‘What about the police?’
Fin hesitated. ‘It’s a good job, Fionnlagh. But it’s not for everyone. You get to see things you would never choose to. The very worst side of human nature. And its consequences. Things you can’t really do anything to change, but still have to deal with.’
‘Is that a recommendation?’
Fin laughed. ‘Maybe not. But someone’s got to do it. And there are some good people in the force.’
‘Is that why you’re leaving it?’
‘What makes you think I’m leaving?’
‘You said you were doing an OU course in computing.’
‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ Fin smiled pensively. ‘Let’s say I’m looking at alternatives.’
They were nearly back at the rocks now. Fionnlagh said, ‘Are you married?’ Fin nodded. ‘Kids?’
Fin took a long time to reply. Too long. But a denial would not roll off his tongue as glibly as it had with Artair. Finally he said, ‘No.’
Fionnlagh clambered up over the rocks and turned back to give Fin a hand up. Fin grasped the proffered hand and pulled himself up alongside the teenager. ‘Why would you not tell me the truth about something like that?’ Fionnlagh said.
And, again, Fin was taken aback by his directness. A characteristic he had inherited from his mother. ‘What makes you think I didn’t?’
‘Did you?’
Fin looked at him squarely. ‘Sometimes there are things about yourself that you just don’t want to talk about.’
‘Why?’
‘Because talking about them makes you think about them, and thinking about them hurts.’ There was an edge to Fin’s voice. He saw the boy reacting to it and relented. He sighed. ‘I had a son. He was eight years old. But he’s dead now.’
‘What happened?’
Fin’s will to keep it pent up inside was cracking under the boy’s relentless questions. He squatted down at the edge of a pool in the rocks, sunlight flashing on its glassy surface, and trailed his fingers through the tepid salt water sending ripples of light off to its miniature shores. ‘It was a hit and run. My wife and Robbie were just crossing the road. It wasn’t even a busy street. This car came round the corner and, bang. Hit the two of them. She went up in the air and landed on the bonnet. That’s probably what saved her life. Robbie went right under the wheels. The driver stopped just for a second. We figure he’d probably been drinking, because the next thing, he put his foot down and was gone. No witnesses. No number. We never did get him.’
‘Jesus,’ Fionnlagh said softly. ‘When did that happen?’
‘Just over a month ago.’
Fionnlagh squatted down beside him. ‘Fin, I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry I put you through the pain of it all over again.’
Fin waved aside the apology. ‘Don’t be daft, son. How could you have known?’ And at his own use of the word,
‘Yeh, he used to bring me here a lot when I was wee.’ Fionnlagh pulled up his sleeves in preparation for thrusting his hands into the water to catch the crab. Fin was shocked to see that both forearms had nasty purple- yellow bruising along the line of the bone. He grabbed Fionnlagh’s wrist.
‘Where on earth did you get bruises like that?’
The boy winced, pulling his arm away from him. ‘That was sore.’ He pulled his sleeves down to cover the bruises and stood up.
‘I’m sorry.’ Fin was distressed. ‘It looks nasty. What happened?’
Fionnlagh shrugged. ‘It was nothing. Did myself a bit of damage when I was putting the new engine in the Mini. Shouldn’t have been trying to do it on my own.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Fin got to his feet. ‘You need the proper equipment and help for that kind of thing.’
‘Guess I know that now.’ Fionnlagh jumped lightly over the rocks and started up the gully. Fin followed him, feeling that somehow he had managed to sour things between them. But when they got to the top of the cliffs it was as if nothing had happened. Fionnlagh pointed towards the road. A silver Renault was making its way up the hill. ‘That’s Mrs Mackelvie. She gave mum a lift down to the store. Looks like that’s them back. Race you.’
Fin laughed. ‘What? I must be twice your age.’
‘I’ll give you a sixty-second start, then.’
Fin looked at him for a moment, and then grinned. ‘Okay.’ And he took off, sprinting along the edge of the cliff before turning up the hill towards the bungalow. That’s when it got hard, his legs becoming quickly leaden, lungs rasping in their attempt to drag in more oxygen. He could see the peat stack, and hear the engine of the Renault idling at the top of the path. He was nearly there. As he got to the peatstack, he saw Marsaili coming down the drive, bags of shopping in each arm, and the Renault pulling away up the hill. She saw him at almost the same moment, and stopped, staring in astonishment. He grinned. He was going to beat the boy. He was going to get to the house first. But at the last moment, Fionnlagh cantered past him, laughing, hardly out of breath, and turned on the path, as Fin had to stop and bend over to support himself on his thighs, gasping for breath.
‘Come on, old man. What kept you?’
Fin glared up at him, and saw Marsaili smiling. ‘Yes, old man. What kept you?’
‘About eighteen years,’ Fin said, panting.
The phone started ringing in the house. Marsaili glanced towards the kitchen door, and Fin saw concern in her eyes.
‘I’ll get it,’ Fionnlagh said. He ran to the kitchen door, mounting the steps in two leaps, and disappeared inside. After a moment the ringing stopped.
Fin found Marsaili looking at him. ‘What are you doing here?’
Fin shrugged, still trying to recover his breath. ‘Just passing. I was up seeing Calum.’
She nodded, as if that explained everything. ‘You’d better come in.’ He followed her down the path and up the steps to the kitchen. She put her bags on the kitchen table, and they could hear Fionnlagh’s voice from the sitting room, still talking on the phone. Marsaili filled the kettle. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘That would be nice.’ He stood awkwardly, watching her plug in the kettle and take two mugs down from a wall cabinet. His breathing was returning to something like normal.
‘Just teabags, if that’s okay.’
‘Fine.’
She dropped a bag in each cup and turned to look at him, leaning back against the worktop. They heard Fionnlagh hanging up the phone, and then his footsteps on the stairs up to his room. And still she kept looking at him, blue eyes searching, probing, violating. The kettle growled and hissed as its element began heating the water. The kitchen door was not properly closed, and Fin could hear the wind whistling around its edges.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’ he said.
She closed her eyes, and for a moment he felt released from their hold. ‘Artair said he’d told you. He had no right.’
‘I had a right to know.’
‘You had no right to anything. Not after …’ She broke off, gathering her calm, drawing it in around her. ‘You weren’t here. Artair was.’ She fixed him with her eyes again, and he felt trapped by them, naked in their gaze. ‘I loved you, Fin Macleod. I loved you from that first day you sat next to me in school. I even loved you when you were being a bastard. I’ve loved you all the years you weren’t here. And I’ll still love you when you’re gone again.’
He shook his head, at a loss for what to say, until at length he asked lamely, ‘So what went wrong?’
‘You didn’t love me back enough. I’m not sure you ever loved me.’
‘And Artair did?’
Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Don’t, Fin. Don’t even set foot on that road.’
He crossed the kitchen in three steps and put his hands on her shoulders. She turned her face away from him. ‘Marsaili …’
