Once she'd disappeared from view he forgot about her. She wasn't important enough to feature as a picture in his head.
The teacher's man drove up the road in his Land Rover. Magnus recognized him but had never spoken to him. It was unusual for him to be so late, leaving home. Usually he left the schoolhouse early in the morning and returned after dark.
Perhaps the snow had altered his plans.
Magnus knew the movements of everyone in the valley. There had been nothing else to take his interest since the death of his mother. From overheard gossip in the post office and the bus, he had learned that Alex Henry worked for the Islands Council. He was something to do with the wildlife. Magnus had heard the men complaining. A local man should know better, they said. Who did Henry think he was, laying down the law to them?
They blamed the seals for taking fish and thought they should be allowed to shoot them. They said people like Henry cared more for animals than men's livelihoods. Magnus liked to see the seals - he thought there was something friendly and comical about the way they stuck their heads out of the water - but then he'd never gone to the fishing. The seals made no difference to him.
When the car stopped, Magnus had a repeat of the panic he'd experienced when he'd seen Margaret Henry. Perhaps Sally had talked. Perhaps the father was here to complain about Magnus taking the girls into the house. He thought Henry had even more to be angry about now. The man was frowning as he climbed down from the car. He was middle-aged, big, thickset. He wore a Barbour jacket, which was tight across his shoulders, heavy leather boots. If there was a fight, Magnus wouldn't stand a chance.
Magnus moved away from the window so he couldn't be seen, but Henry didn't even look in his direction. He climbed over the gate and followed the line of footsteps made by the woman. Now Magnus was interested. He would have liked a view of the scene which was being played out at the bottom of the hill. If it had just been the woman he would have gone out to look. He thought she must have waved at the teacher's husband, called for him to stop his car.
And then just as he was imagining what might be happening, the young mother came back, stumbling slightly as she reached the road. He could tell she was upset. She had a dazed and frozen look which Magnus had seen before.
Georgie Sanderson had looked like that when he'd had to give up his boat and his mother had been the same way after the death of Agnes. She hadn't been frozen when Magnus's father had died. Then, it had seemed that life would carry on as normal. It’ll just be you and me now, Magnus. You’ll have to be a big boy for your mother. She had spoken briskly, even cheerfully. There had been no tears.
Magnus thought now that the woman had cried, though it was hard to tell. Sometimes the cold wind brought tears to your eyes. She got into the driver's seat of the Land Rover and started the engine, but the car didn't move off. Again he wondered if he should go out to her. He could tap on the windscreen - she wouldn't hear him approaching over the sound of the diesel engine and the windows had steamed up so she wouldn't see him. He could ask her what had happened. Once she was in the house, he could suggest that she might like to come back for a visit with the little girl.
He began to plan what he might get for the girl to eat and drink. Those round little biscuits with the pink sugar icing, chocolate fingers. It would be quite a tea party with the three of them. And there was still a doll in the back which had once belonged to Agnes. The fair-haired child might like to play with it. He couldn't give it her to keep, that wouldn't be right. He had kept all the toys which had belonged to Agnes. But he couldn't see there would be any harm in her holding it and tying a ribbon into its hair.
His dreams were interrupted by the sound of an engine. It was another Land Rover, this time a navy blue one - and it was driven by a man in a uniform. The sight of the heavy waterproof jacket, the tie, the cap which the man put on his head when he got out of the vehicle, threw Magnus into a panic. He remembered the last time. He was back in the small room with the shiny gloss paint on the walls, he heard the furious questions, saw the open mouth and the fat lips. There had been two of them wearing uniforms then. They had come to the house for him early in the morning. His mother had wanted to come with them, had hurried away to find her coat, but they'd said there was no need.
That had been later in the year, not so cold, but damp, a squally westerly full of rain.
Had only one of them spoken? He could only remember the one.
The memory made him shake so violently that the cup rattled in the saucer he was holding. He could feel his mouth form the grin his mother had hated so much, the grin which had been his only defence to the questions and which had irritated his interrogator beyond endurance.
'Is it funny?' the man had shouted. 'A young lass missing. You think that's a joke? Do you?'
Magnus hadn't thought it a joke, but the grin stuck, petrified. There had been nothing he could do about it. Neither could he reply.
'Well?' the man had screamed. 'What are you laughing at, pervert?' Then he had lifted himself slowly to his feet and while Magnus watched confused, as if he was nothing but an observer, he'd drawn his hand into a fist and smashed it down on Magnus's face, forcing back his head with a jolt that rocked the chair. There was blood in his mouth and chips of broken tooth. The man would have hit him again if he hadn't been stopped by his partner.
Now Magnus thought that blood tasted of metal and ice. He realized he was still holding the saucer and set it carefully on the table. He knew it couldn't be the same policeman. That had been years ago. That policeman would be middle-aged by now, retired maybe. He returned tentatively to the window, resisting the first impulse, which had been to hide in the back room with his eyes shut. When he had been a boy he had imagined that if he shut his eyes, nobody could see him. His mother had been right. He had been a very foolish child. If he shut his eyes now, the policeman would still be there, outside his house, the ravens would still be in the sky, tumbling and calling, their claws stained with blood. Catherine Ross would still be lying in the snow.
Chapter Six
Alex Henry had sent her back to sit in the Land Rover. She'd still been screaming when he came up to her about the birds. She couldn't leave Catherine there with the birds.
'I won't let them back,' he'd said. 'I promise.'
For a while she sat upright in the front seat of the Land Rover, remembering Catherine as she'd last seen her. There'd been a PTA meeting, the AGM, and Fran had asked Catherine to babysit. Fran had given her a glass of wine and they'd chatted before she'd gone down to the school. Catherine had a poise and confidence which made her seem older than she really was.
'How have you settled into Anderson High?' Fran had asked.
There'd been a brief pause, a slight frown before Catherine had answered. 'Fine.'
Despite the difference in their ages Fran had hoped they might become friends. There weren't that many young women in Ravenswick after all. Now it was sweltering in the Land Rover. The heater was pumping out hot air. Fran shut her eyes to push out the picture of the girl in the snow. She fell suddenly and deeply asleep. A reaction to the shock, she thought later. It was as if a fuse had blown. She needed to escape.