The children had been working on some painting to tie in with Up HeIly Aa. A Viking longboat in corrugated cardboard lay across several desks. They did the same display every year – Sally remembered it from her time in primary seven. Margaret Henry didn't have much imagination when it came to art.
'I need to get it up on the wall. Give me a hand will you?'
'You should get them to make torches to go with it. Collage. Anything red, orange or yellow they can cut out of magazines. Or something more shiny. Cellophane, wrapping paper.'
'Aye. Maybe I should.' Margaret stepped back to check that the boat was straight. Sally could tell she
'Will Dad be home on time tonight?' 'No. A meeting in Scalloway.'
'I'm babysitting for Mrs Hunter.'
'I'd not forgotten.' Margaret wiped her hands on a paper towel. 'Let's hope the child doesn't play you up. She a handful, that Cassie Hunter. Full of herself.' Her attention was still on the longboat and she was talking almost to herself. 'There's something about her that reminds me of Catriona Bruce.'
Sally arrived at Fran's house carrying a bag with some books in and some make-up. This time she'd make a bit of an effort for Robert. Cassie was already in bed.
'She's knackered,' Fran said. 'Sometimes she gets a bit restless at night, but that's usually later. You shouldn't have any bother.'
Although Fran was only wearing jeans, you could tell she'd made an effort of her own before going out. She'd put on lipstick and Sally could smell perfume. She was wearing a silky top, close fitting, low cut. Sally would never have been able to get away with it, the size of her belly.
'It was good of you to come,' Fran said. 'I don't feel so bad asking now they've made an arrest, but it must make you think of Catherine.'
'I've been thinking about her all day. The inspector came to school at lunchtime to talk to me about her.'
. 'Oh?' Fran had been brushing her hair, looking at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. She stopped, the hand holding the brush poised over her head. Sally could tell she was dying to ask what he'd wanted, but didn't want to appear too nosy.
'Something about the film she was making.
Apparently it's gone missing,' Sally said.
Fran pushed the brush into a drawer and straightened her collar. 'She talked about the film. A project wasn't it?
A shame it's lost. It would be something to remember her by.'
'Aye.'
'There's a bottle of wine open in the fridge; Fran said at the door. She appeared suddenly reluctant to go. 'Help yourself. And to something to eat.' Then she seemed to convince herself that it would be safe to leave her child, grabbed hold of her bag and was gone. The house was quiet.
Sally was seldom alone in her own home at night.
Margaret didn't have any real social life and if she was out, it was usually at a meeting in the school, so close that Sally could hear the raised voices or polite clapping through the walls. The school seemed to insinuate itself into everything they did. She had spent tune in Catherine's house, but had never imagined herself living there. It was too big. Too grand. This place was different. She prowled around the room looking at the photographs and the sketches, checking out the music, imagining what it must be like to have your own place. Imagining what it would be like to live here with Robert.
In the fridge there was fancy French cheese, a plastic tub of black olives, a bag of salad. She poured herself a glass of white from the bottle in the door. If her mother noticed drink on her breath, she'd say Fran had insisted.
She drank it very quickly and the glass was almost empty when there was a gentle rap on the window. She turned in her chair and she saw him, his face squashed up to the glass, pulling a ridiculous face so he looked like a cartoon monster. She opened the door. He stood, filling the space between the door frame, holding the plastic tie round four beer cans.
'Where have you parked?'
'Don't worry. Round the back. There's a pull-in between the hill and the house. No one will see!
She liked the fact that he understood her need for secrecy, that he didn't mock her for it. 'Come in, come in,' she said. Much as the old man had done, when he'd invited her and Catherine into Hillhead at New Year.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Fran thought, when she arrived home, that Sally had had a man in the house. There was an unfamiliar smell. Nothing unpleasant. Certainly he hadn't been smoking, she wouldn't have allowed that. Perhaps it was aftershave. Did young men wear aftershave these days? She didn't mind that Sally had invited a boy in it must be a nightmare to be young here, no privacy, everyone knowing your business – but she wished the girl had had the nerve to ask. She was quite entertained by the notion that she might act as a sort of fairy godmother. And she hoped they'd been discreet. It wouldn't do for Cassie to wander in when they were having full-blown sex on the sofa.
Fran wouldn't-have minded an early night with a large glass of whisky – she had a lot to think about but Sally didn't seem eager to go.
'Cassie was fine: she said. 'Not a peep. I stuck my head round the door once just to check she was OK. She's a lovely girl. You must be very proud!
. And just because of that, Fran found herself opening another bottle of wine and offering a glass to Sally and settling down to chat. Catherine had never said anything flattering about Cassie.
'Did you have a good evening?' Sally asked.
Her eyes were very bright as she looked over the rim of her glass, and Fran remembered suddenly and quite vividly what it had been like to be sixteen. The irrational mood swings between elation and despair, the sense that no one older could possibly understand the intensity, the passion, the terror. She realized that Sally was staring at her, waiting for an answer.
'Very good, thank you.' And then, because obviously more was required, 'Because I went to art school, they thought I'd be able to fill in for the teacher. It was OK. Some of the students were very good.'
'Oh yeah, right. Well, anytime…'
'Next week, same day.' Now Fran had had enough.
She fumbled in her purse for a ten-pound note. 'Will you be OK walking down the hill by yourself? I'd drive you back, but I can't leave Cassie. I'll lend you a torch and watch you down from here. Make sure you get in safely.
Or you can phone your dad for a lift if you like, 'if you think he'll still be awake.'
'I'll walk,' Sally said. 'I'm not sure about Dad. He had a late meeting in Scalloway, but that should have finished hours ago. And don't worry about me. We're all safe, aren't we, now they've got Magnus locked up?'
But Fran stood in the porch and watched her down the hill. She had never worried about Catherine and wondered why she was bothering now. As Sally had said, Magnus was locked up. She told herself that she had a right to be nervous. She'd discovered two bodies. Here, in Shetland, where she'd believed nothing bad could happen.
Anyone would be nervous.
It was a clear night and although the moon was thin, she could see Sally's silhouette until it was lost behind Hillhead. Then she followed the spark of the torch all the way down the bank, saw it swinging around the bend in the road in front of Euan's house and disappear into the school. She saw a light go on in the schoolhouse kitchen window and at last she turned to go back inside.
Cassie was standing in the doorway to her room.
She was white and shaking, still half asleep. Fran put her arm around her and led her back to bed. 'It's all right,' she said, over and over. 'Just a nightmare. It's all right.' She lay beside her daughter on the bed and waited until her
