The Book Eaters(106)
The main road led them to the shores of the River Tweed. A low, wide bridge banded the rushing water, the road leading over and onward toward the town of Innerleithen proper.
“Over there?” Cai pointed at the bridge.
“No, we’re going along the bank,” Devon said.
“But there isn’t a road by the shoreline,” he said.
“We follow that bike trail. See where it leads to that field, ahead of us? We can follow it to those islands.”
They left the bridge behind and trekked through high grass, steep hills to their right covered in a patchwork of trees, before finally reaching a chained-up fence. The bike trail splintered off into a fisherman’s footpath, leading straight to a steep bank.
Devon stopped at the edge. Below them, the Tweed tumbled fast and frothy between tree-lined shores. Tricky for a human, but easily fordable for her and Cai.
Ahead, she could finally see the riverine islands. The smallest of them was little more than a soft, raised mound of sand around which the water diverted. The largest had a sandy shore, however, with a small wood of densely tangled trees and foliage.
“I don’t see anyone.” Cai shaded his eyes, standing as tall as his low stature would allow. “Aren’t they supposed to be here already?”
“He’ll be there.” She offered a hand. “Up on my back, you’re small for this river.”
Her son obliged and Devon stepped off the bank into the water, which came up to her thighs. The current streamed against her legs as she forded across. Spray flecked and foamed.
But the islands, when she slogged wetly up their shores, were empty. No sign that anyone had been recently, much less stayed on site. They crisscrossed the tiny patches of wooded land, the whole area roughly the size of Traquair’s downstairs floor space, sandwiched by rushing water on either side.
“Could it be a different trio of islands?” Cai scratched at the eczema on his elbow.
“It’s definitely these islands. There’s nothing else even resembling a trio in these parts.” A trickle of doubt crept up on her. Could she have got it wrong? Normally she wouldn’t have worried, but in this case the consequences for such a banal mistake were enormous.
“Then they left early?” Cai, trying to be helpful by loading her with more things to worry about. “Or they got caught up in London last minute, or—”
Crunch. Crackle. Against the rustle of trees and the rush of nearby water, those footsteps echoed loud to sensitive book eater ears. Somewhere off to the northwest of them.
Devon cupped her hands together. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Jarrow Easterbrook pushed through the last set of brambles, coming into view as he picked his way toward them, with Victoria at his side. She gave a wave, and even a smile.
“Apologies for the tardiness.” He grinned that same sheepish grin. “We stayed overnight at a local B and B, and overslept this morning.”
Devon thought he looked a bit like a displaced sixties grunge singer on a budget holiday. He wore hiking shorts that did not suit him, and hiking boots that did. His beard had gotten out of control, and a trace of early gray marked his temples.
She was also wildly, deeply, unabashedly glad to see him, and couldn’t stop smiling.
“Hello, Devon.” Victoria seemed calmer and more confident since they’d last spoken. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’m so glad to see you both,” Devon said, the words heartfelt. “And it has been a long time.”
“Getting sentimental in your old age, eh?” Jarrow leaned in to hug her, and it was as awkward as it was unexpected, a kind of lopsided, stiff clasp to the chest. Devon laughed, and returned the gesture.
Victoria hung back. She was staring at Cai now, who squinted at her with frank wariness.
“Glad you could make it.” Jarrow held her at arm’s length in a swift inspection. “Interesting skirt. Never had you down as a tartan person.”
“Oh, well. When in Rome, aye?”
“Right. Just so.” Jarrow shifted that piercing gaze to her son. “Hey, kid. You’ve grown. Last time we met, you were this big.” His hands spanned a roughly baby-sized length in the air. “Let me introduce you to my sister, Vic. She’s your aunt, by marriage.”
Victoria’s lips moved soundlessly. She swallowed, tried again. “I have two sons … somewhere.”
Cai was speechless, transfixed by their appearance. For all that the Easterbrook siblings had varied in temperament and nature, they shared many of the same features: darkly curling hair, dusky skin, and hints of a Mediterranean heritage.
It was a heritage that Cai now bore, to some degree. And if Devon had been a stranger, looking at the two of them, she might well have been forgiven for assuming Jarrow and Cai were father and son, instead of second cousins.
“I still have your Game Boy,” Devon said, rescuing the boy from his tongue-tied state. “Or rather, Cai has it. He’s very fond of Mario.”
Her son turned bright red and mumbled something incomprehensible.
“Well, that’s something,” Jarrow said. “If the lad is here, then I suppose you must have finally come clean about … what’s inside him.”
“Yes, he knows everything now.”
“Glad to hear it.” Jarrow took a seat on the nearest flat rock, pulling out a crudely made black plastic rectangle, roughly the size of a large mobile phone. “All right, real talk. I’ve built you a signal blocker—you can thank me later for eating dry, nasty manuals about bombs and RFIDs.”