Ch21: Stolen June 13th

I hate myself. I’m sitting on the top of the hill behind the cottage, facing towards the north. I can see Bressay Island and the tiny dots of houses that make up Lerwick. Coming out from between the two is a small boat. Using the binoculars, I can make out the type of boat. It’s a power boat with a blue band around it and I’m pretty sure it’s Ian, finally on his way back. I hate myself because my heart skipped at the first sight of the boat. Part of me is pleased he’s on his way, happy he’s coming back.

I need to remember this man trapped me here, against my will. Before he gets any closer, I cover up my SOS sign, but remain on the hill, watching his slow approach on a choppy sea. I have a chunk of wood with me, one specially selected because of its weight, size and how comfortable one end sits in my hand. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do. I’m not sure I have the courage to batter another human into unconsciousness, no matter how justified. That leaves hiding from him and sneaking onto the boat. I don’t want to go the route of lulling him into a sense of false security mainly because I am so desperate for the company of another human that I don’t trust myself to keep it an act.

As the boat finally nears Vanir, I make my way down from the hill, making a quick stop in the cottage. I stash the lump of wood under the sofa and go down to the little harbour. He’s pulling the boat up to the pier and eyeing me as I slowly approach.

“How were the last couple of weeks? Did you manage to get any further in sorting your head out?”

He talks to me like nothing is wrong. That maybe I imagined him abandoning me here and sneaking off before I woke up. I say nothing.

“Can you help me get the supplies off the boat?”

I step forward, peering inside to see if the key is still in the ignition. With a well-placed shove I could send him over the side and drive the boat away. The ignition slot is empty. I decide, against my better judgement, to play along. Somehow I need to check his pockets and steal the key. Failing that, there’s always the stick under the sofa.

“Sure, I’ll help.”

He hands up bags of food and I put them on the pier. Last is the coal. I notice he leaves it there, but don’t say anything. I’m still not sure what his motives are for keeping me here, I need to work them out, and fast.

“The turbine working?”

“Yup, no problems.”

“Good. I’ll give it a check over before I go.”

I can’t do it. I can’t play along. I slam a hand into his chest and give him a good shove. He trips backwards and almost goes over the end of the pier.

“Why the fuck are you keeping me here? I’m not a prisoner, I demand you take me back to Mainland.”

I’m shouting. Ian doesn’t reply immediately. He raises an eyebrow and I’m sure I see the hint of a smile. He waits for me to take a step back before speaking.

“It’s for your own good. I know you’ve got lots of emotional issues to work out. I’ve had a long talks with your mother, she approves of your stay here.”

I frown. “You’ve not talked to Mum.” The idea that Ian is in league with my parents is unbelievable

“I have, and your father. He’s very apologetic about hurting you. He also thinks time here, away from it all, is for the best. I’m keeping you here with their blessing.”

“I don’t believe you, you’re making it up.”

Talk of my parents has taken the wind out of my arguments. Have they really told him to keep me here?

“Don has been going to see a therapist. He’s working through his issues. He wants you to know that.”

I shake my head. “No…” I back away until I’m on the shingle beach.

“He’s doing everything he can to make it better and thinks you having time alone to think is the best therapy going.”

I feel faint. My legs go funny and I fall to the ground. “They didn’t.” I’m crying now.

“They really did.” Ian speaks softly, taking baby steps towards me. “I’ve got you some treats, something to ease your time here. You should make a list as well, in case there’s anything I missed.”

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“Well the therapist Don’s seeing suggested another few weeks.”

“Another few weeks…” I echo. I don’t believe this. He’s keeping me here at the request of my parents?

“And I have a message from Jo, Chris’s mother. She wants you to know she’s doing much better.”

He comes closer, his arms outstretched. His approach is cautious, like he’s not sure what I’ll do. He’s right to be cautious, I’m not sure what I’m going to do either. He takes my hands in his and helps me to my feet.

“Come on, let’s get the supplies to the cottage and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

I let him steady me, then follow him back onto the pier. We share the bags between us and hike up the path to the cottage. My mind is in overdrive. Did my parents really help orchestrate me staying here? I can’t quite believe it.

Ian puts a pan to boil on the stove and we return to the boat for the sack of coal. It’s heavy and we share the load between us. By the time we get back to the cottage the water is bubbling away. I go to wash my hands before checking through the bags. Ian’s brought more than the last two times. There’s a bag full of women’s toiletries, I take it to the bathroom and put the supplies away. He’s even brought supplies for my time of the month.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Ian has the tea made and has a large cake on one of the plates.

“A treat, I thought you might need it. Your mum told me you like carrot cake.”

I nod. “It’s my favourite.”

“I’ve got a few bottles of cider and some blackcurrant for you. The therapist said you should probably steer clear of alcohol, it’s a bad coping mechanism, but I figured a few bottles wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” I say. I mean it. There’s no way he could have known about me liking carrot cake without having spoken to Mum or Dad. I have to accept that they want me to stay on Vanir a while longer.

“Are you limping or is it my imagination?”

I’ve got a mouthful of cake in my mouth, so I nod. “I tripped in a rabbit burrow,” I say after I’ve swallowed. The cake is divine, moist and tasty with a perfect creamy icing smothering it.

“Let me have a look.”

Before I know it, I’m on the sofa with Ian sat next to me and my foot in his lap. He takes off my shoe and sock and has a good look at my ankle.

“I twisted my ankle. It’s just about fine now.”

He touches a spot and I let out a little squeal.

“Not as fine as you think.”

He starts to rub my foot, working his fingers in little circles around my ankle and then a little ways up my calf. I’m back to hating myself, because his touch is turning me on, and I ache for him to move his hands up body. I’ve been alone for too long. Two weeks that felt like months. No one to talk to but Wally and his puffin friends. No one to shout at but the DJs on the radio. He could be any guy and I think I’d feel the same need. But he’s not any guy, he’s Ian, and he’s old enough to be my dad. As his hands slowly move up to my thigh, I close my eyes and let out a small sigh. Age doesn’t matter. Who he is doesn’t matter. I need him, I need contact, and by the time his lips touch mine, there’s no resistance left in me.