heartbeat.
I rummaged around the deck until I found Slattery’s gun and my own knife. I stowed them safely on the second bunk in the cabin along with my guns.
I inspected Sam. She was awake and had a little more light in her face.
‘Douglas Brodie, can I just say thanks, for the moment? I’m too… too…’
‘Shattered, battered, hammered? Not to mention chloroformed. You’ve been through it, lassie. It was a brave thing biting that bastard’s hand. You saved my life.’
‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. I saved your life, indeed. Pass me the bottle, Brodie.’
‘Why don’t you lie down. We can talk later.’
A spasm ran across her poor white face. ‘Is he…? Is Slattery…?’
‘He’s gone, Sam. I put a spanner – or two – in his works. He won’t be back.’
‘His brother?’
‘Dead. Car accident.’
‘You know Gerrit did those awful things? To the wee boys?’
‘Yes. I found his den out by Dumbarton.’
‘He said it was the priest’s fault. Father Cassidy. He was there – at the Nazareth House where the boys were sent. He…’
‘Whisht, I know, I know. It’s no excuse for anything. But I’ve seen it before; damaged people damaging other people. Bullied kids in peacetime becoming camp guards in wartime. Dermot spent the rest of his days looking after his wee, abused brother. I don’t know where the start of all this was. But I imagine it was why Dermot killed his father. And the ripples have been swamping innocent people for years.’
She nodded and pulled the blanket tighter round her. Maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her. But then she’d coped with worse, surely, these last few days.
‘There’s one other thing, Sam. Your mum and dad. When I talked about ripples…’
‘I know. He couldn’t resist telling me. He threw them overboard in the middle of the loch and just waited till they couldn’t swim any more. Drowning people seems to be their specialty. How could anyone do that!’ The tears were blinding her again, and I wished I’d made Slattery – both of them – suffer longer.
‘There’s also Allardyce…’ I began.
‘He’ll swing for this, so help me! He just stood there, inside his room, and Slattery came up behind me, and stuck a hankie over my mouth, and it was foul, and I don’t remember…’ She punched the mattress again and again.
‘Sam, Sam. He’s dead. After he knocked you out, Slattery killed Allardyce in the hotel.’
She shook her head, and her eyes widened as her brain went into overload. She started to shake again. I held her tightly and stroked her hands and arms until she calmed. I made her lie down. I pulled another blanket over her from the second bunk. She lay staring up at the bulkhead for a while as I held her hand. At last she closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments. We could talk it through properly when she woke. If we needed to. I stared at her face as it relaxed and took on its familiar gentle contours. I wondered how I’d ever thought her plain. Or why age had anything to do with beauty. I pushed back the errant blond curl that fell across her forehead. She twitched but then settled and was already far from me.
I let the Lorne run for a while enjoying the speed and getting the feel of her. At last I pushed on the tiller and swung her round. I reset the sails and put her head north east, back towards the Ayrshire coast. I could see Arran’s dark bulk cluttering the sky-sea horizon ahead and to my left. The boat rocked gently as it parted the waves. The sound of the bow cleaving and slapping the furrows soothed the restive core of me. I could feel the knotted anger drifting away like sand in a timer. For the first time in weeks, I was no longer in pursuit of anything or anyone. And no one was pursuing me. Was this what hope felt like? It would do for a while.
The sail above my head and the foresail rippled as I headed closer to the wind and I felt the boat prance like a live animal under me, ready to dart and sprint. It would take us a while to get back, much longer than the outward journey, tacking against the wind all the way. I wondered if I could get the mainsail up? I didn’t have the compass bearings for Kildonan but could follow the flicker of the Pladda light.
A tempting thought scampered across my mind. I remembered long ago, in the hot slouch of an English lesson, listening to our teacher intoning the rhythm and imagery of Tennyson:… for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
I smiled standing at my tiller. I brought her round on a deep tack, heading west, knowing that if I spun her another few degrees we would sweep past the Mull of Kintyre and out into the wide open Atlantic. The next stop would be America. I felt the wind tugging me round, urging me towards the open sea. And I wondered how many chances a man gets to take off into the westering sun in a fine yacht, with a pretty wee blonde?
