The Monster's Wife(88)

She tried to imagine it, but he hadn’t given her much of a picture.

He drew a roll of cloth from his pocket, rooting inside for shreds of tobacco. “You web-footed islanders are ready drudges, aren’t you, though it’s a job in itself to find labour these days.” He stuffed a pinch into the smouldering bowl. “Always work stuffing herring in barrels, though.”

“I have always dreamt of seeing a big town, one with a shop in it.”

He laughed hard and almost dropped his pipe. Her cheeks burned. Then she began to laugh too. She knew how foolish she must sound. He lit his pipe from the fire. “I tell you, lass, there’s cities where you can be lost for days if you choose. There’s a family heading to Inverness from here in a few days. If you fancy, I’m sure they would give you space on their cart. You can help them care for their bairns.”

Oona smiled. “That would be of great help to me.”

“Tuck up in my bed, will you? I’ll rest by the fire tonight.”

He turned to the fire, puffing hard on his pipe. Oona wanted to share it with him but thought it might be pert to ask. Maybe she’d get her own pipe in Inverness and a jug of cider too.

Flames glimmered in the milky mirrors of his eyes. For a long time Oona lay awake on the narrow bed, her skin prickling with wakefulness, though her head ached for sleep. There was no curtain, so she traced the shape of the plough star over and over, thinking of how it hung above this small beach and above distant cities she could not imagine.





80


In Inverness there was a big house on the hill that was five times as big as the big house at home. Turrets and round towers stood on top of it. The kirk wasn’t quite so big as that castle, but it was still bigger than the big house. You could have filled it up with the kirk from home a hundred times. All around the place were trees and fields and a huge wide burn rattling along, bigger than the fattest burn on Hoy.

The cart bumped over the muddy street and the city unfolded, vast and feverish on either side. Oona stared at the grand, grim, sandstone castles that rose up above the heads of the thronging townsfolk.

“What are those big houses?”

Mr Mackie drew on the reins and Brutus, his bad-tempered shire horse, whinnied and slowed. “They’re crofts, lass, what you Orkney folk’d call crofts.” His eyes were puffy from driving the cart through the night.

“Is this the New Jerusalem?”

Mrs Mackie, whose arms were wrapped snugly round two of her bairns, gave a sleepy laugh. “Shut your mouth, lass, before you catch flies.” The other children asleep in her lap stretched and rubbed their eyes before burrowing back in her skirts.

The Mackies had been kind to Oona, save for the odd look now and then. At first she thought it was the sliver of scar just visible over the neck of her dress, or the golden tinge to the whites of her eyes. Or perhaps they could hear the strange heart beating. The night before, when all the bairns were fast asleep and man and wife sat arm in arm in the box, Oona heard Mr Mackie’s confidential tones.

“They are a strange lot, eating with their fingers and the like.”

“Aye, and you’d as soon know what a seal was saying as make out their words.”

“But the lass is bonny and kind, considering.”

“Aye, considering.” Mrs Mackie snorted a laugh.

Some might have been offended to hear it, but Oona smiled to herself when she heard that. She was from Orkney where the funny lot lived and that was all they saw. She slept well that night, bumping over the pot-holed road.

The cart rumbled to a stop. Mr Mackie jumped down with a groan, stretched his back and tied the nag to a post. Mrs Mackie unloaded her sleepy children, placing the smaller bairns, thumbs firmly in mouths, in the arms of their older brothers and sisters. They all stood unsteadily, as if the brown ribbon of road was still unspooling under them. Mrs Mackie rummaged under the sealskin that shielded her belongings and pulled out a twist of paper. She handed it to Oona, who breathed in the yeasty scent of bread that was only a little bit stale. Her eyes stung with tears.

“Thank you.”

Mrs Mackie straightened Oona’s shawl. “You need a new one of these. This one I gave you’s hardly more than an old horse blanket. I daresay you’ll find work round here if you show them what a strong lass you are. When you do, you can get yourself a bonny new shawl and tie it like this.” She made a neat knot and rested it on Oona’s collarbone. “Don’t frown so. I’d take you with us, but they’ve not space enough to swing a Cat in at my sib’s house, and her so god-fearing to boot. Look out for the masts of the tall ships. They’ll guide you to the harbour and there you’ll find the Inn. If you give them my name and offer your help in the kitchen, Jenny will make a bed free.”

Oona nodded. Her throat was too tight to say anything. She looked down at her dirty feet pressed into the cold city mud.

Mrs Mackie thrust her arms about Oona’s neck, her voice thick with tears. “Heavens, I’m greeting like a bairn. I cannae stand to leave you, poor lass. You’re like one of my own. Here, don’t let him know I gave it you.” Oona felt a cool disc slip between her fingers, felt Mrs Mackie’s tears wetting her neck. She didn’t want the hug to end.

They tramped off across the bridge and Mrs Mackie turned back to wave her handkerchief and dab her eyes before the crowd swallowed her. The grand buildings blurred in front of Oona, New Jerusalem warped by veils of light, its angels murmuring and crying out. She blinked. The vision grew sharp edges and drab colours. The marketplace was filled with more people than she’d seen in her life. Women walked by carrying trays of steaming bridies, bannocks and bread. They shouted loud words she didn’t know. Men stopped them and winked and laughed and grabbed the pies off the trays and dropped coins in ruddy hands.