#
Nose stinging. I roar into the air. But the image remains. Clearer now, against the sky. Eleven Stainton Street. Is my mother still there, cutting scones in the kitchen? I have to go back. I have to know what happened. But now I might never get a chance.
Stupid girl …
I flail uselessly. Craving something solid to grab. But I know I can’t go on. My limbs are losing sensation. A wave rushes me upwards, and for a split second I glimpse land. Dull brown.
Oh please …
I crash back. Yell out bubbles. A tiny white spot traverses the brown. Close, then far, then close.
Shapes. Black zigzags. The white spot blinks away.
Ee!
‘EE!’
I open my eyes. Rocks. Wet. Black. Water crashing. A single figure, high up. White blob … a
car
.
‘Kathy!’ screams the figure.
I’m close to the rocks. The rolling maelstrom where salt water hits stone. I force my legs to kick. Bright patches flood my eyes. The current scoops me backwards, and for some time all I feel is the rushing.
Dark clouds roll across me. A wide brown bay. Twin headlands, rising steadily to a barren skyline. Mountains like a pack of reclining greyhounds. Stubby islands crowned in gold and brown. I’ve been here before.
Concentrate …
Was that Rhona’s voice? I want to believe it.
Time drags. Thoughts simplify. Waves roughen into scallops of brown. I’m going back out again. Round the next headland. On the land, thousands of white dots dance. Faster than before, and in all directions. Rhona? Arms reach out. Blackness curls high, shunts, and crushes down.
#
Are those my legs? Were they kicking all along? Don’t stop. Can’t. Must …
Concentrate
.
Bang my leg. Gasp. Look down. Smash head. Go under.
Bubbles. Hard threads curled around. Whipping.
Seaweed!
Shore …
Bellowing, I thrash my legs. Sky opens up and I reach for it. A bulbous formation slams down, curtseys backwards. Blackness. Circling water. Then rocks slam back, and I pile into them. Head goes smash. Elbows scream. Slowwwww. Scrape. Up. Then I’m out in the freezing whiteness, and I weigh a million tons.
#
Warm body, not my own.
‘Stay with me.’
A rush of movement dizzies me. Ground. Gravity. Air.
‘Kathy! Wake up! Wake up!’
I roll into a grainy surface. Splutter. Hands shaking, burning. Can’t feel legs. There’s someone … Somethin’ hap’nin’. Hands.
Focus
. Hands round my own. Movin’ fast.
‘Whuh …’
Wind blasts into me, colder than any wind I’ve ever felt. I jolt. My whole head is chattering, not just my teeth.
‘You’re all right, you’re all right,’ babbles Rhona. In technicolor, her face comes into focus. Red and white and yellow, with that blue plaster still hanging on. I watch her eyebrow, caked in blood.
‘Didn’t know you could swim,’ I mumble.
‘Yeah, well. There’s lots of things you don’t know.’
I stare down the cliff. One of Rhona’s shoes is there. Bobbing in the sea like a slice of bread.
My neck is crunched up, like a ton weight has been hanging from it. I bring my eyes in line with hers. Try to let her know I’m all right. But my mouth won’t form the words.
‘We have to get you to the car,’ she blusters. ‘Can you walk?’
‘Uh …’
‘You have to walk!’
She drags me up, and seems surprised I stay on my feet. With my arm round her shoulder, we climb. It takes an awfully long time. Halfway, Rhona swears and dumps me in a hollow. I watch her rushing away. By the time she climbs back down, I am laughing like a drain. She shrouds me in a tartan blanket and keeps rubbing my arms and legs.
I’m alive …
For a long while, all I can do is laugh. Rhona watches with an alarmed expression.
I’m not dead. I’m not dead. I’m not dead …
‘We have to get you to the doctor,’ she insists.
‘No.’
‘You’ll get hypothermia.’
‘No.’
‘This is serious! You’ve been out here for over an hour!’
‘I’m all right!’
I wave my arms to prove it. Reluctantly, Rhona deflates. We huddle side by side, getting our breath back. She watches me like a hawk.
‘Are you angry?’ I ask, when I’m able to speak.
‘No. They are. But I’m not.’
‘Why did you help me?’
‘Katherine … I’ll
always
help you.’
This statement brings tears to my eyes. I try to scowl them away.
‘By sending me away?’
Rhona does not answer. She doesn’t even seem to breathe.
‘I’m not going to that place,’ I tremble. ‘I’d rather die.’
Wind blows my hair across my face. I don’t bother to pull it away.
‘Were you going to kill yourself?’ asks Rhona. ‘In the water?’
I move my eyes away from hers. When I look back, Rhona is wiping her eyes.
‘I thought so,’ she hiccups. ‘Thank God
someone
did, or your wish might’ve come true.’
‘That boat,’ I ask. ‘Was that the police?’
‘I don’t know, but I know they’re looking for you on land. They found that file you dropped near the inn.’
‘Am I in trouble?’
‘I just know what Joyce told me.’
I flinch.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Rhona. ‘I left her in the middle of nowhere. It’ll be hours before she raises the alarm.’
‘What? What happened?’
‘She was driving me to the surgery in Invercraig, but I stole the car and drove back.’
‘Why?’
‘Have you still not got it? I’m on your side! I’m the only one who still is!’
I draw a breath. Flick my eyes up to Rhona’s. For a moment I’m so happy I can’t speak. Then I remember to be cautious.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘The only thing I can do. Take you back.’
‘You can’t!’
‘Look, this all rests on me. I’m the one you attacked. As long as I don’t press charges—’
‘No! They’ll find out about Hans!’
Rhona sighs. ‘So you meant what you said back there?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s him, in the newspaper clipping?’
‘Yes.’
She leans forward and puts her head in her hands. When she speaks again, her voice is muffled.
‘Look. Even if you did do it … I’m sure you had a good reason … The police will take that into account.’
‘They already think I’m crazy. They’ll lock me away!’
This time Rhona is quiet for longer. I watch her clasping and unclasping her hands around the back of her head.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she mumbles.
‘Let me go!’
‘You know I can’t!’
‘Say you couldn’t find me! Tell them I drowned!’
‘You’re
sick
! You need help! Can’t you see that?!’
‘What kind of help? Locking me up, all alone? Drugging me up to the eyeballs?’
‘Look, the sedatives were never a permanent solution. I admit Joyce overreacted. But in Dundee you’ll get proper treatment.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It’s out of my hands! There’s protocol to follow.’
‘Rhona, I’m scared. It’s not just the transfer. It’s Hans’s …
people
.’
‘What people?’
‘I’ve seen them do things …’
‘Who?’
‘There’s a man, with white hair. I think they killed my mother …’
Rhona sits up straight.
‘Well, that’s even more reason to go to the police!’
Our eyes lock, and for several seconds we just glare at each other. She means well, I know that. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have stuck her neck out like this. But I can’t go to the police. I’m not ready to officially admit murder. Right now, all I want is to go home. My real home. I must be sure what happened to Mum. To visit her grave, if not her deathbed. I owe her that. And Dad. Despite everything, I have to find him too.
I wrap myself further in the tartan blanket, and take a deep breath.
‘Please, let me go.’
‘And what would you do then? Where would you go?’
‘Home,’ I reply, in a small voice.
Rhona whips round and scrutinises my face. Already I see the uncertainty in her. The curiosity. And underneath the rhetoric, the genuine desire to help.
‘Which home?’ she replies slowly.
‘My parents’ home.’
‘Where is that?’
‘I don’t know its name, but I think I know the way.’
Rhona’s eyes dart across my face. Maybe she thinks I’m lying. But I can see she wants to believe me.
‘We drove back from here every summer,’ I say. ‘It’s in England. The east.’
‘Do you think anyone’s still there?’
‘I don’t know. I have to find out.’
‘You said these men killed your mother …’
‘Yes. But my dad might still be there …’
‘Look, I’m sure the police will let you g—’
I glare at Rhona.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘Maybe they won’t. But … Oh …’ She hangs her head. Mumbles, ‘I don’t know what to do …’
For a while, the wind blows us around. The blood is drying on Rhona’s forehead, leaving dark-brown trails on the side of her face. I scrunch my toes up under the blanket, and wait.
‘Is that what you want, to find your father?’ asks Rhona, without looking at me.
‘Yes.’
‘Look, I was all for you finding your mother. But your father … He doesn’t sound like a nice man.’
‘He’s still my dad.’
‘You said it yourself. Why didn’t he come to get you? He must have seen you on the news …’
‘That’s what I need to know.’
‘Say you do find him, and he’s alive, and he’s an arsehole … What will you do then?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘There can’t be anything else, after this, you know. We can’t do a … Bonnie and Clyde for the rest of our lives.’
I smile.
‘Dundee is the end of the line. There’s no escaping that.’
‘I know.’
Rhona falls silent. This time for longer. She hugs her knees against the wind. This is it now. I’ve played my last card.
Finally, Rhona turns to study my face. That old fire is back in her eyes. The one I thought had gone for good. ‘I must be mad,’ she murmurs. Then, with that smile that’s not really a smile, she bows her head and says, ‘All right.’
For the first hour, Rhona drives like a maniac. Joyce’s car’s a classic Mini, not even a Mini Cooper, and is really not built to travel at these speeds. When the needle creeps over seventy, the car screeches and a smell like burning dust comes through the air vents. I wrinkle my nose up and clutch my seat belt.
‘We’ll be on the bigger road soon,’ says Rhona, squinting into the rear-view mirror. ‘You should lie down in the back seat.’
I nod. That would certainly make more sense.
‘Motorbike coming up behind,’ says Rhona. Obediently, I get down in the footwell. Rhona slows the car for a short period and the screeching sound slackens off. Then she puts her foot back down and I know it’s safe to sit up.
‘This is madness,’ she says, for the tenth time. But her tone is not accusatory. I undo my seat belt and climb into the back seat.
‘Put the blanket over you,’ Rhona says over her shoulder.
‘We’re not on the big road yet.’
‘I know, but you need to keep warm. I’ve got my eye on you. One funny turn and it’s straight to the hospital.’
‘Aren’t you cold too?’ I ask, but Rhona makes a dismissive noise with her mouth. ‘Was Joyce mad, when you stranded her?’ I ask.
‘What do you think?’
I giggle. Rhona does not join in, so I stop.
‘I told her I had to puke,’ says Rhona. ‘I really did have to puke. And she got out to comfort me. I hadn’t planned it. I just … It just happened. I knew what you were likely to do, and Joyce had refused to turn back. The car was still revving … I pushed her in the ditch …’
‘You pushed Joyce in a ditch?!’
I sit up straight on the back seat, overcome with laughter. This time Rhona joins in. Then she says, ‘Car!’ and I must lie back down.
‘You’re a bad influence,’ says Rhona. I hear the smile in her voice. ‘You’ve brought out the rebel in me.’
‘Do you think anyone’s picked her up by now?’ I ask, and then we both stop laughing. Another car swooshes past us. Rhona makes a nervous sound under her breath. Then her foot goes down on the accelerator and the burning smell comes back.
#
After Inverness we join the big road south. Rhona stops talking to me now, and I know from the sounds she makes that she’s nervous. We haven’t spoken of what will happen when we reach my town. I don’t think either of us knows that. But it’s what we’ll do afterwards that worries me. Will Rhona just turn me in? I mustn’t let my guard down.
‘Is it Newcastle?’ asks Rhona suddenly. ‘That’s a big city in the north-east. Does that ring any bells?’
I frown. The name is familiar, but it doesn’t sound quite right. It’s the closest guess yet though. So far we’ve ruled out Berwick, Leeds, Middlesbrough and Hull.
‘I know that name,’ I say. ‘Maybe it’s close to there.’
‘Look, I’m trying to make decisions here! This isn’t a day trip to the zoo! I need more than
maybe
s if we’re ever going to …’
A car flashes past us. Rhona falls silent. Then clears her throat and says, ‘Sorry. But I do need to—’
‘Head for Newcastle,’ I say.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I think it’s near there.’
‘You’re sure?’
My mind races in the silence that follows.
‘I’ll know it when I see it,’ I say. ‘I’ll know the road.’
‘Right.’
‘I’ll need to sit up.’
Rhona sighs. ‘Okay. When we get closer, we’ll figure something out.’
A long-distance bus overtakes us, filled with passengers. I jump and hide my face.
‘God, I wish the radio worked,’ says Rhona, as if reading my mind.
‘Do you think I’m on the news?’
‘We’ll
both
be on the news after Joyce gets to a phone.’
‘Maybe they’ll just put it in the
Western Courier
,’ I say. ‘Then the people down here won’t hear about it.’
Rhona’s silence does not fill me with confidence.
‘Don’t you think?’ I ask.
Rhona exhales heavily. For a second, she remains quiet. Then she mutters, ‘Hon, you’re more of a celebrity than you know.’