The Monster's Wife(43)

Inside the croft, twists of firelight licked the threadbare linens on the dresser and nuzzled the flagstone floor. Granny was frowning at the task of untangling the wool from the bird’s nest it had got into inside her knitting basket. Rugs and quilts covered her knees. Toby, who cocked an ear when Oona came in, then yawned and lay back down. One of Granny’s hands stroked the worn velvet of Toby’s ear and the other traced the edge of a pale square of quilt.

“Where did you get to, lass?” She said the words without turning, but her voice was sharp with worry as it had been all week.

“The beach.” The lies slipped from her tongue with ease these days.

Granny picked at a stubborn bird’s nest of wool. “Stuart came visiting, asking after you. Something to do with Andrew, he told me.”

“Oh?” She yawned, wishing to sound bored, but the thought of Stuart pinched her guts still harder than the knife had. She’d kept her distance since his wedding day, knowing full well he would blame her for May’s disappearance, or worse, catch some gleam of truth from behind her eyes and know that she knew a deal more than she was telling.

She shut the door, went to the fire and knelt in front of the chair, laying her head in the space between the blue quilt patch and Toby’s belly. It was something she’d used to do as a child when her need to be mothered overcame her fear of Granny.

Granny’s hand stilled. Oona could feel her knees tense under the sudden heaviness of Oona’s head, but she didn’t care. It was warm and she was so very tired.

“You’ve not had one of your fits?”

“No.”

For a brief moment, Granny’s hand rested on Oona’s hair. “Your Ma’s was just like this, as red as this.”

“Is that why Da fell in love with her?” Oona closed her eyes.

“Who’s to say? They were chalk and cheese, screaming and fighting.”

Oona had no wish to hear about how they’d hated each other. It seemed sad to come from that. She knew Granny blamed her mother for her father leaving, for him dying too. “Tell me the one about the Finman.”

“That’s a tale for bairns, not for big girls.”

“It’s my favourite.”

“Well, it was the summer your Ma turned eighteen,” Granny scooped up a length of hair and wound it round her wrist, “and she was as bonny a lass as any on Hoy, with a bairn on her hip and that was you…”

Her voice carried on, crackly and soothing, but Oona didn’t hear the tale of the Finman who caught sight of Ma from his boat and took too much of a fancy. She heard the hoarse sound of a jackdaw and saw men carrying a wooden box. There were black diamonds sewn on the elbows of their jackets. At the kirkyard, the women whispered Ma’s name. May came to hold her hand through the Minister’s stern words. After the prayers were done she kissed the top of Oona’s head. “You’re my kin now. We’re sisters.”

Granny’s hand stopped moving on Oona’s hair. “Why, I’m prating on and I don’t believe you’re even listening.”

Oona sat up. “I had a strange dream. I fancied that May was trapped somewhere with no-one to free her.”

“Trapped?” Granny’s face closed tight as a prayer book. She frowned. “May left no hint of her whereabouts, so all that remains is to look, which is what we have done. Making up tales to torture ourselves is senseless.”

“Sometimes dreams show the truth of things.” Oona stared into the embers. They were round and bright as coins, the ashes in between them dark as bruises. “She may indeed be trapped, or hurt and day after day passes by. She may lose hope...” Her voice caught on the last word.

Granny looked at her sharply. “Are you keeping something from me, Oona?”

“No.”

Granny frowned deeply and patted her lap. Toby climbed into it yawning and she petted his ears. “Oh Toby, the clouts never bring themselves in. Fetch them for me - there’s a good lad.”





38


Drooping between the wind-crushed sycamores were blouses and stockings, aprons and skirts. Toby followed Oona down the length of it, settling on his haunches to watch as she smoothed and folded, trotting behind her when she moved from one peg to the next.

She wished there had been some way to press Cormick harder. She was surer than ever that he knew something, had done something wrong. Guilt was written all over his face. She shivered, her hands working thoughtlessly on unpegging a worn woollen blanket. Toby barked and ran around her ankles. The blanket fell into her hands and revealed a pair of staring eyes.

She dropped the blanket. “You frighted me.” Toby ran between her legs and barked at Andrew.

“Why does he whine so?” Andrew stepped closer. His skin had a beer-sheen and his voice was tight.

“He’s a dog. That is their language.”

“I’ve hunted for you everywhere.”

“And now you have found me.” A dot of rain landed on Oona’s cheek. “I must fetch these inside.” She picked up the basket.

As she turned, he took hold of her wrist. “Have you visited Cormick?”

Toby’s ears flicked back and he trotted inside with his tail down. Oona turned towards Andrew but kept her eyes on the ground. “I went there to ask about May. He said he never saw her, but—”