Ch27: Stolen July 15th-Aug 2nd

July 15th

 

I put the last few coals in the aga. That’s it, once they go out there will be no more cooked food for me. There’s a few slices of bacon left. I cook it up before the stove goes cold. I’ve be scouring the beaches every day for drift wood. With the stove out I’ll need fuel for the fireplace.

The wind is up today, the gusts are strong, threatening to knock me over as I make my way up the hill. My SOS sign is easy to uncover, the sod comes up without issue. The dark soil against the dark green of the grasses is probably why no one saw it before. There’s a bucket near where I clean the laundry. I fetch it on my way down to the beach. The shingle is heavy in the bucket but I have to do this. I lug it back up the hill. Afraid the handle will break under the weight I carry it up against my chest, my arms wrapped around it.

The shingle in the bucket covers a disappointingly small amount of the ‘S’ in my sign. I make seven more trips to cover the first letter and I’m all done in. The other two letters will have to wait until tomorrow.

I scoop out the last of the coals from the aga and use them to start a fire with the wood. Don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. It’s the cheats way of getting the wood lit. Plus I’m almost out of matches and forgot to put it on the list. My efforts in collecting wood over the last few days have filled the wood store, but I have no idea how quickly the wood burns down. Every day I’ll have to keep looking for more.

Using one of the pans I empty the contents of a can of soup inside. Carefully, I push it up to the edge of the fire. Five minutes later it’s bubbling and I’m so pleased. I won’t have to tolerate cold food for the next couple of weeks.

 

July 19th

 

It amazes me that I was such a fool. How could I not see that Ian was playing me so hard? I should have spotted his lies from the beginning. Somehow I have to get off the island.

The SOS sign is covered in grey shingle, hopefully it stands out enough to get me rescued. I sit by it for some of the day, watching the rabbits play on the hill and keeping an eye on passing boats. Sometimes I wave as they go by, just in case there’s someone looking my way. No one stops. Maybe I have the angle wrong, or the size is too small.

Later in the afternoon I walk over to the turbine. With the aga out of fuel, the turbine is the only thing keeping me in hot water. The blades spin in the gentle wind and wish I’d paid more attention to Ian when he fixed it. I’m none the wiser as to what part he fiddled with to make it work again.

 

July 23rd

 

When I try to run some warm water after I wake up, none comes. The turbine must have conked out. I warm a pan of water in the fire and give myself a top and tail wash before leaving the cottage. I head down to the beach and confirm that the turbine has stopped. I’ve brought the tools with me hoping that I can recognise what’s wrong from what Ian told me at the time. Something about a cog, and maybe something that hooked onto it, a chain maybe? I get the panel open and stare at the guts of the machine. Nothing stands out as broken. I poke a few things with the end of the screwdriver before giving up and putting the access panel back in place.

The rest of the day I spend collecting drift wood. The fire consumes wood at a rapid pace. If I am to stay warm I need to keep searching for fuel.

 

July 26th

 

Ian should be back today, if he follows his previous schedule. I sit on the hill, on the other side to the SOS sign and watch the opening between Lerwick and Bressay Island. Traffic is quite heavy today, lots of boats come and go. The weather is lovely, the sun out and the skies almost clear of clouds. There is enough wind to blow the sailing boats and windsurfers. I watch them through the binoculars.

As noontime passes I nip back to the cottage for a tin of stew followed by a tin of pears in syrup. I take the fruit back up the hill and eat it while I watch for Ian’s boat.

The evening draws in and the midges round on me. Clouds have moved in and there’s a slight chill in the air. I go back to the cottage for my red coat. I wear it mostly for its ability to cover my skin and keep the insects from getting to me. Only my face is exposed. Slapping idly at them, I keep up my vigil.

By seven I know he’s not coming. This is my punishment. I’m sure he’ll be back. If he wanted me dead he wouldn’t have thrown me the life jacket and would have let me drown instead. He’s trying to frighten me and it won’t work.

 

July 27th

 

Sunday today, and if Ian’s going to come it’ll be today. I’m on the hill early enough to watch the ferry leave for Aberdeen. How I wish I was on it. I cross my fingers and stare at the boat as it passes. I only need one person to notice my SOS. Just one single person who thinks maybe there’s someone in trouble on Vanir. Have them tell one of the crew, then the coast guards will be notified and I’ll be free. The ferry slides through the water and eventually out of sight.

I spend the rest of the day on the hill, arms wrapped around me against the chill of the wind, as I watch for Ian’s boat. I wonder how long he’ll stay away, is this a punishment for me?

 

July 30th

 

After I wake up I fill the largest pan with water and put it up against the fire. While it’s heating I do an inventory. I have a bag of pasta and two kilo bags of rice left. There’s five tins of soup, all cream of mushroom, which I hate. There’s no butter or cheese left, no bread for ages now. There’s three tins of pears and another of mandarin segments. I find the mandarin horrid and sour, it also has a horrible texture. I still have plenty of seasonings, and there’s a tube and a half of tomato puree. I find three bottles of dried milk and I’ve got enough tea to last me another couple of weeks. There are enough cornflakes for two small servings.

How long will it be before Ian comes back? If he takes too long I’ll have starved to death. I reckon I have enough to last two weeks if I ration and go to bed on a rumbling stomach.

 

August 2nd

 

Every day for the last week I have spent the vast majority of the day up on the hill, watching for Ian’s boat. Today is Saturday, his preferred day for coming to Vanir and I’m hoping desperately that my punishment time is over and that he’ll come. I’m burning wood faster than I’m finding it. The weather hasn’t helped, it’s been very calm. Most driftwood comes in on storms, and there hasn’t been one for two weeks.

Sitting on the hill watching the boats come and go is strangely relaxing and I don’t notice Ian’s boat at first. When I see it, I realise how much I need to see him. I want to be angrier with him, for the way he’s treated me, for the lies, for keeping me trapped here. But I’m not. Maybe it’s just that simple need for human companionship clouding my thoughts.

Before he’s even halfway to the island, I’m down at the pier waiting. His boat seems to take an exceptionally long time coming, and I sit cross legged, trying to make myself hate him more.

“Hi,” I say as the boat finally pulls up alongside the pier.

I grab the ropes he chucks onto the pier and tie up the boat. Ian gets out and reties them. He says nothing to me. Once he deems the boat secure, he marches off up the hill. I stay in his wake, not trying to talk to him again, wondering what is so important.

When he goes right past the cottage I realise what he’s heading for. I’ve left the SOS sign up there uncovered. He must have seen it.

“This goes now.” He stops by the giant letters and kicks at the shingle. “It goes now or I leave and take the supplies with me.”

“You can’t do that, I’ll starve to death!” I try and get in front of him. I want him to look at me, see me properly. He’s avoiding, turning, keeping from making eye contact.

“You won’t starve. There’s fat on you.”

He gives my body the once over, a look of disgust on his features. I’m slim, less than nine stone before I came here. Then I realise he’s mistaken the beginnings of my baby bump for fat.

“Besides, water will keep you going.” He turns to go.

I can’t have him leave me with no food. “Ian, I’ll do it. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve had that sign up for almost three weeks and no one has come to your aid.” There’s a hint of humour on his voice. Levity. He’s enjoying the fact that I wasn’t saved.

I don’t say anything, just stare at him as I realise he’s been keeping an eye on the island, but how? Has he been sneaking on at night? Watching me from another boat? It would have to be another boat, I’ve been watching out for the blue-stripped hull of his boat for days now. All day, and into the evening, examining every vessel that comes my way.

Before he turns to try and leave again, I start to dig the shingle out with my hands and replace the sections of sod.

“The turbine’s broken down again. Could you fix it, please?” I try my luck asking for help.

“Too much to do back home. I’m not staying long. You’re lucky I came with your food.”

He stares at the second ‘S’. I’m working fast covering up my sign. My fingers hurt and are bleeding from scooping out the shingle, but Ian’s still here, and I think I’ll at least get food.

“Don’t move from here until you’re done,” he says. His voice is so cold, so unemotional. Was he always like this? How did I not see through to the real Ian?

He walks off, going first into the cottage. Ian stays there a while as I work on the last letter. I’m just finishing up as he leaves the cottage and heads down to the pier. I rush the last bit then run to catch up, getting to the pier just as he climbs into his boat.

“I did the letters, covered them up like you said.” I wait for a response. “Please, leave me some food.”

Ian puts the key in the ignition and then stands to the side, arms crossed as he stares first at me, then up at the hill. “Do it again and I won’t come back.”

I nod. “I promise. No more SOS signs.”

He stares a moment longer, as if deciding whether I’m telling the truth or not, then he dumps the first couple of bags on the pier. The rest comes quickly. He’s brought more supplies than I’ve seen before, ten shopping bags in total. He hefts a sack of coal out, and without a word starts the engine.

“Thank you,” I say and untie the ropes, throwing them in the boat.

“Behave yourself and I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“I will, I promise.” I have to say this. I’m already trapped on this island. If I piss him off then I’ll die here, and as I stand on the pier, surrounded by my supplies, I swear that I will get off this island somehow.

I watch as the boat pulls away. He powers away from the island and I realise that I’m crying.