You, Me & the Sea Read online

  ‘I beg your pardon, Fraser? Did you say something?’

  She comes over to them. She has wellies on over a pair of dark jeans, a pink shirt, collar up, with a padded bodywarmer over the top. She looks as if she’s come to spectate at a gymkhana.

  ‘You can see for yourself,’ he says, not raising his voice. ‘They’re a mess.’

  ‘Nothing a bit of hard work won’t fix, I’m sure,’ she says, sniffing. ‘And I must say I’m very disappointed, given how long you’ve been here. I know you have other things to do, but part of your responsibility here is maintaining the fixtures and fittings.’

  ‘They were in this state when I got here,’ he says.

  ‘And you put in a request,’ Rachel pipes up, ‘didn’t you? You were telling me about it. When you first started, you asked them for materials …’

  Fraser clears his throat. Rachel doesn’t look at him.

  ‘That was before my time, I’m afraid,’ Marion remarks. ‘You should know by now that I’m the sort of person who gets things done. We could have been well on the way to opening the cottages this season. And now we will probably miss it. That’s quite some considerable loss, not to mention the cost of the repairs themselves.’

  Rachel wonders if she’s leading up to announcing some sort of pay cut. She isn’t earning very much at all, given that her board and lodging are included, but she had been hoping to save money to be able to afford a rental deposit when she gets out of here. Once more she finds herself thinking of the state of the bird observatory, hoping that the work she’s done in cleaning it will meet Marion’s standards. She has a horrible feeling it won’t.

  She has been chewing her nail, and Fraser nudges her so her hand is knocked away from her teeth. Gives her a tiny shake of the head. The tiniest of smiles.

  She is reassured, a little bit. There is something about the glint in his eye. As though he absolutely doesn’t give a shit about any of this. As though he’s almost enjoying it. And then she remembers again that she’s only here for few weeks; none of this has anything to do with her. Why is she even worrying about it? If Fraser isn’t, then she shouldn’t either.

  Marion has gone into the first cottage, following John and Phil and Damian. She can hear them talking, snatched edges of the conversation.

  ‘Aye, well, that’s a fairly major settlement in the west elevation – probably caused by saturation.’

  ‘And the crack to the party wall and at the gable end – the whole of the cement render will have to be replaced.’

  And Marion’s voice, rising above the others. ‘Never mind a structural engineer. I just want to know what it might look like and how much it’ll cost to fix.’

  Someone – possibly Phil, almost apologetic, adds, ‘It’s going to be a real challenge to get planning passed. I just want to make that clear.’

  Rachel keeps glancing towards the second cottage. Marion hasn’t been inside yet.

  ‘Will you stop?’ Fraser says to her.

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘You’re fidgeting like crazy.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ she says, but she takes some deep breaths and feels a bit better.

  Marion emerges. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Let’s go. I’m going to leave them to it.’

  ‘Great,’ says Rachel, smiling her brightest smile, which fades as Marion makes for the slope that leads to the lighthouse.

  ‘Not that way,’ says Fraser sharply.

  ‘Why not?’ Marion asks, turning.

  ‘The path is really dangerous,’ Rachel says. ‘It’s slippery and very steep and there’s nothing to break your fall if you lose your footing.’

  Marion sighs dramatically, looking up the hill. ‘What? It’s worse than the way we came?’

  ‘Much worse.’

  They go the long way round, back towards the jetty. At the point where the paths converge, Marion makes determined strides towards the lighthouse.

  ‘Marion!’ Rachel calls, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘It’s this way!’

  Once again Marion turns, with a small, impatient flick of her head. ‘I’ve come all this way,’ she says. ‘I want to see everything. So show me round the lighthouse.’

  Rachel tries again. ‘Can we not do that after we’ve visited the bird observatory? We don’t have a lot of time before the boat has to leave.’

  ‘I’m sure the bird observatory is just fine, Rachel. And we have nearly two hours; it won’t take long, will it?’

  ‘Fucksake,’ Fraser mutters.

  The pair of them exchange glances and follow. Rachel thinks of the messy bed, the bathroom that probably could do with a clean, but most importantly Lefty. They hadn’t been expecting Marion to want to see anything apart from the cottages and the bird observatory. But she is already making her way purposefully towards the lighthouse. There is no getting out of it.

  Fraser

  The kitchen is clean. Marion frowns and stares pointedly at Fraser’s coffee machine, then wrinkles her nose at the dog bed next to the oven.

  Fraser steers her deliberately towards the rear, the same way he had done when he gave Rachel the tour. He notices that Rachel can’t help casting a glance at Lefty’s door. All is quiet. Fraser opens the door to the workshop and Marion steps inside. He watches her scanning the room. His tools, the quad, the chickens. ‘You have them inside?’

  ‘Only when the weather’s bad.’

  ‘But you can’t have livestock indoors, it’s a filthy idea. A proper health hazard.’

  ‘They’re cleaned regularly. And if we had the coops outside they wouldn’t survive.’

  ‘Even so, we shan’t have them inside. It won’t do at all. You’ll have to move them.’

  Rachel goes to say something and Fraser reaches out a hand to stop her, behind Marion’s retreating form. Marion is already making her way up the curved staircase to the lamp room.

  ‘Of course,’ Marion calls, her voice deafening in the echoing space, ‘we can offer tours of the lighthouse, can’t we?’ Very quickly she has to pause for breath. ‘It’s a historic building … People will come to the island … just for that … never mind the wildlife.’

  ‘It’s also my home,’ Fraser growls at her, two steps behind.

  ‘It’s not yours, Fraser … as I keep telling you … it belongs to the Trust … you’re just a guest here … the same as everyone else.’

  She has reached the first landing, the grimy window giving a limited view of green and sea and sky. If she’s embarrassed at her comparative lack of fitness, she’s not going to show it.

  ‘Can we not clean these windows?’

  ‘They don’t open,’ Fraser says. Tries not very hard to sound as if he’s never heard anything so patently stupid in his whole life.

  ‘From outside?’ Marion says, biting sarcasm.

  ‘We’re around sixty feet off the ground,’ he says. ‘I don’t have a ladder that reaches that high.’

  Marion throws him a look and sets off again. For a moment he allows himself a brief fantasy of flipping her by the ankles over the balustrade and watching her smacking into the tiled floor below.

  But she would probably bounce.

  They spend no more than ten minutes at the top of the tower, while Fraser delays things by blocking the hatch with his body, and leaves Rachel to carry out the chitchat. Rachel is at her perky best, talking about the whales (which she hasn’t seen) and the weather, which of course she knows all about. She is veering awkwardly from excitement at having a new person to talk to, even a belligerent old jobsworth like Marion Scargill, to remembering that the idea is for Marion to be put off the whole notion of inviting holidaymakers.

  ‘Of course, you’d need to do a full health-and-safety risk assessment,’ she says now, uncertainly enough to make him think she probably doesn’t possess any clear concept of what one is and whether it is, actually, required. ‘The whole island is one big hazard, really. The clifftops are very dangerous, you have to stay well away from them, especially when it
’s windy, which it is most of the time – you’ll see what I mean in a minute. And the puffin burrows are a real trip hazard.’

  ‘Don’t forget the terns,’ Fraser mutters.

  ‘Oh, yes! The terns. They dive-bomb you. When they’re nesting.’

  Rachel hasn’t experienced this yet, but Fraser has warned her. She is going to need a hat, or else she’ll get pecked every time she gets near the terrace.

  ‘And we’re a very long way away from a hospital,’ she adds.

  Marion is looking at the view. Fraser wonders if she’s even listening. The whole thing has a terrible sense of inevitability about it. He knew this was going to happen. And it’s not going to get any better. To take his mind off it he reaches out his hand and skims Rachel’s backside and she looks round at him sharply. Holds her gaze. Raises a single eyebrow.

  ‘You seem to be assuming I’ve never done something like this before,’ Marion says. ‘And you’d be wrong. I think you should both bear that in mind.’ And she stands right in Fraser’s face, until he moves out of her way.

  A few minutes later they are back downstairs, in the hallway. Rachel is a few steps behind him. Marion is ahead and he can see it before it happens. He thinks about shouting at her, thinks about pushing her out of the way, but what’s the point?

  She is at Lefty’s door. ‘And what’s in here?’ Her hand on the doorknob.

  Rachel says, ‘Oh, that’s just storage, it’s not—’

  And Fraser is just standing there, watching. Closes his eyes slowly and opens them again. Breathes in.

  The door opens. His view of the inside is blocked by the door and by Marion’s body. Marion gives a shocked little gasp. Fraser hears something from inside the room, some noise. He can’t see, but he can imagine Lefty sitting on his bed, shrinking back, his startled face.

  ‘And just who is this?’

  Rachel

  Rachel and Marion are sitting at the table in the bird observatory. The very best that can be said about things is that there is less than an hour to go before the boat has to leave.

  Marion doesn’t like cheese scones, as it turns out, but she accepted a slice of coffee and walnut cake and a cup of tea, and then picked at the former and hasn’t bothered to drink the latter.

  ‘It just isn’t appropriate,’ Marion says for what feels like the fifth time. ‘He clearly knows what’s expected of him. He signed an employment contract that was very clear.’

  Fraser had parted company with them on the headland. Marion at that point had been red in the face and uncommonly silent, as if she was about to actually explode. Fraser had taken advantage of the break in the conversation, saying he had to go and see to things with Robert, and, although Rachel was momentarily terrified at the prospect of being left on her own with Marion, actually a lot of the tension seems to have dissipated. Perhaps Marion has a problem with men, she thinks, or tall, arsey ones at least. Now, having listened to a good half-hour of Marion’s vitriol, she desperately wants to defend Fraser against this ongoing character assassination, but has the strongest sense that whatever she says probably won’t do the blindest bit of good. Besides, the less she speaks, the fewer times she will have to tell blatant lies.

  ‘And you said he’s been here – how long?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. Not long.’

  Fraser hadn’t stuck to the plan. He hadn’t introduced Lefty as his nephew. Hadn’t introduced him at all. Just turned away and walked out, Bess at his heels.

  ‘He’s just visiting,’ Rachel had said.

  ‘Visiting?’ Marion had said, looking aghast. She had cast her gaze once more into the room, at the Xbox and the tatty bedlinen and the bathroom beyond.

  Now Marion has thought of something else. ‘He’s subletting,’ she says, lips pursed.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Rachel says, almost amused at the very idea that Lefty has any money to pay rent. Not to mention the idea of the housing crisis being so acute that a casual tenant might decide to house-share on an island two hours out in the North Sea.

  ‘He wouldn’t tell you about it, of course, but I bet that’s what he’s doing.’

  On the bright side, Marion has not commented negatively on the bird observatory. She hasn’t said anything complimentary either. She is too busy laying into Fraser.

  ‘Look, I know he probably should have said something,’ Rachel offers. ‘But it really isn’t a big deal. He’s just staying for a little while and then I’m sure he’ll be gone.’

  ‘What’s he eating? Drinking? We’re not providing you with provisions so you can share it among all and sundry.’

  ‘Robert also brings stuff that Fraser pays for,’ she says. ‘Other things he needs. So that’s probably what’s happening with the extra food.’

  As she says it, Rachel feels Marion’s gimlet eyes focus on her. ‘Other things?’ she echoes. ‘What other things?’

  Is this something else that’s going to get him into even more trouble? Rachel hopes not. ‘You know – coffee beans, the odd bottle of wine. Stuff like that.’

  Marion lets out a little snort of disgust. Outside the bird observatory, the sun comes out, bathing the room in warm light. Even viewing it through Marion’s hyper-critical eyes, she thinks the place looks very appealing. The picture window shows birds and sea and sky, the very best of the island. Rachel makes another desperate attempt at changing the subject.

  ‘What about Julia?’ she asks. ‘Have you heard anything more from her?’

  ‘She’s doing well, I gather – the mother, that is.’

  ‘Any more news on how long I’ll be needed?’

  ‘No. Of course, she might decide not to come after all.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ There have been no further emails from Julia, which makes Rachel wonder if she’s missed something. Last she’d heard, Julia was really looking forward to it.

  ‘Well, I don’t know. But you’ll be all right to carry on, won’t you? I mean, if she decides not to take up the position?’

  Rachel frowns. ‘I guess so …’ she says, wondering how Fraser would take that news. ‘I don’t know, I’d need to think.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You wouldn’t let me down as well, would you? Nobody seems to be reliable any more, it’s an appalling state of affairs. Clearly I need someone on the island who’s going to take things seriously. What a complete pantomime this whole thing is.’

  Rachel thinks Marion is just hedging her bets. The older woman casts a glance around the room and Rachel braces herself for the inevitable critical assault.

  ‘What about your food hygiene certificate?’ Marion asks. ‘When’s that due for renewal?’

  ‘My – what?’

  ‘Your food hygiene certificate. To permit you to prepare and serve food.’

  Rachel feels the blood drain away from her face. ‘Um,’ she says, ‘am I supposed to have one of those?’

  Marion’s expression changes from sour to thunderous. ‘Yes, indeed you are. Are you telling me you don’t have one?’

  ‘Nobody told me I needed one, I—’

  ‘Good God, Rachel. You should have thought of it before you accepted the job. Of course you need a certificate! You’re preparing food illegally, then, making you personally liable if you poison someone, right? I’m hoping you’ve got public liability insurance, at least?’

  Rachel can feel the panic rising. She is going to be sacked, she thinks, right here and now. She is going to have to go back on the boat with Marion and the builders. She won’t even have time to pack.

  But Marion purses her lips firmly. ‘Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now, is there? You’ll have to get yourself certified if we employ you permanently, although given your casual attitude to the safety and wellbeing of your guests that really will be a matter of some consideration. In the meantime, thank God we haven’t had any comments or complaints about it. Other than that first week, of course.’

  ‘That wasn’t about the food, though,’ Rachel says, as if that makes anything be
tter.

  ‘Indeed,’ Marion concedes, seemingly reluctantly. There is a little pause. She looks around the room, at the painted breeze-block walls, the rough table and chairs, the cracked linoleum and the mismatched cushions on the shapeless sofa, and sighs heavily. ‘The whole thing is a joke,’ she says wearily. ‘An absolute joke.’

  Rachel glances surreptitiously at the clock. Wonders if Fraser would be pissed off if she were to bring Marion to the harbour half an hour early.

  Fraser

  ‘Well,’ Rachel says, ‘that was fun.’

  They are sitting in the kitchen, which is flooded with sunlight from the open back door. It’s turned out to be the warmest day of the year so far, which is typical when he had been hoping for a storm. Bess is sitting in the doorway, watching the birds, the light breeze stirring her fur.

  It’s just over an hour since the boat sailed. Back at the lighthouse Rachel had gone to see Lefty, coaxed him out with the promise of warmed cheese scones, although he’d been reluctant.

  ‘Wasnae ma fault,’ was the first thing he said when he saw Fraser.

  He’s not sure if he would have shouted even if Rachel hadn’t been here. He’s too tired for any of it. Three hours’ sleep followed by three hours with Marion Fucking Scargill – he was done in. And Rachel looks tired now too, as though the effort of maintaining the chirpiness for Marion’s benefit has finished her off. Lefty’s head is down; he’s picking at his food and saying nothing.

  ‘Nobody’s blaming you, Lefty. She was just a bit of a nightmare all round.’

  Fraser has made coffee because if ever a situation called for coffee, this is it.

  ‘What’s gonnae happen,’ Lefty asks.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Rachel says. ‘I’m sure it’ll be okay, though. Everything will work out.’

  Fraser can’t help himself.

  ‘Sure about that?’

  ‘Well, I might get chucked off the island before anyone else,’ she says hollowly.

  ‘Can I go?’ Lefty says.

  ‘Go where?’