where he stood leaning with his hands on the rail.
‘I’d flown up to the Hebrides before. That was no big deal. But I didn’t know if it would be possible to park up on the beach, so I might have to fly back. And I’d need night and IMC ratings for that. Even though it never really got dark at that time of year. But there was time enough to get my licence amended so I could fly at night, or in limited visibility, and I did that. We kept our eye on the weather forecasts, and it looked to be just about perfect for June 21st. So we made it a date.’
He turned around then, half-sitting on the rail, arms folded across his chest. Mairead had her back to him, lighting another cigarette, and it appeared to Fin that Roddy was looking straight through him, lost in a world of distant memory.
‘Official sunset around the summer solstice on North Uist is 10.30 p.m., and I knew I couldn’t land there in the dark. So we set off in plenty of time to arrive before sunset. It was a beautiful night, Fin. Perfect for flying. I’d never seen the sky such a deep, dark blue, and the red fire of sunset lighting up the ocean, streaking orange and yellow along the horizon. The last light of the day was catching the mountains of Harris against the sky to the north as we circled low over the beach. An almost flawless crescent of sand exposed at low tide. I made two passes over it to make sure conditions were okay for landing, then on the third turn prepared to set her down.’
Fin could see that he was back there in his mind, in the cockpit of that tiny single-engined aircraft, preparing to land her on a strange beach on a midsummer’s night, breathless, excited, scared. And with a woman beside him to impress.
‘I was nervous, that was for sure. And I kept the power on very slightly to make the landing as soft as possible, coming in faster than usual because there was no length restriction. And keeping the nose up as long as possible to make sure she didn’t dig in to soft sand.’ His face lit up in relived recollection, pride in his voice. ‘And then she was down, and I brought her to a halt, and Caitlin was all over me as if I’d just turned water into wine.’ He shook his head. ‘It was a great feeling, Fin, landing on the beach like that. And jumping down on to hard, compacted sand with the wind in my face, and the last of the day sending shadows across the water from the dunes. I turned to help Caitlin down off the wing and held her in my arms, and kissed her. . and never noticed how cold she was. And I don’t mean to the touch.’ His expression hardened. ‘That was when I turned around and saw three men crossing the sand towards us. I didn’t really think anything of it at first. I had no reason to be alarmed. I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong.’ He drew a long, slow breath. ‘Which is when I realized that the man leading them was Caitlin’s brother, Jimbo.’
His breathing increased as he remembered the moment, and his face flushed behind his tan. It was as real to him now as it had been then.
‘At first I was confused. He shook my hand and greeted me like a long-lost friend and congratulated me on my landing. Then he turned to Caitlin and said, “Well done, girl.” And I noticed that the men that were with him were carrying brown canvas holdalls. Jimbo said, “A little extra baggage you’ll be taking back with you, Roddy.”’ Roddy unfolded his arms, hands behind him, gripping the rail, and he refocused on Fin. ‘Call me slow, Fin, but it took me a moment or two to realize that this was a drugs pickup, and that I’d been set up. I can remember turning to look at Caitlin, and how she wouldn’t meet my eye. What a fucking fool I was!’
Now he pushed himself off the rail and slumped back into his chair, drawing on the tail end of his cigar.
‘Turned out Caitlin’s father had nothing to do with banking, and everything to do with heroin and cocaine and cannabis. A family business, it seemed, and doing very well, thank you. With plans to become the main supplier of illegal drugs into northern Europe. Ambitious. Wanted to take over from the drug barons in Liverpool and Manchester who were under pressure from the cops. And Caitlin was the honey trap they’d set for me. Me and my Comanche. They wanted someone “clean” to fly the pickups. Three thousand miles of coastline around Scotland. Impossible to monitor.’ He leaned forward to carefully stub out his cigar in the ashtray. ‘Of course I refused to have anything to do with it. But Jimbo made it clear to me the consequences of failing to cooperate. And having caught me in their web that first night, there was no way they were going to let me go. Not only did they threaten physical violence, but if I didn’t fly for them, they said, an anonymous call to the cops, and a secret packet stashed away somewhere on my plane, would ensure half a lifetime in prison.’ He breathed hard through clenched teeth. ‘They had me, Fin. Hook, line and fucking sinker.’
Dusk had stolen up on them from nowhere, falling like fine coal dust across the valley, the mountains behind them sending long shadows towards the coast. A hidden sun still cast its light across a distant ocean. The warm evening air was filled with the sound of cicadas and frogs, and the last buzzards of the day circled above them, as if hoping there might be something left to scavenge after Roddy had finished picking over the past.
Roddy was a long way from being finished, but became aware suddenly that the day was slipping away from them. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘You must be starving. I’ll get that paella cooking. Everything’s prepared, so it shouldn’t take long.’ Before he left them he lit large candles on the table and around the terrace, then disappeared into the darkness of the house. A light came on in the kitchen and a quartered slab of yellow fell through the window across a terrace flickering now with a candlelight that cast strange dancing shadows all around them, like some bizarre puppet theatre.
Mairead’s face was mostly in shadow. Only the line of her nose and the curve of her brow above her right eye caught the light. Her eyes themselves were lost. Darkness had followed dusk like a shutter descending on the day. They listened in silence to the sounds of Roddy preparing his paella in the kitchen. He had some music playing. Flamenco guitar and a guttural, alien voice wailing the tuneless melody of an ancient culture that owed more to Arab Africa than to Europe. Fin closed his eyes for a moment and wondered how it had been possible to keep the secret for so long. Mairead lit a cigarette and her face flared briefly in the darkness. He said, ‘Did you know about all this?’
She drew on her cigarette and blew smoke into the night, shaking her head. ‘Not a thing. Not until he confided in me and told me how he planned to escape.’ She turned her head towards Fin, but he still couldn’t see her eyes. ‘All this was going on while you and I were having our. . what would you call it? Affair? Fling?’ When Fin failed to respond she said, ‘Of course, I noticed the change in him. We weren’t lovers at the time, but when you play in a band with people it’s like living with them. Well, you know that.’
Fin nodded.
‘He became morose, withdrawn. Not like the Roddy we knew at all. And you know Roddy. He was like an open book. No matter whether he was happy or depressed he had to tell you why. But that all stopped. He was secretive, spending less and less time with the guys. I noticed he was losing weight and wondered if he was ill. There was something wrong, I knew that much. But I had no idea what it was until the night he told me.’
She flicked her ash into the ashtray, and as she took another pull on her cigarette, Fin saw by its glow the introspection in her eyes. Eyes that flickered reluctantly in his direction. And he wondered if it was really regret that he saw in them.
‘It was the night he intended to disappear for good. The same night I broke it off with you.’ She paused. ‘And why.’
All these years later, finally, Fin understood.
‘Roddy was in trouble, Fin. He needed me. And there was too much history between us for me to give him anything less than a hundred per cent.’ But the explanation was unnecessary.
They had no time to dwell on it, or discuss it further. Roddy emerged from the kitchen clutching a bottle and three glasses. He placed them on the table and removed the cork with a flourish. His good mood, it appeared, had returned.
‘Rioja,’ he said. ‘Gran Reserva. Best you can get. Smooth as butter on the tongue, and slips over like vanilla silk.’ He filled their glasses. ‘Try it, Fin.’
Fin sipped at it and nodded. ‘It’s good.’ But wine wasn’t his thing, and Roddy seemed disappointed.
‘Paella’ll be ready soon.’ He disappeared and returned with three plates and cutlery, then came back to the table ten minutes later with a large steaming paella pan full of rice and prawns and chicken and mussels. He placed it in the centre of the table and sat down. ‘Tuck in, guys.’
They helped themselves and ate for a while in silence until Fin could contain his curiosity no longer. ‘So what happened, Roddy?’
Roddy glanced at him, his enthusiasm for the food quickly waning. He sighed, pushing his half-empty plate away from him on the table and lifting his glass to his lips. He let the wine flow back across his tongue and savoured it for a moment. ‘I must have flown ten, eleven pickups for them by mid-July, and Jimbo always came with me. There was just no end to it in sight, Fin. I was in way too deep by that time to go to the police, and probably
