Even her friendship with Catherine hadn't been what it seemed and it had been a real effort to keep the resentment and jealousy from floating to the surface. Sometimes the effort of all that acting made her feel weird, cut off. Like she was looking down at herself. She'd tried to explain it once to Catherine, who hadn't understood it at all.
At breakfast she still didn't feel like eating. She could tell her parents were anxious and she quite enjoyed the idea that they were worried about her. It made a change. All that time when the kids at school had been picking on her, she'd tried to explain to them what was going on, but they hadn't really taken it in. 'Take no notice,' her mother had said. 'Sticks and stones!
'Why don't you give orchestra a miss today?' Margaret was putting the pans to soak in soapy water. Even at the weekends she didn't believe in a leisurely breakfast and the plates were snatched away as soon as you'd finished. 'It's delayed shock, I expect. Maybe we should ask the doctor to take a look at you. Have a day at home!
But that was the last thing Sally wanted. 'I'll probably feel better if I'm out!
Her father poured himself a last mug of tea from the pot. 'Why don't you come with me? It's my day for the beached bird survey. Fresh air and a bit of exercise. That might do the trick.'
She couldn't come up with any reason to refuse him. She could tell he really wanted her to go, and like her mother she found it hard to stand up to him. She went into the bedroom and changed into jeans and an old sweater, then stood in the porch to pull on her wellingtons. He was already waiting for her. Margaret came out with a flask and a packet of sandwiches and stood to wave them off. Sally could tell she was eager to have the house to herself.
They only made it untidy.
The rain had cleared overnight and it was a little warmer. A false promise of spring. Sitting high up in the front seat of the Land Rover there was a view across the fields to where Catherine had been lying.
One of the pieces of police tape had come loose. The ravens were sky-dancing in the thermals at the top of the cliff.
'What did she look like?' Sally asked.
He knew what she was talking about, but there was a moment's silence while he considered. She thought he was going to tell her not to think about Catherine, that she should put all thought of the murder from her mind. At last he said, 'She looked dead. I'd never seen a dead body before. You think it'll just look like someone sleeping, but it doesn't. You mustn't worry about what happened to her out there. The birds. All the rumours that are flying around. Whatever made her Catherine had gone by then. Long gone! He paused. 'Do you understand what I mean?'
'Yes, I think so!
Every month Alex walked a stretch of the coast looking for birds which had been washed up dead. He wasn’t the only one. All around the islands there were people walking their own patch, Pete from the RSPB, Paul, Roger, all the volunteers. It was a census, a snapshot of the health of the islands' bird population. He explained this to Sally as he manoeuvred the Land Rover down a narrow track towards a small farm. She listened, glad of the distraction. There was something comforting about her father's obsessions. They were always the same. The house at the end of the track was freshly whitewashed and a line of nappies blew behind it. As they approached a young woman came out and scattered grain to the chickens which pecked around the garden. She waved at Alex before disappearing inside.
'A young couple's just taken it over,' he said.
"'Incomers. At least they're living there. It was a holiday let for a few years! She was surprised that he knew about the new family. She'd thought he didn't notice much about people.
He led her past the house on to a pebble beach. It shelved steeply into the water and there was a line of seaweed, piled up, which marked the high tide. She could smell it from where they were standing. 'We might find a few oiled birds,' he said. 'There was some pollution further north! He was talking to himself. She scrambled down the beach after him, almost tripping when the shingle shifted underneath her boot. He turned and caught her elbow just in time to stop her falling. His grip was strong and the physical contact shocked her. Even when she was young she couldn't remember him touching her. He'd never been one for giving a cuddle. Once he realized she was firm on her feet he pulled his hand away and walked ahead of her, his head bent to look at the shore. Almost immediately he found a long-tailed duck, freshly dead, and held it out, stretching the wing carefully, so she could see the individual feathers.
'It's been oiled,' he said. 'Not badly, but enough to kill it!
She didn't know what to say. She couldn't pretend to be sad about a dead sea duck. She wandered down to the water; let it wash over her wellingtons, until he'd moved on. She stood looking out over the grey sea, letting her mind go blank.
When she caught up with him he had another corpse in his hand. 'Guillemot,' he said. He turned it over, felt along the bone between its wings. 'There's no fat at all. Precious little muscle! She expected him to drop it into the black bin bag and continue walking, but he couldn't help explaining about it. About climate change; the melting polar ice, the effect it seemed to be having on plankton and sand-eels. 'The food for seabirds is disappearing,' he said. 'Last summer puffins, red-throated divers, arctic skuas, raised no young at all!
Sally understood why her mother resented his passion. He cared too much about it. And it was all too big. How could they compete with his concern for the whole planet? Even the brutal murder of a schoolgirl seemed insignificant in comparison. Sally remembered then that Catherine had wanted to interview her father. She'd heard him speak on Radio Shetland and been impressed by him, And she hadn't been impressed by many people. They'd been sitting in the little living room at the back of the Ross house, doing some homework, the radio on in the background, when his voice had suddenly filled the room. Sally had been excited despite herself. That's my dad.
She couldn't remember now what he'd been talking about. Overgrazing maybe. That was his party piece. And Catherine had said, 'He's so committed. He really cares about that stuff, doesn't he? Do you think he'd let me interview him?' And she'd sounded as passionate as him. Very alive. It was difficult now to think that had gone.
It seemed as if Alex had read her thoughts. 'You must miss her. The Ross girl!
Sally remembered how lonely she'd felt, waiting for the school bus. 'Yes,' she said. 'I miss her a lot!
'I didn't know her. Not really. But she seemed a strange kind of girl!
'I liked her!
'You mustn't be scared: he said. 'I wouldn't let any thing bad happen to you!
It was the first time she'd thought there might be anything to be scared about.
'Did she ever interview you for her project?' Sally asked. She'd have expected Catherine to tell her if she had, but with Catherine you never knew. She had her own secrets.
He frowned. 'What project would that be?' 'Something we were doing for school. About Shetland. Her impression of it as an outsider, I think. She wanted to talk to you about your work!
'No: he said. 'She never did that! Something about his voice made Sally think that he would have liked that and he was sorry it had never happened.