The Islanders

‘I’ll collect my stuff,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll drive back to Goorn Town straight away.’

As soon as we were inside the house I moved quickly, finding my clothes and the other things I had brought, stuffing them into my holdall. I was angry with myself, but also furious with Alvasund. She went to the kitchen, made some tea. She sat at the table, staring down, holding the cup in both hands.

‘What’s the problem, Torm?’ she said, when I went into the kitchen to pick up the coffee I had brought with me.

‘You don’t need me here. I drove you, but you can find your own way back.’

‘What’s brought this on?’

‘Who the hell was that? What was his name — Marse?’

‘Just someone I used to know at university.’

‘A boyfriend?’

‘Just an old friend.’

‘And who the hell am I?’

‘An old friend.’

‘No difference between us then. Except I was the someone you found to drive you here.’

Alvasund blinked and turned away. ‘I’m sorry I said it like that. I knew straight away it was insensitive.’

‘Too bad. Too late.’

‘Torm, you’re jealous!’

I stopped pacing around then and turned back to her. ‘What do I have to be jealous about? What do I lose by you meeting up with an old boyfriend? Not a damned thing. You’ve given me nothing—’

‘I thought we were only just at the beginning.’

She rose from the table and pushed past me, through to the main part of the house. I followed. The stove was still alight, a deep-red glow behind the fireproof glass. The house was warm, rich with the smell of woodsmoke. The windows were translucent with condensation. She sat down on the thick rug in front of the fire doors, leaning towards the heat. I sat in one of the cushioned chairs, half turned away from her.

Alvasund immediately rose to her knees, leaned towards me and kissed me full on the lips. Her hand rested affectionately on my chest. I was too angry for that, and pulled away from her. She persisted.

Finally she said, ‘Torm, I’m sorry. Really sorry! Please . . . let’s forget everything that just happened. Marse is an old friend from college — I hadn’t seen him for over a year. But he was acting weird, and I forgot what I was doing.’

In a cupboard she found an unopened bottle of apple brandy, distilled and bottled locally. She broke the seal and poured two glasses.

‘I think you should explain what’s going on,’ I said. I was still residually angry with her, thinking of what had happened in the night. Nothing had happened in the night. The sheet of virtual glass she put up as a barrier remained a barrier. ‘You didn’t bring me here to look at a hole in the ground. What’s the truth about this job?’

‘I’ve never been sure the job is real,’ she said. ‘If it is, it would be ideal for me. The money’s terrific and I’m qualified for it. But I’ve been getting so many mixed messages from Marse — he took a similar job last year. First he’d tell me the job was open, and urge me to apply — then I wouldn’t hear from him for weeks. For a while he was pretending he didn’t know me. Then he changed again. Finally he told me to come here. But you saw what happened, in the street.’

‘What was he when you were at college? A boyfriend?’

‘Ages ago. It’s been over for more than a year.’

‘A one-night stand?’

‘No — more than that.’

‘A long affair, then?’

‘It’s in the past, Torm. It’s not important . . . but no, it wasn’t a long affair.’ She sat up, moved back from me. ‘We were together for about a month. Then he dropped out of the course after only a year and a half. He had been offered this tremendous job in Jethra. He told me about it, then left. I didn’t think I’d see him again because it was on the mainland. That’s when he started sending emails — he wanted me to join him. But Marse is a difficult kind of guy, so I kept saying I wanted to complete my course first. Then the messages became mixed. He seemed to be discouraging me, ignoring me. He had moved to work on an island called Seevl. I discovered that the people who had employed him, an agency called the Intercession Authority, were still hiring. They couldn’t find the right people, but my qualification made me ideal for it. Marse changed again, urging me to apply. For a time it was irrelevant — I hadn’t finished at college. Then I went to work on Muriseay, but after that went wrong I began wondering if I should try it. Anyway, in the end I did apply. I have to run a preliminary test, and then I’ll be told if I’ve got the job.’

‘Which island did you say it was?’

‘Seevl.’

‘I don’t know it. There are so many islands to remember.’

‘It’s one of the Torquis. Like Hetta, it’s close to the Faiand coast, but it’s at the other end of the country. Offshore from Jethra. It’s only a small island. Marse told me once it’s similar to the Tallek: cold climate, short summer, subsistence farming and fishing. Well, the story is that there are some old constructions on Seevl, built hundreds of years ago. No one knows who built them, or what they were for. Most of them are still there but they’re falling into ruin. They want to make them safe.’

‘I don’t see the connection with you.’

‘I’ve been trained in perspective imaging. 3-D visualization. But I couldn’t get much sense out of Marse.’

‘What does 3-D imaging have to do with making a ruin safe?’

‘That’s what the test is for. The reason I’m in Orsknes is because there’s a similar ruin in the mountains here. What I have to do is go there as a sort of trial run, use my imaging equipment, write some notes and then they’ll have something of mine they can look at. The point is that most of the ruins are only on Seevl, but there’s one other that’s the same. It’s here in the Tallek. It was built at the same time and in the same way. People who apply to work for the Authority usually have to go there first.’

‘Where is it?’

‘I’ve been given directions. On my laptop.’

‘So why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘It didn’t seem important until just now.’

We sipped more of the brandy, stopped arguing and enquiring. Alvasund went to the kitchen, made some food for us and we ate it while we sprawled in front of the stove. It was one of those days shaped by the chilly weather, the memory of having been cold while we were outside. Gradually, I began to relax with her again — maybe the brandy helped with that.

Outside it had started to rain, a heavy, steady downpour. I went to one of the windows, wiped a hole in the condensation with my hand and looked out at the dismal view of the street. We could hear the rain in every part of the house, the drumming on the wooden roof, the sheeting noise on the concrete path, the swirling sound as the water coursed away. A sudden onset of rain was supposed to augur the coming end of the Goornak, said to be the spittle of the curse-witch. At least the wind had died.

After we had eaten we sat together on the rug, my arm loosely around Alvasund, resting on the lower part of her back. When the logs settled suddenly, with a bright uprush of sparks, she snuggled affectionately against me.

But in spite of all that, when it came to bedtime Alvasund again acted as if a sheet of glass stood between us.

This time I let her take the first shower, so she was lying in the bed by the time I clambered up to join her. I stood naked before her, but she was lying so that she faced away and her eyes were already closed. I slipped into the bed and felt the bolster lying alongside. I left the light on, listening to the rain, to the quiet sound of her breathing. Finally, I turned out the light.

Alvasund said in the dark, ‘Would you hold me, Torm?’

‘Is that what you’d like?’

‘Please.’

She turned over suddenly, sat up, pulled on the bolster and tossed it to the side. Then she lay down again and moved so that she was pressing her naked back against me. I tucked my legs against hers, pressed my face