This Emerald Veil, page 11
As Gill left his wooden pod the following morning, he nodded a greeting to a man replacing the decking at the base of the adjacent unit. And as he wandered, hands in pockets, in the direction of the abbey, Gill noticed the man was following him. In response, Gill stopped and waited, looking over his shoulder. The man waved and then jogged a few steps, so they were standing side by side.
‘The spirit coming off your pod was zinging this morning,’ the man said. ‘Just wanted to say hello.’
Gill studied him. In his mid to late forties, he was tall, and vigorous, with chestnut-coloured eyes under a full head of long, greying hair. He wore a dark tan leather kilt beneath a black t-shirt and a khaki green body warmer. A multitude of earrings, necklaces, plus accoutrements worn about his belt bombarded Gill with more symbols than he could process in a few moments. The one emblem he did discern was a brooch displaying the Tara Knot; a swirling, ancient Celtic design fashioned from the branches and roots of an oak tree.
‘Let me take a wild guess and assume you’re Garth,’ said Gill.
‘Good vibe, man. Did the spirit reveal that?’
‘No,’ said Gill, mustering an affable smile. ‘I was chatting to Roger yesterday afternoon.’
Garth laughed. ‘And here was me hoping we might recognize each other from earlier lives.’
Gill nodded once but said nothing.
‘Come on, man. Don’t be like that. Open your mind to possibilities.’
Gill’s face cracked into a grin. He’d rather make a friend today than an enemy. ‘Yeah. Open minds. Gotta say, I’m always trying.’
‘That’s more like it.’ Garth gave him a gentle touch on the shoulder. ‘Hey, the chi coming off you right now could light up a small city. What brings a life force like you to my humble little island?’
Gill thought for a second. He was pretty sure Iona belonged to The National Trust, but it seemed churlish to point that out. ‘Work. I’m a journalist. And an archaeologist.’
Garth shook his finger at Gill as if remembering something. ‘Yeah. Got you now. Folks have been talking. May I walk with you, Mr McArdle?’
‘It’s Gill. And of course. I’m heading for the abbey.’
He started walking again and Garth fell in step, but to Gill’s surprise, he said nothing more for the few minutes it took to reach the abbey. Then he stopped and offered out his hand. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure communing with you, man. I’d better leave you to your work while I get back to mine.’
‘You’re employed by the campsite?’
‘Employment implies contractual slavery. No, I work with my hands and my clients pay me whatever value they feel my labour has contributed.’
Gill thought about this and nodded once. ‘Great to meet you.’ But Garth was already walking away.
---
Leone was fixing them hot drinks as Gill arrived. ‘I noticed Roger nobbled you yesterday,’ she said. ‘I hope he wasn’t a pest.’
‘We chatted for a few minutes then quickly ran out of common ground,’ said Gill.
‘He’s retired on health grounds, I believe,’ Leone sniffed. ‘But he’s not so incapacitated he can’t stand and bother the tourists half the days of the year.’
‘Maybe he suffers a hidden disability,’ said Gill, trying to sound magnanimous.
Leone’s shoulders bobbed up and down, so Gill took the opportunity to redirect the conversation. ‘And I met another of the island’s more colourful inhabitants this morning.’
Leone emitted a little groan. ‘Wild guess. Was it Garth?’
Gill nodded. ‘Interesting chap. Who is he?’
‘Odd job man and local shaman. If you need your gutters cleared or a poultice applied, he’s your guy.’
‘He struck me as quite decent.’
‘Actually, to be fair,’ said Leone. ‘If you need to get something practical done, he’s far better value than bringing someone in from Mull.’
‘So, what’s your problem with him?’
‘Did I say I had a problem? I’m just not completely comfortable around the guy.’
Gill raised his hands. ‘I hear you.’
‘Anyway, harmless eccentrics aside, what are you planning to do today?’
Tempted to offer a candid answer to this question, Gill worried he might be the one accused of harmless eccentricity. That he was going to wander the island in the hope his internal guide would lead him to some gold, seemed unprofessional. So, he settled for a milder exposition. ‘I’m going to take a roam around, take some photos, and try and conjure up a story I can put in my magazine.’
‘Nice. Can you keep a record of any wildcat digging you observe?’
‘Definitely. And as I’ve only two days before I head back, can I ask where’d you recommend?’
Leone thought for a second. ‘There’s the old marble quarry down in the southeast corner, but that can be a bugger to find in bad weather. Have you made it out to the hermit’s cell yet?’
Gill shook his head.
‘Another wild place that can be tricky to locate, but it does have the benefit of being within a mile of your pod. Hang on, I’ll draw you a map.’
Chapter 16
Cracking view,’ said Ailsa, sipping coffee while they looked down over the sprawl of the university buildings and beyond. They were sitting on an open window ledge with their feet dangling into the narrow space between a red sandstone balustrade and the immensely thick walls of Cassy’s new flat. On the town side of Crown Terrace, the flat was squeezed into the loft of a once grand five-storey townhouse, on just about the highest ground in Glasgow’s west end.
‘Aye,’ said Cassy. ‘The shared kitchen is a challenge, but the flat is nice and quiet.’
‘Students in the other rooms?’
Cassy shook her head. ‘Mainly young professionals.’
‘Like yourself.’
‘Does a barista qualify as professional? I suppose it does.’
‘I think the landlord took a shine to you. No way you should be able to get a place like this for the pittance you’re paying.’
‘He’s almost eighty,’ said Cassy. ‘I think he was just being kind.’
‘But it’s all rather grand. That staircase wouldn’t look out of place in a hotel.’
‘Old money,’ said Cassy. ‘Whisky family or something.’
‘Bit different from Raasay.’
‘Och, my place in Dundee was even grander.’
‘Really?’
‘No! A couple of rooms over a shop in Broughty Ferry.’
Ailsa smiled and watched the progress of an ambulance making its way up Highburgh Road. ‘I know I moan about Tarbert. But the older I get, the more I’m starting to see the attraction.’
‘Come back to Raasay with me in the summer,’ said Cassy mustering an impish smile. ‘I’ll introduce you to my brother-in-law and all his pals. You could find yourself a farmer.’
Ailsa snorted into her coffee, laying down the mug so she could shake some drips off her hand. ‘Meanwhile in Glasgow … what’s the strategy from here, my tiny friend?’
Cassy glanced at her reflection in the windowpane. ‘I’ll work. And I’ll wait. Above all, I’ll watch. And evenings and weekends, I’ll walk.’
‘Whoa, girl. All the W’s. Sounds like a cunning plan.’
‘You think I’m mad?’
Ailsa’s eyes flicked up and right. ‘If it was just the guy you wanted to find, I’d say move on. But somewhere out there, a twelve-year-old boy has the right to know his mum. I get it,’ she said, without smiling.
Cassy flicked her chin, urging Ailsa to continue.
‘But you’re here on the strength of a rumour. You don’t know for sure Zack is even in the UK, let alone Glasgow.’
‘He’s here,’ said Cassy quietly. ‘I can feel it.’
‘Okay. I respect that. But what if you do find him, and he’s perfectly happy with his life the way it is?’
Cassy offered a shallow shrug. ‘I’ll have tried. At least he’ll have the choice to reconnect with me. It’s more than he got when he was a little kid.’
Ailsa studied her for a few moments and nodded. ‘I’m gonna be praying for you, sis. Is that okay?’
Cassy smothered an embarrassed laugh. ‘I need all the help I can get.’
‘Right, I need to bail. Get ready for the evening rush.’ Ailsa ducked under the sash window and back into Cassy’s room, where the contents of two small rucksacks and three bags of groceries were the only evidence of Cassy’s habitation.
‘Thanks for getting me started,’ said Cassy, following her into the room and patting dust off her jeans.
‘No problem. And you know where I am. Don’t be a stranger and all that.’
The two women hugged, and then with a last shy wave, Ailsa closed the door behind her.
For the first time in the two weeks since she’d arrived in Glasgow, Cassy felt alone. But not lonely, per se. Her time in the hostel had been a blur of different faces, late nights and long busy days. She’d never have described herself as an introvert, but she’d known from an early age that for mental balance, she needed a little alone-time, in every day. Ailsa on the other hand was a full-throttle extrovert. Gliding through her day, organising the hostel, helping the backpackers with their questions; multiple and varied. And then in the evenings, sitting sociably with a hot drink and batting away the attentions of multiple young men, returning from the pubs. All day long, she was manageress, mother and matron to the travellers, and she did it all with a ready smile on her beautiful face.
Cassy made another coffee and returned to the window ledge. Laying the cup down for a moment, she leaned out over the balustrade and looked down. It was a hundred feet from the top of the building to the street below. Unsurvivable in a fall; she resolved never to come out here with wine. Feeling a little vertigo, she pulled back and pressed her shoulders firmly against the old sandstone building. Sipping her coffee, she peered out over the dark city and studied it street by street, trying to feel something in her heart.
‘Where are you, Zack?’ she whispered.
Chapter 17
Gill was returning from a fruitless expedition to find the Hermit’s cell. The instructions Leone had given him seemed clear. But they didn’t include a map reference, so once a dense soft rain settled over the island, obliterating the local landmarks, Gill realised he wasn’t going to find it. Which was a pity. He’d studied images of the stone structure online and was looking forward to deciding for himself if this had been the dwelling of an extremely pious monk, or simply a collapsed compound for corralling animals. No big deal he told himself. He was just reconnoitring. Sniffing the air to see if any part of the island spoke to him. But now he was in danger of being soaked to the skin and decided to call it a day.
Walking across the island, he caught up with a man carrying an armful of derelict fishing gear. By his height and gait, Gill judged correctly it was Garth.
‘Doing a spot of beachcombing?’ Gill said, with the intent of overtaking him.
‘Aye. Cleaning up after those heartless buggers who leave their mess in the sea.’
‘What will you do with it all?’
‘I’m torn,’ said Garth. ‘I might recycle it. But it’s all hard plastic, so I’d just be greenwashing to make myself feel better. Or I might take it to Oban and toss it in a trawler along with an expletive-laden letter asking them to be more careful.’
Gill laughed. ‘That would give them something to think about.’
‘But honestly,’ said Garth. ‘I’ll probably just repurpose it.’
‘To do what?’
‘Anything from arts and crafts through to gardening equipment.’ Garth surveyed Gill’s clothing. ‘You look wetter than I do. Fancy a cuppa?’
‘Och, I don’t want to put you out.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ He nodded down a hard-core track where Gill hadn’t walked before. ‘My place is just down there. And beyond that, this path is a shortcut back to the village.’
Gill thought about it. A hot drink did appeal.
‘Go on,’ Garth pressed. ‘It’ll give you a chance to try my mega-mugs. Which are repurposed plastic fishing buoys to you and me. They’re popular with tourists.’
Gill tried to imagine one of the football-sized floats, severed in half and filled with a hot beverage. ‘Does that actually work?’
‘Naw, they’re shite,’ admitted Garth. ‘Burn myself every time.’
Gill was still laughing as he followed his host to the door of an ancient static caravan. He realised he’d seen it from a distance earlier in his trip and had assumed it was derelict. On closer inspection, the ancient trailer had been meticulously patched. Stepping inside, the whole floor space was open plan, apart from a tiny bathroom at the midpoint. One end was a double bed, neatly made and smelling surprisingly fresh. The other end was a table in a workspace bathed in natural light.
‘That’s where I make my crafts,’ said Garth, nodding at the windowed end of the van. ‘I’ve not got a lot on just now as there’s plenty of outdoor work this time of year.
‘You make stuff for the tourist shops?’ said Gill, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
‘Half and half. The tourists who come here are loaded with cash and leave a carbon footprint the size of an African village just getting here. So, I don’t mind flogging stuff to them. But the rest of the time, I write music, or create art that blesses my soul.’
‘Like what?’
‘This and that,’ Garth shrugged. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please,’ said Gill, stopping to study an abstract painting of a long-haired girl, walking naked along a beach. ‘Lived here long?’
Garth scratched his beard. ‘Came here from Portree in 2017,’ he said. ‘I was still working hospitality back then. At some point, I got downsized and used my petty amount of redundancy cash to buy this old girl from a farmer who was about to scrap her. It’s been home sweet home ever since.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘I thought I’d be doing the Earth a favour by taking on this old crate. But as things turned out, fixing it up has been a pleasure.’
‘By the looks of things, you’re good with your hands.’
Garth nodded soberly. ‘To bend us to their will, the big corporations only need to strip us of the skills to grow our own food, and the ability to fix things.’
Gill thought for a moment about the immaculate fridge freezer he and Salina had to ditch within a week of buying their new house. Just because the compressor was malfunctioning. ‘I guess,’ he said. ‘What about the land?’
‘I rent it from a crofter in return for my labour. This wee place, plus a vegetable patch I have up amongst the stones.’ He turned to glance at Gill. ‘How are you enjoying the island?’
‘Beautiful,’ said Gill. ‘I’d like to say “remote,” but I guess that’s an insult to the people who actually live here.’
‘It’s a fair observation. And when you live here awhile, you realise half the folk who stay here are running from something.’
‘Really? From what?’
‘Work. Marriages. Illness. Basically, hopelessness in all its forms.’
‘And they reckon Iona has the answers?’
‘They wanna hear from God, man,’ said Garth in a slightly mocking tone. ‘They sense the thin place and they wanna come and touch the void.’
‘What about you? Why are you here?’
Garth smirked as he poured boiling water into a surprisingly formal china teapot. ‘Refer you to my previous answer, m’lud. Dodging hopelessness in all its forms.’
‘Not for the thin place?’
‘Oh, that too,’ he said, passing Gill a spotlessly clean mug while he waited for the tea to brew. ‘Before Christianity smothered the island, there was a vibrant pagan scene on Iona. I like to think I’m playing my part.’
‘In paganism?’
Garth directed Gill to join him on a padded seat beside his table. ‘No. That’s too broad a church. Celtic Druidry is my niche.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Gill. ‘Tell me more.’
Garth studied him for a moment. ‘No offence, Gill. But I’m not about to spread my deepest personal beliefs on the table just to have them dissected by a non-believer.’
Gill nodded once. ‘I respect that.’
‘I mean, you and me,’ said Garth with a twinkle. ‘This is our first dance. I don’t get intimate until you’ve at least bought me dinner.’
Gill laughed. ‘If we make it to a second date, the fish and chips are on me.’
