The Skylark's Secret(79)

‘There you go again, still trying to look after everyone.’ I mean it lightly but it comes out wrong, sounding petulant and accusing.

‘And there you go again, frightened of letting anyone take care of you in case they hurt you,’ he replies. There’s an edge of irritation to his words that makes me draw back, trying to read his expression. But the shadows obscure his face and he turns away to go inside.

I sigh and stand, too, before he can return with a blanket. The thought of it makes me feel claustrophobic and his words have stung me. It’s too late now; the spell has been well and truly broken. I go in and switch on the light, start clearing the supper things into the sink, running the taps, wiping the countertop.

Davy stands in the doorway, the plaid rug in his hands no longer needed. He folds it carefully over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, smoothing the creases.

‘I’ll be going then,’ he says.

I nod, busily scrubbing a saucepan, not meeting his eyes.

He comes over and gently removes the scouring pad from my hand, then wraps me in a hug.

I don’t know where this evening went wrong. Perhaps we’ve both got too used to living on our own. Perhaps we’re just too different. Or perhaps the wall I’ve built around my feelings over the years is simply too much for anyone – even him – to dismantle. It all seems so complicated suddenly, letting someone else in, having to work at a relationship, and I long for the simplicity of my solitary life with Daisy, even though I know how lonely it can be.

‘Sorry,’ I say, burying my face against his shirt. ‘But don’t try and rescue me, just like you try to rescue everyone else because you couldn’t rescue your mum and your brother.’

He pulls away, hurt. Then he shakes his head and picks up his jacket. He turns to go, hesitates, looks back at me, the expression in his eyes wounded.

‘I’m not trying to rescue you, Lexie,’ he says. ‘I’m trying to love you.’



I surface through layers of troubled dreams, trying to make sense of the sounds that have woken me. There’s been a week of calm weather and so the sudden storm that’s blown in while I was sleeping is bewildering, howling like a banshee as it flings itself at the walls of the cottage with a fury that seems to have come out of nowhere. There’s another sound, too, steadier and more insistent than the wind and rain. At last I realise it’s the ringing of the telephone and a surge of alarm grips me. It’s the middle of the night. Who on earth could be calling?

I bump into the door jamb, jarring my shoulder as I hurry downstairs and snatch the receiver from its cradle, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that Daisy hasn’t been woken by the din.

‘Lexie, is Davy there with you?’ It’s Bridie, her voice pitched high with panic.

‘No. I haven’t seen him for a few days.’ Not since the night I said such hurtful things to him, but I don’t tell her that.

‘He went off in the boat yesterday. Said he was heading out for a couple of days’ fishing while the weather was good. It was forecast to change but not this fast.’

Her panic is catching, pulling me in, and my mind starts to spin in a whirlpool of fear.

‘Did he say exactly where he was going?’ I ask, trying to keep calm so I can think more clearly.

‘No. Just that he’d be out at sea. Oh, Lexie, what should we do?’

‘I’ll call the coastguard. See if they’ve heard anything from him on the radio. He may have gone into Gairloch or be sheltering in Gruinard Bay. If not, I’ll tell them he’s missing so they can put out a search. I’ll phone you back as soon as I’ve spoken to them.’

I’m still on the phone when Bridie arrives at the front door, unable to bear waiting alone. She’s soaked to the skin, having cycled through the storm, and I hand her a towel to dry her hair. She starts to shake uncontrollably.

‘It’s all right, Bridie,’ I say, sitting her down on a kitchen chair, trying to calm her, although I feel anything but calm myself. ‘They’re putting out a search for the Bonnie Stuart. His last radio contact was from just this side of the Shiant Isles – he said he was heading for home ahead of the storm.’

I try hard to stay calm and to push from my mind an image of the Blue Men of the Minch, those malicious storm kelpies, slithering out of their caves in the cliffs along the edge of the islands, intent on snatching sailors from their boats and pulling them down to their deaths beneath the surge of the hungry waves.

I hold Bridie’s hands, but can’t stop their trembling. ‘Something’s not right,’ she insists. ‘I can feel it.’

Her fear is infecting me. I see Davy in my mind’s eye, his grey-blue eyes clouded with hurt when he left the cottage the other night, and I hear an echo of his quiet, sad words beneath the roar of the storm: I’m not trying to rescue you, Lexie. I’m trying to love you. I have a sudden vision of the torn and twisted remains of the lifeboat on the beach at Black Bay, and I know I have to do something, anything. I can’t sit here knowing he’s out there somewhere.

‘Bridie, stay and look after Daisy for me, would you? I’m going to go to the point.’

She nods, as if this is the sensible thing to do in the middle of the night with a force 10 gale blowing. But then we both know, without saying it, that if he’s coming back from the Shiants he’ll be heading into Loch Ewe past Furadh Mor.