I stood by my mother’s side, Seonag holding my hand tightly, and let silent tears roll down my face as we said goodbye. Goodbye to the brother who had taunted and tormented me all through my childhood. What I wouldn’t have given in that moment to find one of his spiders in my pocket, and hear him stifling laughter from some hidden place as I screamed in panic.
Which was when I noticed the lone figure silhouetted on the clifftops away to our right. Ruairidh, too, had come to pay his last respects. I’m sure he was riddled with all the guilt that everyone felt was justified. For he certainly knew that but for Anndra it would have been his funeral here today. And I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, blamed and excluded, a pariah among his peers.
At the far end of the cemetery the minister had delivered his final words, and the mourners were picking up spades to shovel the sandy soil over the coffin and fill the grave. The headstone was not raised for another six months, and although I am not sure if my mother ever visited his grave, I went to see Anndra often over the years, just to sit with him and pray that he would forgive me for marrying the man who everyone blamed for his death.
Uncle Hector and Aunt Rita made their delayed departure on the Monday morning. A solemn affair, in which there were few words spoken and more tears spilled. Just before they left I noticed my aunt covering the back seat of the Humber with a tartan travelling rug. The leather had been ruined by the salt water from Anndra’s body, which had left its pale imprint in the green. A permanent reminder of the tragedy of that summer’s day on Dalmore Beach.
They never came to stay with us again, and I heard much later that my uncle had put his beloved car up for sale as soon as they got home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Niamh and Uilleam drove in silence along Bayhead, past the inner harbour, slowing over the speed bump and then accelerating up towards the roundabout. Trees in the golf course to their left were already taking on their autumn colours.
The rain clouds that Braque and Gunn had seen earlier gathering out at sea off the west coast were now sweeping their way across the island, rain falling in dark, fast-moving patches that Niamh could see in the distance across the Barvas Moor. For the moment it was just spitting at their windscreen.
‘Nothing changes, does it?’ Uilleam said.
‘That’s what I love about this place,’ Niamh told him. ‘The world changes around us like a silent movie on speed, but the islands never do. They’re the one constant in my life.’ She glanced at him across the Jeep. ‘Must be a while since you were last here.’
She thought he looked fleetingly uncomfortable, but she had to turn away to focus on the road. ‘I was back seeing the folks earlier this month.’
‘Really? She turned her head again in surprise. ‘They never mentioned it.’
‘Probably thought you wouldn’t be interested.’ He could never resist the barb.
She said, ‘Maybe they know me too well.’ And she could tell from the colour that rose on his cheeks that her reciprocal retort had not missed its mark. Then immediately she regretted it. He was her brother, for God’s sake! Why did it always have to be like this?
They drove on into the rain as it swept west across the moor, past the shieling with the green roof that sat away off to their right. Then up over the rise, and a misted view through the cloud and rain to the distant ocean washing up at Rubh’ a’ Bhiogair beyond Barvas itself.
As they turned off towards Bru, Uilleam said, ‘I’m only here for you, you know.’
‘Mum told me.’ Niamh paused. ‘I’m to be grateful, I suppose?’
He bristled. ‘I’m not going to the funeral.’
‘Then you’re not here for me. If you were, you would.’
‘Mum and Dad aren’t going either.’
She turned her head towards him sharply. ‘Really? They told you that?’
He nodded.
‘Well, it’s more than they’ve told me.’
‘You can’t be surprised.’
‘Surprised isn’t the word I would use, Uilleam. Hurt, maybe. Betrayed.’ She tried to control her voice. ‘I’m their daughter. Your sister. I just lost the man I loved and you’re all still so eaten up by your misplaced hatred of him that you won’t even stand by my side when we put him in the ground.’
‘He killed our brother.’ His voice was screwed tight by sanctimonious certainty.
‘No!’ Niamh almost shouted. ‘You killed Anndra. You!’
‘For God’s sake, Niamh!’
‘Oh, don’t give me all that self-righteous innocence!’ She almost spat it in his face, then had to swerve to stay on the road. ‘You know it was your fault. It’s the elephant that’s always been in the room. The thing that none of us ever wanted to say out loud, because who could deal with the thought that it was your stupidity that caused the death of your own brother.’
‘That’s not true,’ he barked back at her.
‘Yes it is. Yes. It. Is. If you hadn’t gone and kicked that ball into the sea like some spoilt thirteen-year-old adolescent, then challenged Ruairidh to go get it, none of it would have happened. None of it. “Any decent swimmer could go and get it.” Remember that? You can’t tell me that you haven’t spent every minute of every day since regretting it. Somewhere deep inside you that you won’t admit. Because I wouldn’t believe you. Ruairidh was just the scapegoat for your guilt. Someone else to blame. Mum and Dad did it, too. I mean, how in God’s name could they ever have dealt with the thought that one of their own children was responsible for the death of another? Much easier to turn grief into hatred and direct it all at Ruairidh.’
There. She had said it, and it could never be taken back. All the things she had kept pent up inside her for all these years. Perhaps it had always been understood. Felt. Perceived. But it had never been given voice. And now that it was out, it didn’t make her feel any better, as she had always thought it might. The overwhelming feeling was one of emptiness. She had drained the boil, but the pain remained.
There was no comeback from Uilleam. No denial, no justification, not even an expression of the hurt he must have felt. Just silence. A silence that stretched out like the road ahead of them.
A road that took them past Arnol, with its ruined blackhouse village. Past Bragar, the jaws of an eighty-foot whale mounted in an arch above a gate. Past the mill and the school at Shawbost. Past the turn-off to Dalmore Beach where the innocence of childhood had come to an end, and the deceptions, jealousies and hatreds of adulthood had taken root.
Not a word passed between them during all that long drive down the west coast. Nothing more to be said.
As they turned down towards the bridge at Balanish the Free Church tower rose high above the village rooftops, and all the memories of what had been a happy childhood up until that fateful day on Dalmore Beach came flooding back. Niamh felt silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
Past the war monument, where Anndra and Uilleam had once tied her to the railings and left her there until their father passed in the car on his way home from work. Past the road that led down to the pier, from which the three of them had often set out in the family dinghy to catch fish, or simply lie bobbing and basking in the sun of a warm summer’s day. Past the community hall where Niamh had first danced with Ruairidh. Past the croft where a tup had broken free of the sheep fank and knocked Anndra over, breaking his arm, as he tried to herd it back in.
All those memories, both sweet and sour, invested in one place and time. A place which had once been home and felt alien now, unwelcoming.