Ch6: May 15th part 4

Vanir, Ian’s island, isn’t very big. He tells me about it as we march through the long grass and flowers. The measurements: only a mile long and a little over a half mile wide, seem tiny to me. As we crest the hill, the lock comes into view. I always thought lochs were giant things, like Loch Ness, but this isn’t much more than a long thin pond. The water is the colour of sapphire, blue and beautiful. A thin beach of sand surrounds it, and even from here, I can see the fish jumping. Lots of birds are about, too many types are bobbing about on the loch to count. To my surprise, I see a number of swans.

“They nest here,” Ian says, as he notes what I’m staring at.

“I would never have thought I’d see swans here.”

We walk closer, careful to avoid nesting sites.

“Ever gone fishing?”

I shake my head.

“Very relaxing.” Ian steps onto a small wooden platform that sits half on land, half on water. “I’ve sat here for hours catching trout. Very delicious as well.” The wind is picking up, and Ian turns about and heads off toward the cottage. “Rains coming and we’re not prepared. If you want to stay dry you need to step up the pace.”

I trail behind him, barely matching his pace. The man is very fit. He’s not even breaking a sweat whereas I am gasping for air as we climb the hill. The cottage is there, nestled in the protection of the two rolling hills on Vanir. To the southeast, the direction the wind’s now coming from, I can see more rain clouds approaching. If this is how it always is, then living on Shetland is a game of avoid the showers.

The rain has just started as we make the final sprint for the cottage. Ian slams the door behind us, and I collapse on the sofa, giggling.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to stay, if I may.”

Ian grins. “Glad to hear it. It’ll do you the world of good.”

The evening is closing in now, not that you’d know it by looking outside. The sun thinks it’s still mid-afternoon. Ian checks the aga, then gets some bacon from the larder. I lie there, staring out the window to the sound of sizzling behind me. The scent of meat fills the cottage, and I realise I can’t remember the last time I was so intensely hungry. Since Chris went, I’ve lost weight, enough to have Mum drag me to the doctors only to find that I wasn’t anorexic, just overwhelmed with grief.

“You’ll call my Mum and Dad when you get back?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He’s frying eggs and mushrooms now and toasting bread in the oven.

I sit up and turn to face him. “I have to admit something to you.” I find myself blushing and unable to look Ian in the eyes. “My name isn’t Catherine. My name is Emily. I thought it would be safer if I used a false name…”

“Emily,” he says, keeping his back to me as he rolls my name around on his tongue. “Suits you better. I didn’t think you looked much like a Catherine.”

“It’s just if you phoned my Mum and said you knew where Catherine was, she wouldn’t know who you were talking about.” I picked at a loose thread on the sofa. “Sorry I lied to you.”

“Any more secrets to come out?”

“No,” I reply quickly.

Ian turns to me, a serious expression on his face. “Emily, I understand.”

I feel like I’ve just been chastised somehow. We eat quietly, but ravenously. Seems the walk has made Ian hungry as well. Somehow it’s past ten when we finish cleaning up the dishes. The sky is still bright. The suns gone down, but that hasn’t done much to reduce the light. The rain has stopped and the sky has cleared to show a darkening blue horizon. I wonder how I’ll be able to sleep while it’s so day-like.

Ian makes up a bed on the sofa and sends me to the bedroom. I curl up and before letting sleep take me, I rustle about in my handbag until my fingers find what I was looking for.

I’ve got a notebook with me. The idea was to write down my feelings, figure out what’s going on in my head, settle it down so I can move past Chris. I don’t want to be weighed down with his baggage forever. The paper is pristine, and I hover the pen above the paper, unsure of what to write.

Why did you leave me?

Don’t you know how stupid you were?

You should have stayed with me. Then you’d still be here.

I’m so angry with you. I play the scene out, the day you left me over and over again.

I wish I’d held you down, stopped you from going. I should have done something.

Instead I lay there, watching you reason with a crazy person, and look what it got you.

I’m angry, and the pen tip is almost ripping the paper. There are more words that need to be written.

The anger well has yet to run dry. I love you. I hate you. I want you. I miss you. I wish I’d never met you. Just when I think there are no more tears to cry, I’m flooding again. How could you leave me like that?

I throw the pen across the room as sobs wrack my body. The outside calls to me. The darkening sky tells me rain is coming again. Seems to rain all the time here. I put my waterproofs on and go out, tiptoeing past a snoring Ian, and closing the door quietly behind me. The rain starts as I get to the beach and start walking north. The rain mingles with my tears and it’s all I can do not to shout and scream. Then I realise I’m all alone, no one except a passed out Ian within miles to judge. With that I look up to the sky.

“Fuck You!” I yell. “Fuck Your plan, fuck Your ideals, fuck You for taking the one person I loved on this planet.” The tears are falling fast now, and I collapse on the shingle, and stay as I’ve fallen, a light rain soaking my face. I’m damaged and I don’t know if I can ever be repaired.