Death in Shetland Waters by Marsali Taylor

Author:Marsali Taylor [Marsali Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749022075
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2017-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

FIVE BELLS

The Atlantic: Cape Wrath to Tiree

Tuesday 30th June

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I was woken by Cat, mewing indignantly at the locked door. It took me a moment to surface, then it all came back: the stiff figure under the polished lid of the captain’s coffin, the men carrying their shrouded burden down the nav-shack stairs, Mike laid out in the cold store. The dark figure in the room, reaching out for me. Then being pregnant rushed in as well, almost as an afterthought that blotted everything else out again. I lay still for a moment, bracing myself against the day. It was all too much to cope with, but not coping wasn’t an option. Cat miaowed again. I yawned my way to the door and opened it, then reached for my watch. Ten to seven! I rushed for the shower and toilet, cursing. It was nearly twenty past before I got on deck, flushed and out of breath, but officer-neat, and with only a medium queasiness to remind me of my tiny passenger. It seemed the worst of the shock was over; the jolting I’m pregnant! that had dogged my mind yesterday had softened to surprised acceptance. A body can get used to anything, even hanging, as my Granny Bridget used to say. It wasn’t going to be easy, any of it, but I could do it. One step at a time. I’d tell Gavin first, then worry about Maman. All the same, I warned it silently, as I kept prudently by the rail until the nausea had passed, You needn’t think you’re going to keep this up. You’ll be growing up around boats, so get used to it.

It was a fine day. Cat had come up with me for his early-morning constitutional, and sat himself by the chart-plotter pedestal, where the sun was warming the decks. The mountains of Scotland were still on our port side, closer now but misty in the spray-laden air. Sunshine glinted on the water. Ahead, the sea was slashed with white crests from a stiff breeze. Great Atlantic breakers rolled along the ship’s sides, changing colour with each movement, pale green, grey, silver. My spirits rose at the sight of this gleaming wilderness.

Gavin was up already, talking to the foredeck lookout, his kilt fluttering in the breeze. The white watch was busy erasing the last remnants of Erik’s sail diagrams with brushes and the seawater hose. Up here on the aft deck, Nils was checking the plotter, ready for handover. I went over to join him, taking care not to cast a shadow over Cat. ‘A straight run towards Skye, Cass. We should be level with the north coast around 9.30. 230 degrees, to dodge the Shiants, then straight down the middle of the Little Minch.’

‘Tides?’ The Minch was notorious.

He gestured at the nav shack. ‘Your paper’s in there.’ There was something odd about his manner this morning, almost wary, with his narrow eyes looking sideways at me from behind the beaked nose. The policeman’s girlfriend … I went in to look, and he retreated quickly to talk to his helm.

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