Sacrifice

'It's unthinkable,' said Richard.

'He's in love,' said Elspeth.

'He can't do it. He can't just walk away from everything he has here.'

I froze, one hand gripping the banister; then, forcing myself to move, I backed up on legs that were suddenly shaky again, one step… two… three. At the top I ran along the corridor, back into the guest room and climbed back into bed. The sheets had cooled in my absence and I started to shiver. I pulled the quilts up over my head and waited for the trembling to slow down.

Duncan was going to leave me? Of course, I knew things hadn't exactly been great between us for some time; even before we moved to Shetland he'd changed: laughing less, talking less, being away more. I'd put it down to the stress of an impending move and our difficulties in starting a family. Now, it seemed it was so much more. What I'd seen as a bad patch, he'd recognized as the end. He'd found a lifeline and was bailing.

Was there any other explanation for what I'd just heard? Try as I might, I couldn't find one. Duncan was going to leave me. Duncan was in love with someone else. Someone he'd met on one of his trips away? Someone on the islands?

What the hell was I going to do? I had a job here. I couldn't just up and leave after six months. I could wave goodbye to any future consultant's post if I did that, even supposing I'd be allowed to leave the islands given everything that was going on. I'd only come to this godforsaken place to be with Duncan. How was I ever going to have a baby now?

My tears, when they came, were hot and stinging and I had to bite hard on my arm to keep from howling out loud. My headache was back with a vengeance. I couldn't face going downstairs to find Richard so I got up to see what I could find in the bathroom. There was nothing in the cabinet, nor in the toilet bag that Duncan had packed for me. Duncan's bag lay next to mine on the window ledge.

I started sobbing again at that point, but my headache was getting worse. I pulled down his bag and looked inside. A soggy blue flannel, razor, toothbrush, ibuprofen – thank God – and another packet of pills. I picked them up without really thinking about it and read the labeclass="underline" Desogestrel. Inside were three rows of small white pills, pressed into foil. Desogestrel. The name meant something but I couldn't place it. I hadn't been aware of Duncan having any condition that required a daily pill, but then again, I was learning quite a lot about Duncan that evening.

I took two ibuprofen, replaced Duncan's bag on the shelf and went back to bed, steeling myself for a restless night. I think I fell asleep in minutes.

Duncan didn't come to bed. I'm not sure what I would have said to him if he had. Some time in the night I woke to find him standing over the bed, looking down at me. I didn't move. He bent down, stroked the hair lying over my temple and went out again.

Shortly before dawn, when the dull grey light outside the window was starting to gather colour, I woke and the first thought in my head was that I knew what Desogestrel was. Had I been myself, I think I'd have recognized it immediately. Desogestrel is a synthetic hormone, known to reduce levels of testosterone in the male body and thus prohibit the production of sperm. For several years it's been used in clinical trials aimed at perfecting a male contraceptive pill. Combined with regular injections of testosterone to maintain balance in the male body, it's proven reasonably effective. Although not yet available as a prescriptive medicine, it was only a matter of time.

Duncan, it seemed, was ahead of the game. And I'd discovered the reason why, after two years of trying, I'd been unable to get pregnant.

21

'I''LL BE BACK BY WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY AT THE LATEST,' SAID Duncan.

'OK,' I replied, without turning round. I'd pulled an armchair over to the window and was looking out across the moor behind the house. The first heather was just beginning to bloom, casting a rich, claret-coloured haze over the hilltops. The rain had stopped but there were heavy clouds overhead, and their long shadows clutched the moor like the claws of a miser grasping something precious.

'We'll be home for next weekend,' he continued. 'Maybe try and get the garden sorted out.'

'Whatever,' I said, watching an arrowhead of snow-white birds with grey wings fly past the window.

Duncan knelt down beside me. I felt a tear roll down my cheek but if I carried on staring straight ahead, he wouldn't be able to see it.

'Tor, I can't take you with me. Dad says you're not fit to travel and I've back-to-back meetings for the next few days. I wouldn't be able to look-'

'I don't want to come,' I said.

He took hold of my hand. I let him but didn't return the pressure.

'I'm sorry, honey,' he said. 'I'm really sorry about everything you're going through.'

I'll bet you are, I thought, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't say the few bitter words that would bring everything out into the open. I wasn't in denial, exactly; I just didn't need to hear him say it.

He hung around for another few minutes and then, kissing me on top of the head, he left. I heard the car engine start up and then fade away as he drove down the cliff road towards the ferry.

I forced myself to get up, knowing I couldn't stay in the house all day, obsessing about Duncan and my now very uncertain future. Official invalid or not, I was going out for a walk. I dressed and went downstairs. Luckily, only Elspeth was in the kitchen. Richard might have tried to stop me going out.

For the first half-mile I followed the coast road south. When the road veered inland towards Uyeasound, I took a detour, round the hill of Burragarth towards St Olaf's Kirk at Lundawick. Dating back to the twelfth century, this is one of the few remaining Norse churches on the island. It's a popular spot with tourists, mainly for the views it offers over the Bluemull Sound towards Yell. That day, though, I was alone as I walked round the ruin and looked out across Lunda Wick. Although the winds had died down, the waves they'd left in their wake were still jumping angrily up and down. It would have made uncomfortable sailing conditions; not that I had any desire to get back in a boat.

All around me, perched on stones, launching themselves from rocks, sliding and bouncing on the wind, were hundreds of the seabirds for which these islands are famous: kittiwakes, gannets, fulmars, terns and skuas raced round my head, screaming at each other and at me. As I watched, my head twisting this way and that, a frenetic excitement seemed to grow in their midst. Then, almost as one, they dived over my head and down, straight into the wick, and hurled themselves amongst a shoal of sand eels. There was a frantic whirl of feathers, a blizzard of sleek bodies as they fought and feasted, binged and bickered.

I was wondering if I had the energy to walk into Uyeasound for a coffee when I noticed the standing stone, not ten yards from the road. It stands about twelve feet high, just askew of the perpendicular, covered by pale-grey lichen. I wandered over to it, more for the purpose of filling time than anything else. The stone was smooth – except for the shapes that had been carved into it. Not the same markings exactly, but similar enough for me to be pretty sure I'd find them amongst the runic alphabet in Dana's library book. More runes. I wasn't sure I really cared any more, but it was still much easier to think about runes than about Duncan.

I set off down the road again. Ten minutes later, my mobile rang. It was Dana.

'I heard about the accident. Are you OK?'

'I'm fine,' I said, because that's what you always say, isn't it? 'How could you possibly have heard…?'The line started to crackle and I stood still. It cleared again.