‘He was an actor,’ she said. ‘That’s the first thing to remember. I was never quite sure if he was performing, if I was getting the truth or a story. I’m sure he didn’t mean to lie. He just liked his version best. He was funny and kind, but there was always this mask. You never knew what was going on in his head.’
‘What did he do before he started the company?’
‘Bits and pieces of acting, I think. He was full of the people he’d worked with. Maybe some of it was true. But it’s such a tough business. Even if you’re good, it’s all about luck. It’s the good people who never make it that I’m most sorry for.’
‘And before that? Drama school?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so. He was quite scathing about the kids who turned up here to work with their degrees in performance and no real experience in theatre.’
‘Did he ever talk about his private life?’
‘Never. Only about work.’
‘No relationships?’
‘I think there might have been a few brief flings – young actresses taken in by the bullshit and too much to drink. He liked to be seen with them. It must have been good for his ego. They never lasted, though.’
‘They saw through him?’
‘No. He was always the one to do the dumping. A couple of them were quite smitten. He was very kind and he did have a certain style.’
Taylor’s phone rang. He went into the rehearsal room to take it. It was Jebson.
‘The court case was adjourned, so I’ve made a few calls for you. Work history through the DSS. He’s been self-employed for fifteen years, as an actor. I’m waiting to hear back from the tax people about his income.’
‘Before then?’
‘He was a teacher. A school in Chester.’
‘Thanks.’
‘One more thing. I’ve traced the wife.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Kenny liked Friday evenings. Edith didn’t work at the weekend and when she arrived home from the care centre he knew he would have her at home, all to himself, for two days.
She arrived home late, as she often did on Friday, looking tired and a little strained. She said she’d been out of the centre all afternoon doing home visits. She often said the relatives were more difficult than her clients. He took a bottle of wine from the fridge as soon as he heard her car outside, opened it and poured her a glass, so it was ready on the bench as soon as she came in. An end-of-week ritual. She dropped her bag on the floor and took off her jacket, kissed him lightly, then took the wine with her to run a bath. Another ritual. He heard the water run into the tub. When she came out she’d be the old Edith, wearing jeans and a sweater, calmer, more relaxed.
Earlier he’d been on the phone to friends about helping to bring the sheep down from the hill for clipping. The forecast had been fine for the following day. He enjoyed the sense of occasion that came with clipping the sheep; it was one of the days that marked midsummer – everyone walking across the hill together in line, pushing the beasts ahead of them until they reached the dyke, then walking them down towards the croft. It took him back to his childhood, when there’d been more communal work. He liked the banter and the edge of competition as everyone tried to get the fleeces off whole, not nicking the flesh, but keeping up the pace so they weren’t at it all day. And then in the evening they’d all come into the house for beer and a few drams, maybe some music.
Edith came into the kitchen all rosy from the bath, not dressed at all, but wrapped in a big white towel. Her shoulders seemed very narrow and her neck very long. She finished the wine and poured herself another glass.
‘I was wondering,’ she said, ‘if it was worth me getting dressed just yet.’
Kenny thought he must be the happiest man in the world.
Later he grilled some of the piltock he’d caught the day before. She sat at the table, dressed now as he’d imagined in jeans and a sweater, and she watched him carefully as he scaled the fish, cut off the heads, sliced the belly and pulled out the guts.
‘Was it a bad day at work?’ He’d sensed some tension in her.
‘I’m worried about Willy,’ she said. ‘Something’s making him anxious. He gets all flustered and confused. I hate to see him like that.’
‘Maybe being questioned by Jimmy Perez didn’t help.’
‘I don’t believe it was that,’ she said. ‘Jimmy was fine with the old man. He’s a good listener and he has a gentle way about him.’ She paused. ‘I’m not sure he’s cut out for the police. What do you think?’
Kenny thought Jimmy’s mother had a gentle way about her too. But he didn’t want to think about her and the strange obsession that had taken hold of him that summer when he was working in Fair Isle.
‘Peter Wilding came in to visit Willy late this afternoon,’ Edith said suddenly. Kenny thought maybe the visit from the writer had been on her mind all the time, was what had been troubling her all evening.
‘That was kind.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what he could want with the old man. He’s full of questions and demands and Willy gets upset so easily.’
‘Perhaps he wants to put Willy into a book.’
‘Perhaps he does, but he’s like some sort of parasite, sucking the life from him.’ She paused and Kenny was surprised to see she was shaking. ‘Wilding told me he’s put in an offer on a house in Buness,’ she went on. ‘He wants to stay in Shetland, but Willy’s old house in Biddista isn’t good enough for him. “Shetland is my inspiration.” That’s what he told me.’
Kenny wasn’t sure what to say. He’d taken Wilding fishing once with Martin Williamson and thought he was a weak, easily scared sort of man. He’d sat white-faced, holding the side of the boat. He wouldn’t be sorry if the writer moved to the south of the island. It would be better if a young Shetland family could move into Willy’s old house. It would be nice if there was another child around the place, a friend for Alice Williamson, who must get awful lonely.
Edith went into the garden to dig some early tatties to go with the fish and came back, carrying them in a colander with a cut lettuce on the top. She rinsed the light soil from her hands under the tap.
‘Would you like me to come in and talk to Willy?’ he asked when they sat ready to eat. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. We could talk about the old days, and he always wants to know what the fishing’s like now and how I’m managing with the boat. I won’t suck the life out of him. I promise that’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘He’d love that. You’re a kind man, Kenny Thomson.’
She squeezed a quarter of a lemon over the piltock and ate the fish very seriously, almost with respect. He reflected that that was how she did everything.
After the meal he asked if she’d like to take a walk with him over the hill. Some evenings she came with him and he always enjoyed her company. He thought it might help her forget her worries at work. She hesitated a moment before answering, so he could tell she was tempted, but in the end she shook her head.
‘I’d like to finish the knitting for Ingirid. Just in case.’
Their daughter was expecting a baby, their first grandchild, and was due in ten days’ time. Edith had holiday saved up so she could fly down to Aberdeen as soon as labour started. She was making a shawl for the child. The knitting was so intricate that it looked like one of the wedding veils worn in his grandparents’ day. Then, the women had said the yarn should be so fine that you should be able to pull the veil through a wedding ring.
‘I might speak to her on the phone,’ Edith went on. ‘Just see how she is.’
Kenny understood. As the birth got closer Ingirid had become homesick for the islands. It had seemed to them that she’d never missed Shetland before. She had her new life in the south, her friends and her man. Now some nights there were tearful phone calls. Hormones, Edith said, but Kenny thought it was just that she wanted her baby to be born a Shetlander.