I'll Keep You Safe

Chapter Twenty-One

It was only as she approached the house that Niamh noticed Seonag’s red SUV parked next to the Jeep. She hadn’t seen it arrive, and her heart sank. She really had wanted this time to herself. To mourn, to grieve, to deal with her demons on her own.

When she stepped into the house she could smell cooking. She kicked off her wellies and hung up her parka and padded through to the living room. Seonag was busy at the stove, steam rising from a large pan of boiling water filled with spaghetti. A meat sauce bubbled in another. Discarded food wrappings and the remains of ingredients lay scattered across the worktop. A bottle of Amarone stood open on the counter next to a couple of glasses, one of which contained a good two inches of ruby-red wine and displayed Seonag’s lipstick all around the rim. Seonag looked entirely at home, as if it were she who lived here and not Niamh.

She turned, smiling, as she heard Niamh come in. ‘Hello a ghràidh. Hope you don’t mind pasta two days running. But bolognese is a wee bit different from lasagne. And I brought some more Italian wine to go with it.’

Niamh supposed she meant well and forced a smile. ‘Great. But I’ll stick with the fizzy water, if you don’t mind.’ She took a fresh bottle from the fridge and poured some into the empty glass. ‘I’ve got to get an email out to my list before I eat. Just to let everyone know when and where the funeral’s going to be.’

‘No problem. The pasta’s got a way to go yet. I’ll just keep the sauce warm.’

Niamh took her glass with her through to the office and shut the door behind her. She slumped into her chair and took a sip of water, gazing out across the Minch in the dying light. She had sent an email to her list as soon as she got back from Stornoway, and was annoyed at having to lie to steal a moment to herself in her own house.

She let her head fall back and closed her eyes. So many things to think about, so many things to do. And she had no will to think or do any of them. She had an overwhelming urge to sleep, but knew that if she went to bed she would probably just lie awake.

She resented Seonag’s uninvited presence, and yet there was a comfort in the sounds of domesticity coming from the kitchen. Of life in this house that had been deprived of it. How could she ever live here on her own? The only point of it had been to be with Ruairidh.

She had finished her water before she knew it, bubbles fizzing around her lips, and realized she would have to go back through. Seonag had the table set and was transferring spaghetti with pasta tongs from the pan into deep plates. ‘Perfect timing,’ she said. And began spooning minced beef and tomato sauce over the pasta before grating big flakes of parmesan over the top of it. She carried the plates to the table and they both sat on the round, facing the view. Just as Niamh and Ruairidh had always done. Seonag refilled her glass. ‘So how did you get on with the Macfarlanes?’

Niamh flicked her a glance and was sure she already knew, but told her anyway.

Seonag listened in grave silence then said, ‘I suppose it’s best that the coffin is on display at the croft rather than up here. Folk would never make it out on that road.’ She canted her head in the direction of the track that snaked its way across the moor from Ness.

Niamh nodded. ‘No.’

‘What were you doing up on the cliffs? I saw you in the distance when I arrived.’

Niamh shrugged and spooned pasta into her mouth. It tasted good and she realized just how hungry she was. ‘Walking, thinking, remembering. It was out there above the bothy that we released Roísín’s ashes.’

Seonag said, ‘I’ve never been out to the bothy. What possessed you to build it in the first place?’

Niamh washed down her bolognese with a mouthful of clear sparkling water. ‘Years ago Ruairidh took me out on to the cliffs at Mangersta. You know how exposed it is down there. Those amazing sheer rock faces, stacked up in layers, as if they were God’s archives, a geological history of the Hebrides. Seams of rock like the rings of a tree, but taking you right back to the very beginnings of time.’

‘Hard to believe, but I’ve never been as far south as Mangersta. Uig Beach is about my limit.’ Seonag sipped her wine.

‘Really?’ Niamh was surprised. ‘I must take you some time. There are rock stacks in the ocean all around the cliffs. The sea just breaks white all along that stretch of coast. Anyway, there’s a bothy there, built just below the lip of one of the cliffs about thirty years ago by a couple living in the area. It was their daughter that died in Afghanistan, remember? She was an aid worker kidnapped by the Taliban, and then killed during an attempt by American marines to rescue her.’

‘Linda Norgrove,’ Seonag said. I remember the funeral. The procession was miles long.’

‘Well, it was her folks who built the bothy. No idea why, but Ruairidh knew about it. He’d been out there a few times and wanted to show me it.’ She smiled, remembering the trek across the cliffs, almost getting lost before finding it, suddenly, tucked away on a hidden shelf below a tumble of broken rock. ‘It sits perched up there, almost invisible, built right into the wall of the cliff. There’s a couple of windows, with the most amazing views, and skylights. In clear weather you can see all the way out to the Flannan Isles, and St Kilda. We got there at sunset, and honest to God, Seonag, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. Like looking out from the roof of the world. We set a fire and made love, and spent the night.’ A tear came with the memory and rolled slowly down her cheek. She wiped it away and forced a laugh. ‘It wasn’t the most comfortable place I’ve ever been made love to, or slept in. But it was magical.’

Seonag gazed at her in the semi-darkness, then rose to lean into the centre of the table and light candles. As she settled in her seat again she said, ‘So that’s what inspired the building of the bothy here?’

Niamh nodded. ‘It’s not as good as the one the Norgroves built, but we sort of borrowed their design, and the stone was all there from Iain Fiosaich’s first house. We made a half-decent job of it, I think, and in the beginning we used to go there quite a lot.’

‘Does anyone ever make use of it?’

‘The occasional hiker, I think. And some people seem to seek it out, just for the novelty value. To be honest I haven’t actually been in it for ages. A year or two, maybe. Ruairidh kept an eye on it and took care of any maintenance that was required.’ And almost as she said it, Niamh realized that he would never be out there again, and that in all likelihood it would fall into desuetude, a ruin, like the life she saw stretching ahead of her.

Seonag finished the Amarone and opened another bottle. Niamh watched, concerned. She tried to make a joke of it and told Seonag she was drinking too much. But Seonag was dismissive and refilled her glass, slurring her words slightly for the first time.

They talked about childhood, recalling the days when they had played ‘house’ in the shed in Niamh’s back garden and caught crabs on the shore, and cycled miles on disused single-track roads without ever seeing another soul. Pre-adolescent days when they had still been the best of friends, before hormones and adulthood had complicated simple lives.

Niamh got to her feet, finally, if only to stop Seonag from finishing another bottle. ‘I’ve got to go to bed, Seonag. And you’ve drunk far too much to drive.’

Seonag smiled. ‘It’s okay. I told Martin I might not be back tonight anyway.’

She remained sitting at the table as Niamh made her way towards the hall and her bedroom door, calling back over her shoulder as she went, ‘Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll do all that in the morning.’

‘Oidhche mhath,’ she heard Seonag whisper as she shut the door.

For the second night she felt lost in this big, sprawling bed that she had once shared with Ruairidh. It seemed so empty without him. She remembered how he had insisted that they buy the biggest and the best, and she still cringed when she thought about the cost of it. But he had said, ‘We spend a third of our lives in bed, why would we skimp on it?’ And she couldn’t argue with that.

She turned over on to her side, facing away from where he had once lain, turning out the light and curling up in the foetal position, the duvet pulled tightly around her. Fatigue overwhelmed her after days of sleep deprivation. And she drifted off into the deepest of sleeps from almost the moment she closed her eyes.

She had no idea how long she slept before a strange awareness brought her drifting slowly back to the surface. Of warmth and human comfort, a body spooned into hers, just like Ruairidh after they had made love. For the longest time, floating still in that netherworld between sleep and consciousness, she believed that he was there in bed with her. Although some part of her knew that it was impossible, she didn’t want to let go of the illusion. That somehow he was still alive, his body moulded into all her curves and hollows. The comfort and happiness that accompanied it was almost too much to bear. If waking up would dispel the fantasy, then she never wanted to wake up again. Ever.

But, still, consciousness forced itself upon her, and as she rose up from the euphoric mists of delusion, she turned over to realize, with a sudden, waking clarity, that there really was someone there in the bed beside her.

She sat upright, heart hammering, reaching for the bedside light. And was shocked to see Seonag lying naked where Ruairidh had once slept. ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing?’ Her voice sounded shrill, even to herself, and resounded around the room.

Seonag didn’t move. She reached for Niamh’s hand. ‘Don’t be angry with me.’ But Niamh pulled her hand away.

‘Seonag...’ Niamh was at a loss.

Seonag said, ‘I only wanted to comfort you. I know what you’re going through. How lonely and lost you must be.’

‘You have no idea how I’m feeling.’ Anger replaced alarm.

Seonag sat up now, drawing the quilt self-consciously around. She reached for Niamh’s hand again, found it and held it tightly. ‘Niamh, there’s never been anyone else. You know that.’

‘Jesus, Seonag, I thought you’d got over all this.’ She shook her head. ‘That it was just some kind of teenage crush.’ She forced her hand free of Seonag’s. ‘For heaven’s sake, you’re happily married. You’ve got two kids!’

Seonag sucked in her top lip, as if trying to hold back tears. ‘Marriage has never made me happy. It was only ever what was expected. I love my kids. But God forbid that I should also be in love with another woman.’

All the tension drained out of Niamh now, and she let her head drop. She felt Seonag’s pain, but knew there was nothing she could do to end it. And when next she looked at her saw the tears that Seonag had been unable to contain, running in big slow drops down her cheeks. She said, ‘I can’t help you, Seonag. I’m not ever going to be the person you want me to be. Not in that way.’ She reached out to brush away the tears from her friend’s face. ‘You should go. You really should.’ And when she didn’t move, ‘Please.’

The first sobs tore themselves from Seonag’s chest, and she slipped from the bed and ran naked from the room. The door slammed shut behind her, and Niamh closed her eyes in despair.