The sea, the sea needs little boats, the sea, there are men in the water, blue hands, blue hands, blue hands. They’re so hungry.
He’d gripped Magnus’s wrist so hard he’d left bruises.
Hungry hands. Why did you do it, Dad?
It’s Magnus, Dad, not John.
I saw you. I heard her crying. Why would Mairi give up little Brid?
Then he pushed Magnus from him, weeping into his sleeve. Magnus was relieved when his dad died and he could go home.
“How did Granddad do it, Mairi? How did he turn this place around? Were those freak years of fishing just luck?”
Her eyes were the silver of needles.
“Fool. Ingrate. All you do is complain. You’re weak. Only John had what it took, the bastard. What are you willing to sacrifice for what you want?”
There was nothing to be done but leave the container. The rumble of thunder closed in. Night brought in the tide. The islanders took shelter.
Magnus watched the waves from the window until it was too dark to see out. The cottage was built from granite blocks, hunkered down against the hill to withstand the onslaught of wind and rain.
Peter and Donald lay on their bellies in front of the fire, playing cards. Hildy occupied the table, her sketchbooks spread out.
Magnus lay on his side on the sofa. He was aware of Hildy’s voice but it didn’t reach him. His mind drifted.
“Hild”—he rolled on to his side—“do you know if Mairi ever had a baby?”
“You’re not listening.”
“Sorry. What did I miss?”
“Nothing important.” There was the angry clatter of pencils on the table. “I’ve no idea about Mairi. I’ve always kept clear of the spiteful old crow. When did you see her?”
“On my way back from the beach.”
“I wondered why you were so long.”
“I couldn’t bear to listen to his lordship holding court about how we have to tell the authorities about the container.”
“He’s right. We can’t keep it.”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
The lights died. The chair creaked as Hildy got up.
Husband and wife went around the room lighting candles.
“Why can’t we live somewhere where the electricity always works?” Peter threw down his cards.
“Because it’s much more fun here.”
Quiet candlelight and their voices made the cottage timeless. When Magnus was Peter’s age the power often went out. Three generations sat close, mending nets and listening to John Spence. Magnus wished such fond memories for his sons too.
“It’s not fun here. It’s boring.”
“That’s enough.” Magnus’s temper was a lit flare.
“Boys, I’ll get the lanterns out. Early bedtime. You can read for twenty minutes.”
“Mum!”
“Shift when your mum tells you.” Magnus saw Donald flinch. He tried to lighten things with a joke. “Or the blue men will get you.”
Magnus listened to their tread on the stairs and then the creak of floorboards above. He picked up the photo frame on the table beside him. It was of his grandfather and his crew in front of Maw’s Teeth, the trawler named against all counsel. It was the first catch after John Spence had gone to London and insisted the Ministry of Fisheries retest the waters that had been depleted for years. He made a nuisance of himself until they did. A month later the fleet sailed after two years in dock. The sea was teeming.
It was a time of plenty. The deck was piled with fish, white in the monochrome snapshot rather than silver.
Now the fish were gone, the sea was empty and the Fisheries’ team came each year to check, and left shaking their heads sadly.
When Hildy returned, Magnus was sat ramrod straight and half cast in shadow.
“Mags, don’t be mad at the boys, not when it’s Simon you’re angry at.”
“I won’t be disrespected by my own sons.”
“That sounds like something your grandfather would say.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That he was a fearsome bully.”
“Don’t talk about him like that.”
“No, nobody can say a bad word about John Spence. How exactly was Peter being disrespectful?”
“These are my choices about our way of life.”
“Our choices, not just yours.”
That was why he’d wanted Hildy. She wouldn’t be cowed. Free-spirited Hildy had been a prize.
“Peter’s just a boy. He just wants to be like his friends on Big Isle.”
“That bloody generator.” Magnus didn’t want to be reasoned with. The generator was old and unpredictable. Sam the Spark would be up there with his bag of tools.
“There never seems to be a good time for us to talk about anything any more. Promise me you won’t get angry.”
“Why would I get angry?”
“Because everything makes you angry.”
Magnus sat back.
“Donald’s been telling me about his nightmares. They’re about the blue men and the Cailleach.”
The blue men lived in the strait and reached for sailors with outstretched arms. The Cailleach had a list of pseudonyms and occupations but on Little Isle she was a witch who washed her linens in Maw’s maelstrom.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because he’s scared of disappointing you. He knows how much you love the old tales.”
“They’re just stories. My granddad taught me them when I was younger than Donald is. And Peter wasn’t bothered by them.”
“Yes, he was. And just because we all learnt about them as kids it doesn’t mean they have to.” She shuddered. “I used to wake up screaming.”
Magnus had chronicled the dreams. Only those bred from old stock had them. Magnus used to wake in a sweat after the Cailleach bundled him up with her washing and chucked him into the whirlpool. The blue men pulled him down. They were always waiting in the undertow. Their teeth were pointed. The pain of drowning was like a knife.
“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.”
“Why’s everything so hard?” Magnus blurted out.
“What do you mean?”
“This place is dying. Our boys will be gone soon.”
Peter would go to high school on the mainland as a boarder. Magnus wouldn’t see him from one weekend to the next. Donald would follow before he knew it. How time fleeced you.
“They’re going to school, not Australia.”
“They’ll stay on there when they’ve finished to find work.”
“So? They should be free to do as they please. Hell, we could even move too.”
“I hate it over there. Too many bad memories.” He meant the loneliness of the docks and his father’s slow death.
“The world’s bigger than that. We could go anywhere.”
No. The boys would go and he couldn’t follow. Mairi was right. He was only alive when he was on Little Isle.
The lights went back on.
When Magnus opened his eyes it was light, to his relief. He’d been waking earlier and earlier of late, the fluorescent hands of his bedside clock marking the slow progress of the night.
When Magnus slipped from the bed, Hildy rolled over, searching for him from her dreams. She snorted and settled into the warm patch on the mattress that he’d just vacated.
That one’s so sharp she’ll cut herself, his grandfather had said before he died. She’ll cut you, more likely. Are you sure you want a girl that’s so headstrong?
Yes, Granddaddy.
Well, just don’t marry her. He cuffed Magnus’s head.
Magnus pulled on the clothes he’d left on the bannister the night before. Peter’s door was closed but Donald’s was open. His pyjamas were rucked up to reveal spindly legs. He whimpered and shifted. Magnus knelt beside him. Donald’s curls were soft and loose, the same as Magnus’s were before his grandfather took the shears to them.