Ch30: Stolen Aug 16th part 2

Ian heads back to the cottage and I’m itching to get the coal off the boat. But Ian seems reluctant to go back down and I’ve already pushed him into ‘fixing’ the turbine. I don’t want to piss him off and lose the coal.

“So what have you been up to?” Ian flops on the sofa and leaves me to make tea.

“I’ve been trying to learn how to fish, but can’t work out how to make them bite the hook. I’m doing something wrong.” I don’t mention how empty my stomach has been. How much I needed to catch some fish for the protein I am craving so much.

“What were you using for bait?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, just the shiny things. I figured out how to throw the line into the middle of the loch, I just can’t get them to bite.”

“Well, that’s where you’ve gone wrong. You need bait. Worms are the best thing for it.”

I wrinkle my nose, I have a secret fear of worms. They even enter my dreams and give me nightmares. The thought of holding one of those slimy, wiggling, revolting things makes me feel sick.

Ian laughs at my expression. “Without bait you might as well give up. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Then so be it. I won’t fish.”

I hand Ian a fresh mug of tea and sit at the other end of the sofa with mine. Ian puts down the mug and inches closer. My hackles are going up. I picture the coal in my mind as he leans in for a kiss. His hand finds my breast and starts kneading it. The pregnancy has made my breasts very tender, and I almost shout out in pain. I try really hard to seem compliant, but he’s noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

I shrug, keeping my mouth shut. My thoughts, though, run on in my mind: You’ve got me trapped on this island, have lied to me for weeks, got me pregnant and you want to know what’s wrong?

“Turn around.”

I do as ordered, not sure what to expect. Then his hands start working on the knots in my shoulders. I can’t help but groan in pleasure.

“This is the problem. You’re holding too much tension in your back.” He finds a knot and rubs circles around it. I let out a small squeak of pain, but don’t want him to stop. “See, that’s just what you needed.” Ian’s hands disappear from my back. He gets up and walks over to the small counter. “I’ve got some lovely chicken breast.” He checks his watch. “Early dinner tonight.”

I wonder if that means he wants more time with me in the sack. Something scratches at the door, and Ian turns, staring at the door quizzically.

“It’s only Humphrey,” I say and get up to let him in.

“Humphrey?”

I laugh. “Yes, he’s my rabbit.” I open the door and Humphrey hops in. He makes a beeline for the sofa and jumps up, sprawling on the cushions.

Ian’s eyebrows are raised. “A rabbit…”

Smiling, I go to the rabbit and start petting him. “Yup. Tamed the little fellow. Comes by most days to say hello.”

Ian seems impressed as he turns back to preparing the food. He makes some sort of cheese and herb mix that he stuffs into the chicken breasts. They’re wrapped up with bacon and then foil and he pops them in the cooler of the two aga ovens.

I’m sat beside the rabbit, my fingers ruffling his fur, my eyes on the knife Ian placed on the side. My heart is beating hard and there’s an idea forming in my mind. Wait until he’s asleep then stab him. Get the keys to the boat and off this stupid island.

Ian grabs the knife and cutting board and goes to wash up in the bathroom. “After I’ve cleaned up let’s go for a walk,” he says as he disappears into the other room.

A glance outside tells me we need to go soon. “Maybe we should get the coal off the boat before the rain comes?”

Ian checks the window. “Perhaps you’re right.” He’s drying his hands with my towel. “Come on.”

Humphrey follows us outside and part of the way down the hill before bounding off to play with some of the other rabbits. They are becoming familiar to me, and he’s off with Hazel and Big Tail.

Ian’s being too easy, too pliable. I keep a step to the side and to the back of Ian where I can keep an eye on him. My senses are fritzing away, telling me to be careful. In my mind I find the knife – Ian returned it to the drawer after cleaning up. I can take it out and hide it under the edge of the mattress when he’s in the bath later. I’m beginning to know his habits, and he always has a wash before bed.

We get to the boat and I help get the bags of coal onto the pier. Together we carry the sacks one at a time up the hill to the cottage. I’m mindful the whole time of the danger of lifting heavy things, but there’s no excuse I can make to get out of helping.

With the coal safely behind the cottage in the lean-to, we head out on the walk. The rain clouds have skirted the island and are over Mainland, unloading there instead.

I’m nervous, not talking much, but Ian is making up for it by prattling on about his big house and how it needs all this repair work, and how he has land on Mainland with Shetland ponies. One of the farmers rents the land and breeds the animals, apparently he has success with the most sought after colour – a light tawny brown. He talks about more, much more, but my mind drifts. The knife flashes in my mind. I hold it high and thrust the blade into his chest. One smooth move. Freedom.

We’re out long enough to come back to cooked food. Ian serves up, and I have to admit, he knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. After eating I’m certain he’ll have a wash in the bath and then expect me to perform. I will, I’ll give the performance of a lifetime, make him believe I want him as much as he seems to want me. Then when he sleeps I’ll use the knife on him.

“That wasn’t half bad, if I say so myself.” Ian leans back patting his tummy. He gets up, taking my plate and his to the sink. He comes out, and leans over to place a kiss on my forehead. “Can’t stay tonight, I’ve got to go back.”

“No, Ian, you’ve got to stay!” My upset is real, but not for the reasons Ian thinks.

He sits down next to me and takes my hands. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

He’s pleased with himself. From the expression on his face it seems like he thinks he’s won me over. Let him indulge in that fantasy. I picture the knife, how it will slice through his skin, stop his heart and free me from this captivity.

Ian’s days are numbered. In my mind he’s already dead, he just doesn’t realise it yet.