The Monster's Wife(83)

Deafening. The pain in her head was bright and hard. It had been thick night inside her, but now the light pulled her back to a world of shrieks heard under water. There were moans all around her and the ground beneath smelled of dung.

She moved her mouth to speak but could not find spit enough to swallow. Her neck throbbed and her head buzzed. Her eyes opened. She saw scant grass. Running up alongside it, a blue strip. The hooves of dirty white ewes made sucking sounds in the mud. Fat lambs butted bellies for a teat. Their bleats were shrill bells tolling. Oona sat. Patches of bald earth shone. Turds lay coiled on them, black and dry. Adam was gone. She was alone. She struggled to her feet, her head fit to burst.

When she stumbled towards the brae, some of the ewes thundered off on hooves too small to carry their fleece-burden easily. Others turned their yellow devil-eyes on her while the lambs squinted out from under curls of their mothers’ muddy wool. The yellow eyes watched her climb. At the top of it, she saw a black cloud over the cliffs. Shading her eyes, she looked into the direction of the rising sun. Motes of white drifted down in her sight like fiery bees and her bones rasped each time she looked a different way. The cloud was so big it could have been the start of a storm, except that a twist of black tailed down from it into the unseen ground. Up on the high ground, where the cliffs met the clouds, someone had a fire going, a bigger one than she’d seen before. She could smell it now, taste the salt tang of the charring wood. They will hang him up and burn him. That was what Victor had said before he smashed the stone down. She began to run.

A few times she stopped and bent double, her hands pressed to her thighs, trying to breathe. Her head pounded and her chest ached, but even when she closed her eyes she still saw smoke and thought of Adam up there with Victor or maybe all the angry people on the island, out for blood. She ran on. Brambles that webbed the track scratched her calves and snagged on her dress. Fiddleheads crushed underfoot were bitter as lies. Gulls scavenging in the dried bed of the burn found nothing and flew off shrieking hunger. The sun hit Oona’s raw face and dried her dress and a cold sweat settled on her.

A stone gulley led to the cliff top and it climbed straight up. She scrabbled above her for finger-holds, toeholds. She couldn’t see the smoke anymore, but it smelled stronger. Small dried grass sprouted between stones, tempting her to cling to it, but she knew better than that. Perched on a ledge, her hands wiggled the loose teeth stones and avoided them, found firm stones that wouldn’t give. Pebbles the size of shelled peas rolled loose and blinded her. Sharp edges cut her feet. A heavy stone above seemed sure. She gripped the flat top. The stone slithered out and plunged past her. Far below, it shattered on rocks. She thrust her fist into the cool cleft of soil where the stone had been and clung on, just breathing.

Looking up, she saw the smoke again. Beneath it, black heather starred with the tiniest pink flowers. The gulley widened into a crisscross of ledges, each broad enough to sit on. She heaved her body up onto the first and found a straw nest with two speckled eggs in it. The shells were broken, the yolks dried sticky over feather and lime and a pink nub of wing. A skua must have found it. She reached for the next ledge, feet firmly planted now. Looking down, it seemed that she was wearing red slippers again. Blood stained her toes and the sides of her feet. Beneath them, the sea shook the rocks and broke into furious, white beads. Her head whirled. Sickness gripped her gut. Her fingers loosened. She would fall down there, into the roiling white. Don’t look down, that’s what they said. Never look down.

Hands clasped her wrists and hefted her up. Surely only Adam was strong enough to lift her so easily up and over the edge of the cliff. She never saw his face, just tumbled on top of him, his arms firmly holding her. Fear flooded out of her. She lay on his chest sucking in ragged breaths, her body floppy with relief.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Aye, well…”

She looked up and saw blonde hair, a red beard.

Andrew smiled and ran his hand over her hair, over her cheek. “We fancied you were dead and all.”

She squirmed from his arms and got to her knees. A group of people stood behind Andrew, their faces and bodies darkened by the flames that leapt up behind them, roaring from a towering stack of driftwood and boat beams and straw.

One man stepped forward and his face came clear from the rest. “Look what the sea swept in. Our own Oona, back from the dead.” Stuart grinned. He looked happy to see her.

Andrew got up. “Come here, lass.”

She remembered his kisses, his hands running over her on the beach by the bonfire while Adam watched. Her head was a jumble of their memories. She took a step nearer, feeling sure somehow he would never hurt her. His arms closed around her and she smelled salt and tar. He’d wanted to marry her, loved her maybe. She’d known that once. But still the smoke burned behind them. She broke away.

“Where’s Adam?”

He took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, still smiling. “The doctor delivered him to us, told us he was a monster and that we must deal with him. As it happens, he threw us a half-truth, for there’s two monsters need dealing with.”

His arms dropped to his side. The fire twirled in front of her and her skull shrieked. She lurched forward. Stuart laughed and pushed her lightly back. The fire turned black. The sky bled.

She staggered through burnt heather and fell down. Another face. Big Dod, May’s Da. His heavy jowls glowed red. His face came near hers, hand reeling back. It plunged down.