Beyond the Sea (12 page)

AFTER DANIEL HAD
gone, Freya retrieved the necklace from Sam's box and held it up to the light. She watched the late afternoon sunshine dance across it, and wondered, not for the first time, where it had come from, who it had once belonged to. It was beautiful, unique. Still, she thought, it could look better.

Moving to the kitchen, she mixed baking soda with a little water in a bowl. When it had formed a paste, she dipped a damp sponge into it and rubbed it into the silver – it was an old trick of her mother's and apparently worked wonders. After a few minutes she rinsed off the paste and held the necklace up to the light again.

‘Well, what do you know?' Freya murmured to herself. The silver had regained a soft sheen.

She dried the necklace with a clean tea towel and then put it on, taking care not to break it. Then she studied it in the hallway mirror. It was striking against the pale thinness of her neck. She took a step closer to the mirror, running her fingers over the silver loops. Then she went into her bedroom to lie down and read the second entry in Sam's diary.

2
0 April 2014

What a brilliant day.

I don't remember what time it was when Dad came into my room to get me up but I had already been awake for ages. We had our breakfast quickly and then got in the boat and raced to Mull. That was what it felt like anyway. Racing along. The wind and the tide were both with us Dad said.

When we got to Fionnphort, Callum was already waiting. He was taking me to the Treshnish Isles where I'd never been before. I was so excited I could hardly wait. Callum said it was a good day for it – fine with a light breeze.

After we waved goodbye to Dad and set off, Callum told me a bit about the isles. This is what I can remember:

1. He said that there were 8 in total (as well as a few very small ones which didn't really count as they were more like rocks),
   
2. They are very remote and have been uninhabited for a long time, although they still have the remains of houses and a castle on them.
   

The first one we came to was Bac Beag (which was very flat) but right next to it was Bac Mor, which means Dutchman's cap because it looks like one.

Lunga was the next one along. It was the biggest with a mountain, Cruachan, at the northern end. Callum told me that Lunga means ‘longship' in Old Norse, the language of the Vikings. I asked if it was because its shape was a bit like a Viking longboat. Callum said that he thought it probably was that – but he said it in that tone that Dad sometimes has when he doesn't really know. So I'm not sure that that really is the reason.

Anyway, even if he didn't know that, he knows most things and is an excellent sailor. It's hard to land on Lunga as there's no jetty. Callum had to attach the boat to what he called a ‘pontoon' which floats. He then drove it onto the rocks. I jumped onto the pontoon thing and ran onto the rocky beach while Callum slipped the boat back into the bay and dropped anchor. Then he jumped off in all his wet gear and marched through the shallows to meet me. He's so cool.

For a while we looked for fossils among the rocks. Callum knows that I love that stuff so he helped me. I didn't really find anything other than a few nice fossil shells but then I came across what looked at first like an old piece of coral. I showed it to Callum and he said it was a blade, a rough-fashioned knife made from basalt, for killing fish. Then he looked me in the eye and told me it probably belonged to a mermaid – that they hunted with such objects tied to wooden spears. I waited for him to pull a face or smile to show me that he was joking. But he didn't. He just kept nodding his head and his face was so serious that I think perhaps he even believed what he was saying. He then told me a few other mermaid ‘facts' – which was a bit odd as I knew they couldn't be facts. After all everyone knows mermaids don't actually exist. Except Mum perhaps. And now, I think, maybe Callum.

Anyway, there were some grey seals on the low rocks and wildflowers near where we had come ashore. There were lots of what Callum told me was sea campion, something weird called birdsfoot trefoil, tormentil and thrift. Callum wrote down all the names for me. I told him I was writing the diary while Mum was away and I think he guessed how much I was missing her. He suggested that we pick a few flowers which I could put in my diary and show her when she got back. I thought that was a good idea.

Then we set off to see the birds. We went to Harp Rock which is a stack separated from Lunga by the sea. We saw black and white razorbills, diving down and catching fish in their beaks. They were nesting and breeding on the stack. We also saw fulmars, which are grey and white like seagulls, and guillemots, which look a bit like small penguins. There were loads of puffins wandering around where we were standing. They are so tame, Callum said, because there are no predators on the isles and they are not used to seeing humans. One came up really close and Callum took a photograph of it right next to me. It was very funny and we sent it to Mum. He also told me that there would be over 2,000 pairs of puffins on the island before the end of summer. That's a lot!

After we had had enough of watching the birds we went off to climb the mountain. From the top we could see the ruined village in the northeast of Lunga where there are still the remains of black houses. We also had great views over the sea and Callum pointed out the other isles that we would sail to later and stop at if we had time. Fladda was the next big flat one we could see and then beyond that were Cairn na Burgh Mor and Cairn na Burgh Beag where there are the ruins of the castle of Cairnburgh. I didn't say it to Callum but I really hoped we did moor there so we could climb over the castle remains and I could think about the Macleans. Mum had told me that they once ruled over the Treshnish Isles and that they probably hid out on these faraway islands when they got into trouble with the local clans and the English.

We had our lunch at the top of Cruachan – tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches which Callum had made because he knows that they are my favourite. We also had crisps and apples, which I also really like. As I said, Callum is a great guy.

By the time we got back to the boat, the sky was clouding over and the weather was becoming ‘changeable' Callum said. We passed Fladda and did make it to the castle ruins, but we didn't get to anchor and explore. I begged Callum to let us and he said that he would have if he could. But we really needed to be getting back just in case the weather turned. I bet Dad would have let us moor and have a look around.

I was a bit gutted but as we were getting close to Mull the sky got really dark and the waves started getting high and rough. So he had been right about the weather. When we docked it was great to see Dad who said he didn't want to take the boat back to our island in this weather. So we would visit Torin and spend the night there instead. Hurray. What a brilliant way to round off a brilliant day. Sailing with Callum then stories with Torin.

All it needed to have been perfect was Mum. I miss her.

FREYA SAT ON
the edge of her bed, motionless. Rain had begun to lash against the window but she didn't turn to look at it. Her mind was elsewhere, repeatedly stumbling upon a sentence in Sam's diary. She had faltered over it when she first read the entry, but had put it to the back of her mind.
I bet
Dad would have let us moor and have a look around.

She turned the words over again and then said them out loud, as if trying them out. They curdled instantly on her tongue. She closed her eyes and remembered a time when she and Jack had been out on the boat, the weather turning. He was smiling at her, a mischievous glint in his eye. Persuading her to stay out longer, go farther than he knew they should. She had always been the disciplined one; he the one who lacked such will. But when Sam came along she had noticed a change in him. He had curbed that side of his nature, hadn't he? Or had he simply hidden it from her more effectively?

Panic seared through her. It had been a constant nagging doubt. But the diary entry proved it, didn't it? Sam could persuade his father to do things he shouldn't, to take risks and gamble with the weather and their lives.

Freya leapt to her feet and began pacing the room. Her face was hot and she felt uncontrollable tears welling inside her. She had left her only child, her son, alone with Jack and he had killed them both. How could she have left Sam with such a man? What kind of woman was she?

Freya sat down heavily on the corner of the bed as her tears fell. Her breath was thick and laboured and she felt dizzy. She knew that if she continued down this path, these scorching thoughts would burn her. She had to stop herself, stop her mind from growing ever wilder, more extreme.

She took a deep breath and looked up, catching sight of herself in the mirror beside the wardrobe. The sight made her start. Her face was pale, her tired eyes dark and lined and her hair stood out in a white mess from her head. Her cheeks were hollow, she had lost weight. She looked entirely unlike herself: unearthly; a banshee bewailing those who were already gone. Freya stood and moved towards the mirror, repulsed and mesmerised at the same time. It was hard to comprehend, looking at herself now, just how much she had changed. And with the thought something popped in her head.

Her lips curled into a snarl and she screamed. She grabbed the wardrobe door and yanked it open with such force that it came off its hinges.

‘You stupid, selfish bastard,' she yelled, pulling Jack's shirts off their hangers and flinging them to the ground. ‘How dare you be so reckless?' She kicked the shirts across the floor then reached for a pile of jumpers on a shelf. ‘How could you be so careless with the most precious thing we had?' She reached for T-shirts, trousers, a suit, a winter coat, anything she could get her hands on, throwing it all to the floor; raging, shouting and stomping, ripping and grappling.

‘Freya!'

It took a while for her to register the voice behind her.

‘Freya!'

She turned to see Marta standing in the doorway, still wearing her outdoor coat, her hair wet and windswept, a horrified look on her face.

‘What are you doing?'

Freya followed Marta's gaze to the floor. At the sight of Jack's clothes, randomly scattered about, she felt the rage surge within her again. ‘Selfish bastard,' she spat out, picking up a T-shirt from the floor and then flinging it back down.

Marta stepped forward and put her hand on Freya's arm. ‘It's okay,' she murmured quietly, trying to calm her.

But Freya flinched and spun away from her. ‘Get off me. It's not okay. It's
not
okay. You have no idea what it's like. No fucking idea what it means to love someone, really love someone, more than yourself, and then have them gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Not
you
walking away from it. Not your choice.' She jabbed her finger at Marta, feeling pressure rise inside her head, the rapid beat of her pulse against her temples. ‘You've never had a real relationship in your life. Something you didn't have some sort of distance from. Never, ever. So don't
ever
tell me it's okay. Don't you
ever.
' She stopped talking and took a deep, ragged breath.

Stunned, Marta stood frozen to the spot, and for a few moments she simply stared at Freya. Then she looked away and walked silently out of the room.

The rain had stopped and the light had gone out of the sky. The bedroom was in shadow. Freya lay across the pile of clothes scattered on the floor. How long she had been like this she didn't know, but still she lay, her body unmoving. Her mind was empty and she wallowed in the absence of feeling. Her fingers stroked the soft cotton of a shirt, moving backwards and forwards over it. The rhythm soothed her. Eventually she brought the shirt to her chest and hugged it to her, inhaling the woody scent, sandalwood and musk, that reminded her so much of Jack. His smell was still so fresh, as if he had just peeled off the shirt, thrown it to the floor and walked into the next room. Sometimes she thought she heard him, the smack of his feet against the stone floor of the kitchen, the sound ominous and reassuring at the same time. But now there was only silence. She closed her eyes and let the scent envelop her. In this space, this quiet, she remembered another part of Sam's diary.
When we docked it was great to see Dad who said he didn't want to take the boat back to our island in this weather.

Tears pricked her eyes so Freya kept them clamped shut. This time she needed to keep control of herself.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, and sat upright.

She surveyed the carnage of the bedroom.

‘I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me.'

For a moment she sat in silence, as if waiting for a reply. Then she stood, began to pick up the clothes and fold them. The slow process, the habit of it soothed her. By the time she had finished, and Jack's clothes were neatly stacked in the wardrobe once more, the bedroom was in darkness.

She stood in front of the mirror, hardly able to see her own reflection this time. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightened her clothes.

‘Please forgive me,' she said again, as much to herself as Jack.

Then she went to find her sister.

MARTA WAS STANDING
at the kitchen stove, stirring a pan. She seemed immersed in the task, but Freya knew that she wasn't concentrating on it. Instead her brain would be turning over and over the horrible things Freya had said to her. She felt the sharp sting of guilt, so familiar now.

‘Marta.'

When Marta didn't move, Freya stepped closer towards her.

‘I'm so sorry, sis. Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me.' She paused as Marta remained facing the wall. ‘You have every right to be furious,' she persisted. ‘I said terrible things and I didn't mean them. Of course I didn't. I'm so sorry,' she said again.

Finally Marta turned. Her face was pale and she looked as though she'd been crying.

‘Oh, Marta.' Freya moved towards her and hugged her hard.

‘It's okay. I forgive you.'

Freya pulled away from her and ran her fingers gently over Marta's eyes. I'm sorry, she mouthed again. I didn't mean it.

‘Yes, you did. But never mind.'

Freya opened her mouth to speak but Marta put a finger over her lips and made a shushing noise.

‘So what brought it on?'

Freya sighed. ‘I read the next entry in Sam's diary and thought Jack had taken a risk with their safety. That got me into all kinds of thoughts. I'm sorry you got caught up in it.'

Marta smiled. ‘Is Jack forgiven too?'

Freya nodded.

‘Good. Okay then.' She paused, looking at Freya's throat. ‘Is that the necklace Sam found beachcombing?'

‘It is.'

‘It's stunning. And fits you perfectly.' Marta reached out and momentarily touched its silver. ‘Lindsay says hi, by the way.'

Freya nodded. Lindsay was the old university friend Marta had visited that day. She had moved with her husband and two children to Iona a couple of years before. ‘How is she?'

‘Oh, she's fine,' Marta said. ‘I think they found the winter hard.'

No doubt. Freya tried not to think about what she would have given to have had winter at the lighthouse with her family.

‘I got a call while I was with her. From the office. Something urgent has come up. I have to go back to London.'

‘Oh.' Freya felt the almost physical punch in her stomach. ‘Is it him?'

Marta shook her head. ‘It's just work. I said I needed to talk to you first.'

Freya nodded. But she realised that, for all Marta's reassurances, she probably had no choice but to go. And even now, moments after an argument, she realised just how much she wanted her to stay. ‘Well, of course you must go. I'll be fine.' Freya said it with a conviction she didn't by any means feel.

Marta frowned. ‘Will you? I'm not so sure after today.'

Freya shrugged. ‘Of course. Look, I'm okay now. It was just a momentary thing. And I'm bound to have those from time to time. You know that.'

Marta nodded but still looked unconvinced. ‘Why don't you come with me? Just for a few weeks until I've worked out my notice. Then we can come back together for a while before I start a new job.'

But Freya shook her head. She knew with total certainty that she didn't want to go to London. She wanted to go to the Treshnish Isles, the second destination of her pilgrimage. ‘Really I'm fine. I can't leave. When do you need to go?'

‘Tomorrow.'

‘Oh,' she said again.

‘What about Mum and Dad coming to stay?'

‘No.' Freya said it with fervour. ‘Seriously. I'll be okay on my own. Besides, Torin's nearby, and Callum.'

‘Ah, Callum. Of course.' Marta smiled at Freya and winked.

Freya ignored her. ‘And there's Daniel too.'

‘Daniel?' Marta raised her eyebrows.

‘He dropped by today.'

‘Really? What did he want?'

‘He came to thank us for our help on the night of the storm. We talked a bit. I told him about Jack and Sam. It was okay.'

Marta nodded. ‘I see. So you've made a new friend.'

Freya shrugged and laughed. ‘I wouldn't say that. He doesn't give a lot away about himself. In fact, thinking about it, I'm surprised you haven't bonded with him yet.'

‘Hey, watch it.' But Marta was smiling.

Freya hugged her again. ‘Really, it's fine for you to go.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, really. Now can you tell me what it is you're stirring?'

‘To be honest I don't know,' Marta said, eyeing the thick greenish liquid at the bottom of the pan. ‘It came out of a tin but I wasn't paying attention to what it was.' She looked at it again and laughed. ‘As penance, you know you're going to have to eat it.'