'Her view of the facts! Sally knew she shouldn't sound so critical of a dead friend, but she couldn't help it. 'I mean, hardly objective!
'What was in it? Did she show you?'
'Bits!
'It wasn't finished then?'
'Just about!
'But you didn't see it all?'
'No. Like I said, just bits as she was making it. Shots she was specially proud of:
'Such as?'
'There was one scene filmed in the house room ,that's like the common room at school!
'I know: he said. 'I went there, don't forget!
'There are these two lads talking. They can't have realized she was filming them. People got used to her wandering around with the camera. Sometimes it was switched on. Usually it wasn't. We stopped taking any notice of her after a bit. These lads were talking about foreigners. You know sometimes in the summer we get visitors. . .
Not white people. . : She could tell she was flushing, felt as awkward as when Catherine had played the film to her. '.
. . And they were talking about how they hated foreigners and how Shetland's no place for them and what they'd like to do to them.
It wasn't so much what they were saying as how Catherine made them look on the film. I mean they looked really violent and mad: Sally paused. 'She said something like, I’ll have to get this to Duncan Hunter, won't I? Get him to include it in the latest tourist campaign. Show what a welcoming lot you Shetlanders are. She thought we were all like that. Ignorant, prejudiced, stupid. That was what the film would have showed:
'Did you see anything else?'
I think there might have been a piece about Mr Scott in it. I think she might have filmed that secretly. She talked about how she might do it. She'd put the camera into a bag with a gap in the seam. Then she said what a laugh it would be when she played it back in class. I'm not sure she would have done that though. You could never tell with Catherine. Sometimes she spoke in that really cruel way, but she didn't mean it. It was a weird kind of humour.
I don't think she deliberately set out to hurt people: Sally shook her chip paper and they were surrounded for a moment by gulls.
'Did she tell you what the scene with Mr Scott contained?'
'No. She said she didn't want to spoil the surprise:
Perez stood up to show that the meeting was almost at an end. Sally wondered what the conversation had really been about. At the car he paused. 'We can't find the camera or the disk. Do you know where it might be?'
Sally thought back to the last time she'd been in the big house in Ravenswick. 'She always kept the disk in a metal pencil box in her bedroom. She said if the house caught fire, it would have a chance of surviving. If it's not there, I don't know what she would have done with it:
When Sally got off the bus that evening, her mother was still in the school. She saw Sally walking across the yard and waved her to come in. Inside, there was the familiar smell of plasticine, floor polish and powder paint.
Sally hadn't enjoyed her time in the little school.
From the moment she started a couple of the older lads had made fun of her. They'd made her cry and she'd gone to her mother, who'd told her not to be a baby, but had shouted at the boys all the same. After that, every time her mother made an unpopular decision, somehow it was her fault. Snitcher Sally they'd called her. Her work got trashed when she wasn't looking and they tripped her up in the playground. She'd been a round dumpling of a girl in those days and that hadn't helped. Now, though, even Anderson High didn't seem so bad. She felt more in control than she had since starting there.
The children had been working on some painting to tie in with Up HeIly Aa. A Viking longboat in corrugated cardboard lay across several desks. They did the same display every year - Sally remembered it from her time in primary seven. Margaret Henry didn't have much imagination when it came to art.
'I need to get it up on the wall. Give me a hand will you?'
'You should get them to make torches to go with it. Collage. Anything red, orange or yellow they can cut out of magazines. Or something more shiny. Cellophane, wrapping paper.'
'Aye. Maybe I should.' Margaret stepped back to check that the boat was straight. Sally could tell she wouldn't get the kids to do anything different.
'Will Dad be home on time tonight?' 'No. A meeting in Scalloway.'
'I'm babysitting for Mrs Hunter.'
'I'd not forgotten.' Margaret wiped her hands on a paper towel. 'Let's hope the child doesn't play you up. She a handful, that Cassie Hunter. Full of herself.' Her attention was still on the longboat and she was talking almost to herself. 'There's something about her that reminds me of Catriona Bruce.'
Sally arrived at Fran's house carrying a bag with some books in and some make-up. This time she'd make a bit of an effort for Robert. Cassie was already in bed.
'She's knackered,' Fran said. 'Sometimes she gets a bit restless at night, but that's usually later. You shouldn't have any bother.'
Although Fran was only wearing jeans, you could tell she'd made an effort of her own before going out. She'd put on lipstick and Sally could smell perfume. She was wearing a silky top, close fitting, low cut. Sally would never have been able to get away with it, the size of her belly.
'It was good of you to come,' Fran said. 'I don't feel so bad asking now they've made an arrest, but it must make you think of Catherine.'
'I've been thinking about her all day. The inspector came to school at lunchtime to talk to me about her.'
. 'Oh?' Fran had been brushing her hair, looking at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. She stopped, the hand holding the brush poised over her head. Sally could tell she was dying to ask what he'd wanted, but didn't want to appear too nosy.
'Something about the film she was making.
Apparently it's gone missing,' Sally said.
Fran pushed the brush into a drawer and straightened her collar. 'She talked about the film. A project wasn't it?
A shame it's lost. It would be something to remember her by.'
'Aye.'
'There's a bottle of wine open in the fridge; Fran said at the door. She appeared suddenly reluctant to go. 'Help yourself. And to something to eat.' Then she seemed to convince herself that it would be safe to leave her child, grabbed hold of her bag and was gone. The house was quiet.
Sally was seldom alone in her own home at night.
Margaret didn't have any real social life and if she was out, it was usually at a meeting in the school, so close that Sally could hear the raised voices or polite clapping through the walls. The school seemed to insinuate itself into everything they did. She had spent tune in Catherine's house, but had never imagined herself living there. It was too big. Too grand. This place was different. She prowled around the room looking at the photographs and the sketches, checking out the music, imagining what it must be like to have your own place. Imagining what it would be like to live here with Robert.
In the fridge there was fancy French cheese, a plastic tub of black olives, a bag of salad. She poured herself a glass of white from the bottle in the door. If her mother noticed drink on her breath, she'd say Fran had insisted.
She drank it very quickly and the glass was almost empty when there was a gentle rap on the window. She turned in her chair and she saw him, his face squashed up to the glass, pulling a ridiculous face so he looked like a cartoon monster. She opened the door. He stood, filling the space between the door frame, holding the plastic tie round four beer cans.