet garden and down the lane where it met the path. She could turn right and walk to Coire Bay, or left along the coast path toward the harbour. The full moon was low in the sky, large and bright, and it seemed to illuminate the path to the right more than the left. It lit Esme’s steps and the marram grass that led over the dunes to the sweeping curve of Coire Bay.
As soon as Esme could see the sea rolling onto the sand with its soothing regularity, she felt the tension in her chest loosen. There was a wild happiness running through her body that was pure and uncomplicated. The delight of her animal soul at being alive and well fed and in good clean air under the moonlight. She wondered if this was how Fiona felt when she shifted.
The sand was silvery and the moon blazed a glowing path across the waves. It looked as if you could follow it to the horizon and, for one mad moment, Esme imagined stepping into the water and doing just that. The word lunacy came to mind. Luna from moon, people sent crazy by the pull of the moon. It was probably misogynistic, too, like so many things from the past were. The idea of women’s cycles being linked to the phases of the moon leading to ideas of madness. Like the wandering womb of hysteria.
Her mind was wandering now, and she increased her pace across the sand. She would walk to the far point of the bay, to the ward, and then back again and home. It was an easy forty-minute round trip, and she was perfectly warm in her substantial layers.
The motion of her footsteps on the compacted sand and the slight breeze from the sea quieted her mind so that by the time she was nearing the furthest edge of the bay, the place that Alvis had died, she felt calm and clear.
She licked her lips and tasted salt, and it was comforting that if she were to feel like crying, her tears would taste like the sea and the island air. Bee had said she belonged to the island, that she was part of it, and at this moment she could feel that was true. Another wave of exhilaration ran through her. She had never belonged before. Never been someone’s or something’s.
Clouds scudded across the moon and the beach was plunged into shadow. Esme had a torch in her coat pocket but didn’t feel the need to reach for it. She picked her way a little further along, wanting to reach the rocks of the ward before turning back.
The rocks led to a promontory that sliced out to sea, marking the furthest point of the bay. After the large rocks, there was a scrubby portion of land, skirted by the coastal path that led around the headland and along the northern edge of the island toward the castle. Just before turning around to head for home, the clouds shifted and the scene was bathed once again in bright moonlight.
Silhouetted against the deep blue sky, there was a shape that didn’t belong. A figure.