Marigold's Tale, page 15
Maybe, if we had all been a little more alert, no harm would have come of all the bairn’s chatter. Sooner or later, the other children would have tired of wee Shirley’s stories. Sigrid was keeping her eye on the situation and saw no reason for concern. Sometimes, she told me later, you just have to let children work things out of their systems.
Then, on the day of her birthday party, Shirley’s chatter reverberated onto Marigold, and none of us saw it coming.
Of course, I didn’t know the whole story until much later. Sigrid always marked the birthdays of her pupils, and it was not unusual for parties to take place in the school before the bairns dispersed to their bothies anywhere within a five-mile radius. Usually, one or other parent would stop by after lessons to help to organise games and to deliver the regulation birthday cake. Both Frankie and Eric turned up at the school on the 10th, as planned, with a feast provided by Fiona, who had explained the customs.
All went exactly as expected. Frankie brought the cake in, candles alight, and a beaming Shirley blew them out and made her wish. A game of pass-the-parcel saw Elin winning a much-coveted torch that would shine yellow or red, and musical statues resulted in a play-off between the twins. When the cake was cut all the bairns were told to sit down as slices were distributed by Frankie and Sigrid.
And that’s when things went wrong.
“Is that your mam?” asked one of the other five-year-olds.
“Nah!” Shirley was mildly contemptuous. “That’s my granny.”
“So, where’s your mam?”
Nobody can blame Shirley for the way she handled that question. She didn’t want to talk about her mother. Maybe she just didn’t have an answer. She was just a little thing, and she instinctively deflected the question.
“Ain’t got one!” she said. “Us refugees, we ’ave lots of dead people in our families! We’s been slaves, and slaves is treated really cruelly. I ain’t got no mum, like Marigold ain’t got no sister! That girl what drowned on Marie’s beach, that were ’er sister!”
Suddenly all eyes turned on Marigold.
“I ’as got a sister!” Marigold objected. “You seen ’er. Baby Thistle! You leave Lavender out of this, Shirley!”
But it was too late. Christian, eyes wide, was staring at Marigold. And of course, the business of Lavender being found on my beach had worried Christian so much that his parents had sheltered him from the tale. They had carefully never discussed the matter in front of him. “Was that your sister?” he asked, almost breathless. “The bairn on the beach? The one who died?” He might have been the only child in the room who didn’t already know it – and easily the most fascinated by the story.
Young Elin butted in. Like many of the bairns, she had heard all about it at home. “Of course it was!” she announced, going over to Marigold and holding her hand. “Everyone knows that. But if Marigold doesn’t want to talk about it…”
But wee Shirley was too young, or was enjoying being the centre of attention too much, to take the hint.
“She were washed away by a big wave!” the bairn announced, holding her hand up in the air to demonstrate how high the water had been. “It were bigger than my uncle Eric, bigger than…” she paused, trying, I suppose, to think of something huge, to make the comparison. “Bigger than a mountain! And it washed Lavender away into the sea, and she weren’t never seen again! And the fishes ate ’er!”
Marigold burst into tears. “Why did you ’ave to say that?” she sobbed, looking at Shirley. “I’s trying not to think about ’er. I’s pretending what it never ’appened. And now you gone and spoiled it all!” And she tore her hand from Elin’s and ran out of the school room.
Then Shirley, being only a wee one herself and not sure what she had done wrong, also burst into tears. Christian was turning from one person to another, wanting to know more – or to be told that none of it was true. All the bairns seemed to be talking at once. By the time the general hubbub had calmed down and peace restored, it was time for the party to end. Bairns donned their outdoor gear and shifted their backpacks onto their backs, ready for their walks home. Nobody wondered about Marigold. She lived just up the track, beyond the shop. She was probably home, telling her mam what had happened or playing with her baby sister. Nobody thought to check.
Chapter 17
At the time, of course, I knew none of this. Malcolm was over at St Matthew’s Bay again, putting in the insulation and helping with the plumbing. I had been tending my vegetable plot, not needing to wear my thick jacket for the first time that year and feeling optimistic about the approaching summer. Duncan was coming home for the May break; the weather forecast was good; and when Bjorn and I had talked over Skype about the loan, he had mentioned how much Duncan liked Malcolm.
It’s easy to work late into the evening in May. The sun doesn’t set until 8.30pm or so, and I find that if I’m engrossed in something, the time just passes. It was only when I realised how long the shadows had grown that I started thinking about eating.
I had left my phone on the kitchen counter. I took off my gardening clogs and gloves and dropped them into the chest under the coat hooks. I hung up my jacket and washed my hands, then put the kettle on. Finally, not expecting anything except perhaps a message from Malcolm, I checked my phone.
I had three missed calls from Sigrid. I clicked on the app to hear the message, half expecting it to be something about the knitting co-operative. We were still thinking of starting classes for the refugees.
“Hei, Marie!” I thought she sounded a little tense. “Sorry to bother you. I’m guessing you’ve got Marigold with you. Can you phone back and let me know? There was a bit of a problem at school today – she’s probably told you all about it? Anyway, she didn’t go home, and Rose is worried. Call me back when you pick this up, will you?”
I could almost feel the happiness drain out of me. I had a terrible sense of foreboding. My hand was shaking as I tapped ‘reply’ and waited for Sigrid’s phone to ring.
As soon as she picked up, I blurted out, “Sigrid, she isn’t here. Marigold, I mean. What happened?”
“Oh nei!” Sigrid sounded distressed. “I was sure she’d have come to you. The subject of Lavender came up. She’s never mentioned her sister at school, but Shirley… anyhow, Marigold left the party early but she didn’t go home.”
“So where is she?” I asked, feeling panic rising inside me. “Will she have gone to Andy Kullander?”
“No, not there,” Sigrid said. “We’ve already checked, and anyhow, that’s where Shirley is…”
“And she isn’t at Shona’s, or confiding in Robert’s ponies?”
“We’ve tried everyone,” Sigrid told me. “Malcolm isn’t answering his phone. Would she have gone there?”
“He’s over in St Matthew’s Bay,” I answered. “There’s sometimes a bad connection on that part of the island. She might have gone to his bothy. I’ll go over there now, shall I, and check?”
“Would you?” Sigrid sounded slightly relieved. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and that wee lassie doesn’t know her way around yet, not well. Keep in touch, will you?”
The sun was hovering right on the horizon as I left the bothy. The sheep were still baaing; the gulls were still crying; the wind was light and gentle, but the day had lost its charm completely.
I called as I strode across the moor to the burn. “Marigold! Marigold! It’s me, Marie. Marigold! Marigold!”
There was no answer.
* * *
By the time I had reached Malcolm’s bothy and found it deserted, Sigrid had contacted Lyle, and Lyle had reached Si, intercepting him on his way home to Hus. Almost the whole island was alerted – certainly everyone on our side of En-Somi and in Storhaven. The long dusk was fading into darkness; I could see torch lights flickering on the moors above Gamla Hus as I walked up to the village; and I could hear voices: “Marigold! Marigold!”
Rose was standing at the door of Bothan Ros, a soft glow behind her and Thistle on her hip. She looked awful, like a wax-work model of a person, badly executed. There was a sort of stiffness about her, and when I tried to give her a hug, it was like embracing a standing stone.
“I knew it were too good to last,” she said, in a cool, distant sort of voice. “There weren’t no way me and Si was going to live ’appy ever after.”
“Oh, Rose! We’ll find her! We will! She can’t have gone that far!” But my words sounded hollow.
“No,” agreed Rose, still in that flat, dead voice. “She can’t ’ave gone that far… down a cliff maybe, or drownded in a bog… per’aps fallen into the sea like ’er sister… and she ain’t ’ad nofing to eat. She never came ’ome.”
I felt helpless. The bairn was obviously not in any of the bothies on our side of the island. Most people were already out looking. “Would she go to her paps – her dad?” I wondered, “over towards St Matthew’s Bay?”
“’E’s on ’is way ’ere,” she answered. “She ain’t wiv ’im. Ain’t nowhere. I fink we’s lost ’er.”
“But where else could she go? Who does she know?”
“She don’t know nobody!” Rose’s monotone voice sounded slightly indignant. “You knows that. We never slept in that church, like the uvers, we came straight over ’ere. She knows your Duncan and that Alana, and Andy, but ’e ain’t seen ’er, and the kids in the school, but she ain’t never been to their ’ouses, and if they knew where she was, they’d tell us… he’s just gone. I only ’as Thistle left. What’ll ’appen to ’er? Somefing bad, you can be sure of that!”
Goodness, I wished Malcolm was there! I felt completely helpless.
Sigrid came up from the direction of the school. “Everyone’s out looking,” she told Rose. “Come on, let’s go inside. That wee one is getting cold. Let’s make some tea. I’ve got my phone here. We’ll know as soon as they find her.” She turned to me. “We’ve got people searching our side of Fyrtarn Fjell,” she said, “and the Storhaven people are working out from the town. Would you be up to walking the pass, just in case…?”
“Of course.” I think I was relieved to be given something to do. But surely, Marigold wouldn’t venture up there on her own? Maybe, if she wanted to find her paps or… suddenly I had an idea.
“Sigrid!” I called, just as she was closing Rose’s door. “Sigrid, does Marigold know Verity?”
“Of course she do!” It was Rose answering, sounding scornful. “She came to the airport. Our lot rescued ’er! Remember?”
“So would she go there, to Verity?” I wanted to know.
“She don’t know where the vicar lives,” Rose pointed out. “No more’n I do. ’Ow could she go there?”
“I thought of that,” Sigrid answered. “Verity’s phone’s turned off. But she must know Marigold is missing. Everyone knows.” Then, to Rose, “Come on, let’s make that tea.”
* * *
Bothan Ros, Si and Rose’s cottage, was the last bothy in the village back then, if you were heading up the path going east. The track is pretty much uphill all the way to the pass, but it’s easy-going at first. It was full night, but clear, and my night vision was good in those days. I had my torch with me, but I seem to remember that I didn’t need it. Of course, I knew the path well; I had walked it countless times.
I called as I went, “Marigold! Marigold!” But I listened too. If the child was in trouble, if she were hurt, her cries might not be strong. I heard other voices coming across the cooling air, also calling for the bairn, and I saw odd flashes of torchlight as people searched the moors.
As I climbed towards the pass I started to notice, perhaps for the first time, places beside the track where the ground fell away steeply. At one point I thought I heard a noise, a moaning in the reeds a hundred feet or so below the track. “Marigold! Marigold, it’s all right! I’m here!” I called as I slithered down the boggy slope towards the sound. But when I got there, it was just a sheep sheltering against a jutting rock. I called again, but there was no child there.
Up on top of the pass the island spread out before me; I paused to gather my breath and to think. Where did I go when I was Marigold’s age, and upset? My ninth year had been tough for me. I had moved in with Granny by then, but I was missing my parents, my old school, the whole life that tragedy had forced me to leave behind. Granny had been so understanding. She was my father’s mother, my only surviving grandparent. My family had never lived in Melrose but my parents were buried there because that was where Granny lived. We used to go to the cemetery every Tuesday after school to put fresh flowers on the grave. If I wanted to, though, I could walk down Huntley Road on my own; I didn’t need to cross any busy roads, and I would just sit on the grass and think about my parents.
And then it occurred to me. Of course, Marigold might go to the cemetery, to Aeloff’s Hill, where Lavender had been buried in an unmarked grave because at the time no one had known who she was.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and found Lyle’s number. It was engaged. I tried Malcolm. The call went straight to his answering service. I tried Verity, but her phone was switched off. Well, the best thing I could do was to keep walking towards Storhaven and keep searching – and try phoning again in a few minutes.
Once I was over the pass and the track was more sheltered, I started to get hot. It wasn’t a warm night, but I suppose I was striding along, fuelled by worry. I still couldn’t get anyone on the west of the island to answer my calls. I texted Sigrid to ask if there was any news but only received the one, bleak word, nei, in response. I left the usual track to check the ruined chapel in the dip beyond the footpath that takes you to Stone Beach, but there were only sheep there and something that scuttled away – not a rat, there were none on the island then, as now. Probably it was a mouse. Not a child, at any rate. I called, but of course there was no reply, so I backtracked to the main path and kept going.
It was midnight when I finally got through to Malcolm. The line was poor, fading in and out.
“Where are you?” I asked.
At the same time, he said, “Have you found her?”
“Nei.” The conversation was difficult. There seemed to be a time-lag on the call, so that we spoke over each other, and there was some sort of whistling interference.
“I’m up by Holti’s,” Malcolm explained. “Over Caldbrae. We’re combing the moors down towards the sea… where are you?”
“I’m walking towards Storhaven,” I told him. “I’ve had an idea…”
“So you haven’t found her?” Malcolm’s voice was hard to decipher. “Marie, are you still there?”
“We haven’t found her,” I repeated. “I think she might be…”
“Marie? Marie? Are you there?” Malcolm sounded frantic. Then I heard him say, presumably to someone close by, “I’ve lost her. The phone’s gone dead. I think they’re still looking.” Then the line cut out completely. When I tried to phone back, nothing at all happened.
There were a few lights in windows in Storhaven. I went straight to Verity’s flat. The door at the foot of the stairs in her building was closed and firmly locked. There were no lights in her windows. I banged urgently on the door, hurting my knuckles, but there was no response.
I stood in the street, wondering what to do now. I really needed some coffee. I had come ridiculously ill-prepared. Should I go straight on to Aeloff’s Hill or try to find someone to go with me? I tried Verity’s number again. Her phone was still switched off. The cemetery is quite remote, out to the south-east looking over the sea. I was wary about heading out there without telling somebody where I was going.
“Marie!”
I whirled around. I had been peering at my phone and Lyle had come up behind me.
“Lyle!” I was relieved to see him. “Have they found Marigold?”
“Nei.” Lyle sounded troubled. “Half the town is out looking, but there’s not a sign of her. And I don’t think she would have made it this far. Do you?”
“Aja,” I told him. “Actually, I think she might have done. I think she might have gone to the cemetery.”
“But why…? Oh, of course! Lavender’s grave. But it’s a hell of a way for a wee bairn to walk, and does she even know the way?”
“She might,” I told him. “She’s always asking questions. Who knows what somebody might have told her? One of the children at school, maybe? Or someone over in Hus?”
“We should check,” agreed Lyle. “Tom, down at the quay, is coordinating everything on this side of the island. He’s got the best reception. There’re people combing the moors, but it’s hard to make contact with some of them. The signal for our phones isn’t very good tonight. We don’t think she’ll have headed for Frigg Moor, but Mac MacLoughlan is keeping an eye open, and Fenna is out with their dogs.” He sounded very organised. It was a relief, really, to be able to share my feeling of urgency.
“Have you walked over from Hus?” Lyle asked, as if he had just realised that it was unusual for me to be standing in a Storhaven street in the early hours of the morning.
“I checked the track over the pass,” I explained. “We’ve got the western moors covered, as much as we can. And now I’m here, I thought I’d call on Verity,” I added. “The bairn knows her.”
“She’s gone,” answered Lyle, sounding bleak.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“She’s left the island. Verity has. She must have left on Friday’s ferry. I went to see her. I was going to say that we couldn’t go on like this, avoiding each other. I wanted to tell her that we could just be friends, that I understood that her calling to the kirk came first. I was going to reassure her that I wouldn’t put her under any pressure. But when I went to her flat, she had gone. Just locked everything up and left.”
