Skinner's Round (11 page)

Twelve

They crested the rise and looked westwards down the Forth estuary. The mild September evening was cloudless, and across the wide bay they could see Edinburgh and Leith bathed in sunshine. Further on, the two contrasting bridges stood out clearly, although they were around twenty miles distant.

`Beautiful, isn't it?' said Sarah. 'At times like this I wonder whether we were right to bother with the Edinburgh house at all.'

`Sure,' said Bob, laughing, 'then you go for a run one morning, maybe in a couple of months, or even days, and the weather's turned full circle, and the hailstones are whistling at you with a gale behind them. What d'you wonder then?'

They trudged along the dune path, Bob walking more slowly than usual, because of his burden, three-month-old Jazz, secured in the carry-frame which was strapped to his chest.

The baby had been lively when they had left the cottage a quarter of an hour before, but the movement and the fresh air had soon taken effect. Now he was asleep, with Bob holding him steady and picking his steps carefully. Jazz was growing at an alarming rate. The dark birth hair had gone, to be replaced by blond, wispy strands which flicked down towards his forehead. His father smiled as he made a burbling sound in his sleep. 'Dreaming of his next feed already, the wee bugger!'

`Don't remind me,' said Sarah, with genuine feeling. That boy is going to be huge, I can tell it already!'

`Must be the Yank half. When're you going to try him with his first Big Mac?'

`Never! Our child will have a proper diet. Junk food will be banned! And you'll have to set him an example. Fruit, fibre, fish, some lean meat on occasion, but not to excess. Sarah's F-plan.'

`But I like Big Macs and Burger Kings . . . and I know what that "F" stands for!'

`Skinner! I don't do that . . . not out loud anyway.'

`Not awake, maybe, but in your sleep, Christ!'

`Bob!'

`See when you were pregnant? When you were asleep you could raise the quilt three inches off the bed! It's difficult to make double-glazed window units rattle, but honey, you managed it!'

Her cheeks were flushed from more than the exertion of the walk. 'That's not true!'

Òh no? Well next time you get up the duff you can stay awake and listen!'

Ènough,' she shouted, suppressing her laugh, 'of the police station talk!'

`Shh!' He held a finger to his lips. 'You'll wake the bairn. But here, how did you know we talked about you in the nick?'

`Bob!!' She gasped, and then the laughter exploded from them both, only to be silenced by an extra loud burble from Jazz.

They left the dune path and turned to walk along the beach, heading eastwards back towards Gullane. The tide was going out, so they chose to take the firm wet sand. The evening was still as well as clear. 'Can you hear that throbbing noise?' Sarah asked.

Bob pointed out across the Forth, towards a distant tanker which was making its way up the estuary, empty and riding high in the water. 'See that? You're hearing its engines.'

`From this far away?'

`Sure. The sound carries for ever across the water.'

Eventually they headed away from the sea, back through the dunes and up the steep path which led towards the tourists' car park. Sarah noticed that Bob had fallen silent. 'Hey, are you both asleep?'

`What? Oh sorry, love, I was miles away. Thinking about something I brought home. It may relate to the investigation. Andy phoned me about it.'

Àndy! He called you?'

`Yes.'

He sensed her expectancy. 'Don't worry, it was OK. We're going to have a man-to-man session, sort things out.'

`That's great!' Then her tone changed. She sounded hurt. `You might have said earlier. You make me feel left out.'

He grinned awkwardly. 'Sorry, love. But you went on so strong about taking Rover here for a walk that I didn't have a chance. Anyway, I wondered whether you had talked him into finding an excuse to call me when you saw him yesterday.'

`Not me. Not consciously anyway. You really were OK, the two of you?'

He nodded. 'Yes. I feel such a prat about the whole thing now.'

She punched his arm gently as they walked along the tarmac road. 'I'll let you into a secret.

So does Andy.'

`Yeah,' said Bob, suddenly sombre. 'That just leaves Alex. I wonder how she feels?'

She took his hand. 'Time will tell, my love. Only, when it does, I think you'll both have to accept the answer . . . whatever it is. She may be your daughter, she may — or may not — be Andy's girl, but sure as hell, she's her own woman.'

Eventually they emerged from the narrow lane which led from the beach road to their cottage.

Jazz was snickering and smiling in his sleep, as if he knew that his bathtime and evening feed were imminent. As soon as Bob stepped through the front door he woke, bright and alert. He beamed as his father undid his fastenings, and lifted him out of the carry-frame, to hand him over to Sarah.

ÒK, young man, let's attend to your needs.'

While Sarah bathed and fed the cheerful child, Bob busied himself in the kitchen with drill, hammer and rawlplugs, fixing, securely at last, the shaky shelf which had been a talking point for years. Then he began to prepare their evening meal, slicing the vegetables and fresh white fish which were to be the ingredients of their stir-fry. As he worked, he heard a sound outside the back door; looking over his shoulder he saw a familiar visitor: a huge cat, with black coat, white chest and paw, and right ear torn by many territorial disputes. They had christened him Rag, although they knew from his sleek, healthy coat, and his red collar, with its green magnetic key attached, that somewhere he had another name, and another family.

Bob trimmed the skin from a piece of fish and put it on a plate with some scraps. He opened the door and laid it in front of the purring cat. 'There, fella. I'll bet you smelled that from the other side of the Green. That's your lot for tonight, though. Maybe there'll be fish at home as well.'

When he closed the door behind him Sarah was in the kitchen, at work with the wok.

They ate at the glass table in their conservatory, enjoying the last warmth of the evening sun, and washing down their stir-fry and noodles with a bottle of Frascati, complementary to the lemon grass which was an essential ingredient of the dish. Jazz was on the floor between them strapped, nappy-less, into a plastic chair, and gnawing happily on a teething ring. In the garden outside, the black-and-white cat watched them reproachfully through the glass. When they were finished, Bob cleared away the dishes and brought a steaming cafetiere. While Sarah depressed the plunger, Bob left the room once more, returning with the plastic enclosed letter to the editor of the Scotsman.

`This is Andy's note,' he said, handing it across the table. Sarah took it, and as she read, her forehead wrinkled and a puzzled look came into her eyes.

`Cranks,' she said, as Jazz began to signal his readiness for his last feed of the day. She handed the letter back across the table, then took the baby from his chair. Cradling him in her right arm, she pulled up her sweatshirt and presented him with the object of his earnest desire.

Bob looked again at the letter. 'You're probably right. It's just that there's something about it that won't go away.'

`
By the blade
. . .' said Sarah. 'Sounds sort of witchy, doesn't it?'

He stared out of the window at the red sunset sky. 'Wait a minute,' he said, but to himself.

When he turned back to face her, the look on his face was one that she had seen before, a look of recollection, but mixed with something else, something which, in anyone else, she would have taken for apprehension. `Back in a minute.'

When he emerged from the hall Sarah had carried Jazz into the living room. They were seated in a corner of the long sofa, the child still feeding, but cradled now in his mother's left arm. Bob sat down beside them. His expression had changed. It was wistful. Sarah glanced at the dusty folder which he carried and knew the reason at once.

The cover bore the title, hand-printed, 'East Lothian Project,' and the name, 'Myra Skinner, Primary VI, Longniddry Primary School.'

Not long before Myra was killed,' he said, softly, 'the school researched a history of East Lothian. It was a project for the Queen's Silver Jubilee, I think. The teachers and kids all pitched in and each class did a different period. Myra's lot drew the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Eventually the whole thing was typed up and published, but these are Myra's notes and tapes. I found them in a cupboard after she died. I was going to give them to the school, but I never got round to it. They've been up in the attic for the last fifteen years.

Ì remember one tape she played me at the time. It was a wee girl telling a family story, and it was something else. Let me see if I can find it.' He opened the folder. There were two tape cassettes inside in plastic boxes, labelled 'Children's Stories', in a firm hand.

Bob carried them across to the mini hi-fi unit which had replaced the equipment moved up to the Edinburgh house. He used his headphone, cutting off the sound from the speakers as, head bowed and hunched over the machine with his back to Sarah, he reviewed the tapes.

After ten minutes, on the second tape, he found the section for which he had been listening.

He straightened up and unplugged the headphones. `This is it.'

He pressed the play button. There was a hiss for a second or two, then a woman's firm, clear voice filled the room. Her accent was as Sarah imagined Bob's might have been two decades earlier, before Edinburgh had begun to knock the hard edges from his Lanarkshire tones.

`
OK, the red light's on, so we're recording. I'm in the staff-room, alone with Lisa Soutar,
who's going to tell me a story for the Jubilee history project. Let me get this right, Lisa. You
were told this story by your great-grandma?'

The child's voice was faint. 'Yes miss, by ma Nana Soutar.'

Àre you ready to begin?'

`Yes, miss.'

`Right, just step a wee bit closer and speak into the mike. On you go now.'

There was a pause, and then the child spoke again, her thin reedy voice much clearer than before.

`Well miss, in the olden days, there were these witches in Longniddry, and they worshipped
the Devil, and did harm to people, and cast spells, and put a curse on the King's ship and he
wis nearly drowned.' She paused for breath.

`Well one day, the minister and the laird, they rounded up a' the witches, ken. And they took
them a' to Witchy Hill . .

`Do you know where that is?'

Àye miss, it's up by Aberlady . . . they took them a' tae Witchy Hill and they tied them tae
trees, and they piled wood a' around, ken. Well, the head witch was called Aggie. They were
just goin' tae light the fires when Aggie said . . . '

The child's voice rose and changed. It became shrill and strangely menacing. Sarah, listening almost twenty years later, felt a shudder go through her.

"This is oor master's place, not yours. This is the Devil's kirk, not God's. What you are doing
is des-ec-ra-shun!"

It was as if the child's voice was no longer hers. It had risen to a shriek.

"
You can burn my body but you will not dissolve my spirit. I will always be here. I curse you
all and all others who desecrate this place. Here is your doom:
by the blade,

by water,

by fire

and by lightning

shall the desecrators be destroyed."'

A silence filled the living room, broken only by the background hiss of the tape. And then the adult spoke again, breathlessly.

Ànd what happened then?'

Òh they lit the fires, miss, and a' the witches wis burned tae ashes!'

Ànd what happened to the desecrators?'

À dinna ken, miss, ma nana never said.'

Bob stepped over and switched off the tape. Sarah saw that his face was pale. 'I take it that the other voice was .. ' He cut her off with a nod. 'Does it make you feel strange, hearing her speak again after all this time?'

He shook his head. 'Sarah, honey, I heard her voice every night in my head, for about ten years afterwards, whenever I settled down to sleep. But gradually it faded away. I loved her very much, but she's been gone for a long time. I can cope with it.

`But I must give those tapes to Alex. Would have done a long time ago, if I hadn't pushed them to the back of my mind' Àpart from the accent, Alex sounds just like her.'

`Yeah, and looks like her too. She's just past the age Myra was when we first met.'

`Her mother would be proud of Alex,' said Sarah.

His laugh had an ironic tone. 'Aye, even if she does have a law degree! Myra had very clear views about what should be done with lawyers. Her father was one. He left her mother with three kids and used the law to get out of paying decent support. Right now, Alex probably feels the same way about policemen'

He paused. 'But enough of the recent past. What did you think of the kid?'

'Spine-chilling.'

Ìt fairly ties up with Andy's letter, doesn't it? I wonder what Miss Lisa Soutar's doing now. I think we'd better find out.

Meantime, let's see what the Scotsman does with that letter tomorrow; let's see what sort of a hornets' nest it stirs up.'

He sat down on the couch beside Sarah and Jazz, who was asleep once more. She put a hand on his thigh. 'It's a great story, but is it any more than an old wives' tale? Shouldn't you research it?'

He thought for a moment. 'You're right. I probably should. I think I'll put Maggie on to it.

She's got an arts degree, and I know the very man who might help her too.'

`Who's that?'

`Henry. Henry Wills, at the University.'

`But he's the Registrar.'

`That doesn't stop him from having been a lecturer in Scots history! Yes, I'll brief Maggie tomorrow.'

She smiled. 'That's tomorrow, but for now you've got another task.'