Ch18: Stolen May 31st

I wake up and the space beside me is empty. The cottage is quiet, either Ian’s reading or he’s gone for a walk. Either way, I’m happy to be alone in the bedroom. Taking my time, I float in and out of sleep, thinking of home and how pleased Mum and Dad will be when I arrive and how excited I am to be going home.

The clock in the other room starts making its dull bonking noises to sound the hour and I count nine strikes. Time to move. After a quick shower and some food, I’m going to harass Ian until he takes me back to Lerwick. He can turn around and come straight back to the island, if that’s what he want to do, I’ve still got all my money, I’ll spring for a cab to the airport and buy myself the next ticket to Aberdeen.

I emerge from the bedroom, a jumper wrapped around me for modesty. Ian’s not in the living room. I check the bathroom and find that empty as well. Relaxing a little, I drop the jumper on the arm of the sofa. With Ian not in the cottage, I’m more relieved than I thought I’d be. I have my shower in peace, not worrying about intrusions or having him expect to sleep with me a last time.

Just in case he shows up, I don’t waste any time and quickly towel dry myself and dress. No need to get caught half naked and encourage him. I repack my bag and put it by the door and fix a bowl of cornflakes. My stomach complains at the speed in which I’m eating, but I don’t care. All I can think about is home.

There’s no need to be a slob now, besides, Ian loves to adopt that fatherly telling-off tone and I don’t want to give him ammo. I wash up and put away my breakfast things, scan the cottage one last time for anything I might have missed, and that’s it. Time for me to go. I gaze one last time around the cottage that has been my home for two weeks. I have truly enjoyed my time here. The diary remains under the floorboard. It belongs here, it is part of the island, a testament to my healing and growing, and now it needs to be forgotten.

I click the handle out from the suitcase and open the front door. The path to the bay is only a dirt track, and the wheels of my suitcase bounce around over the rough surface. My plan is to load my bag and then go find Ian. It’s only when I come around the shadow of the most intact ruin that I realise the boat has gone.

“What?” I drop the handle to the suitcase and start running. I can’t trust my eyes, of course the boat isn’t gone. I scan the rest of the bay, maybe he moved it. But it really is gone, it’s simply not there anymore. I race out onto the pier and search the horizon, there’s no sign of the boat, of any boat.

There must be an explanation. I glance to the south west, where the wind is coming from. I hope to see storm clouds. With a storm coming he might have moved the boat to a safer place. The sky is overcast, but that’s all. There’s barely any wind either, it’s the calmest I’ve know the weather.

I don’t know what to do. Standing there with my hands in my hair, I pivot from side to side, searching for Ian’s boat in the distance. Nothing is there. I race back up the pier and up the hill. My suitcase is where I left it, halfway to the bay. I dodge around it and head up the hill and past the cottage. At the top I can see all the edges of Vanir. Ian might have moved the boat, he had to have. But there’s nothing there, just grass, rolling hills, and cliffs all round me.

I can’t quite see the tidal pool. That would be the safest place in a storm. Taking off at a run, I stumble down the hill. My foot goes into a rabbit burrow and I go flying. There’s a cracking sound in my ankle as I fall forward and a pain shoots up my leg.

“Fucking rabbits!” I scream and tumble down the hill a short ways landing on my back, winded. My foot feels like someone spiked it with a red hot poker. For a while I do nothing but sit on the hillside, holding my leg. Tentatively I wiggle my foot. I can move it, which hopefully means it’s not broken, but I’m not sure if I can dare put any weigh on it.

I need to see the tidal pool, make sure Ian’s there and realise that I’m panicking for nothing. We can laugh about my manic racing around the island searching for him, and Ian can fuss over me and my injured ankle.

My leg can’t bear my weight. I decide to crawl to the edge of the hill so I can see the tidal pool. It’s the only place I’ve not checked. Slowly the pool comes into view. There’s no boat. In fact the tide is still way out and there’s not enough water for him to get the boat in, even if he’d wanted to.

Ian’s gone. He’s left me on this island. Trapped me here. I can’t wrap my head around the facts. It’s like a nightmare I haven’t quite woken from.

Somehow I drag myself back to the cottage. My jeans are stained with the grass and rabbit poo I’ve pulled myself over. The pain in my ankle has dulled to a constant ache, and the first thing I do is pop a couple of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. There’s a medical kit behind the sink and I find a crepe bandage to wrap up my foot.

There’s still a small amount of hope in me that Ian hasn’t left me here to rot. Somehow I hobble out to the back of the cottage and I search through the driftwood until I find a stick that’ll do as a walking stick. Slowly, I make my way down to the pier and sit at the end. I’ll wait for him. Maybe he went back to Lerwick to get fresh bread to treat me with, or some other delicacy unique to the islands. That has to be it, because I’m not ready to accept the alternative.