Fin felt the wind in his face and he saw Donald Murray standing on the far side of the window he had shattered with his shotgun. He held it still, levelled at Kelly’s young protege. The man looked shocked and dropped his weapon, quickly raising his hands.
Fin darted forward to grab it and throw it away across the room, and Donald lowered his weapon. Beyond him, in the dark, Fin saw a pale, wide-eyed Fionnlagh.
‘He wouldn’t let me call the police. He wouldn’t.’ The boy was very nearly hysterical. ‘He said they would just make a mess of it. I called you, Fin, I called you. Why didn’t you answer your phone?’
There was not a scrap of colour in Donald’s face. Desperate eyes flickered towards Donna and the baby. His voice came in a whisper. ‘Are you all right?’
Donna couldn’t bring herself to speak, her sobbing baby clutched tightly to her chest. She nodded, and her father’s eyes briefly found Fin’s, lingering for just a moment. Somewhere behind them was a recollection of all those beliefs asserted on a drunken night when they had fought in the rain, and again on the windblown cliffs in the cold light of the next morning. Blown away in the pulling of a trigger. Then they returned to the man he had shot dead, where he lay among shattered glass and ornaments in a pool of his own blood. He screwed his eyes closed to shut out the sight of him.
‘God forgive me,’ he said.
FORTY
I don’t know what’s going on any more. My ears are still ringing and I can hardly hear a thing. Something terrible happened, I know that. They’ve sat me down here in the kitchen, out of the way. There’s all sorts of people through there in the next room, and that damn dog just never stops barking.
There are blue lights and orange lights flashing out there in the dark. I heard a helicopter earlier. I’ve never seen so many policemen in my life. And that man who came to talk to me at Solas. I only remember him because of his widow’s peak. Made me think of a boy at The Dean.
I wonder what the minister’s doing here. I saw him earlier. He looked ill, not a well man. I feel sorry for him. Hasn’t the gumption of his father. A fine, God-fearing man
That woman’s coming into the kitchen now. I know I know her from somewhere. Just can’t think where. Something about her makes me think of Ceit. Can’t quite think what.
She pulls up a chair and sits down opposite me, leaning forward to take both of my hands in hers. I like her touch. She has fine, soft hands, and such lovely dark eyes looking into mine.
‘Do you remember the Sacred Heart, Johnny?’ she says. But I don’t know what she means. ‘They took you and Peter there after that night you both got trapped at the cliffs. You broke your arm, remember? And Peter had pneumonia.’
‘There were nuns,’ I say. Strange, but I can see them in that yellow half-light of the ward. Black skirts, white coifs.
She smiles at me and squeezes my hand. ‘That’s right. It’s a care home now, Johnny. I’m going to ask Marsaili if she’ll let you stay there. And I’ll come and see you every day, and bring you back here to the house for lunch. And we can go for walks on Charlie’s beach, and talk about The Dean, and the people we knew here on the island.’ She has such beautiful eyes, smiling at me like that. ‘Would you like that, Johnny? Would you?’
I squeeze her hands right back, returning her smile, and remember that night I saw her crying on the roof of The Dean.
‘I would,’ I say.
