Тим Леббон: New Fears 2: Brand New Horror Stories by Masters of the Macabre

“Mags, that was such a long time ago.”

“Well, it’s news to me.”

“Your dad had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Your granddad had died a few years before. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Didn’t stop you applying, though.”

She tilted her chin at that, all remorse gone.

“My chance at that’s long gone, so you’ve no need to worry.”

“Yet here it is, another reason for Simon to insult me.”

“How exactly has Simon insulted you?”

“He’s robbed me of the chance to provide for my family.”

The washing machine drum started to gain speed. The spiralling clothes made Magnus’s stomach churn.

“Simon offered you good work on restoring the cottages and knitting.”

“Men don’t knit.”

“Of course they do. All the men here used to. You learnt from your dad.”

Knitted cables represented fishing lines and nets, knot stitches added together formed fishes. Each fisherman had a unique pattern, so that their sea-mauled corpse could be identified from their sweater if washed ashore.

“I want to make nets, not jumpers for rich boys.”

“What’s the difference between selling them jumpers or oysters? You heard Simon. He can get you a hundred quid for each one from a boutique in London. You have real skill. You could even teach it.”

“It’s not proper work!”

“There. There it is,” she hissed. “That’s what you really think of what I do. Dabbling with paints. Not proper work. I cook, clean and take care of the kids, and then I sit down at night and work while you stride around like a king, doing fuck all. Well, it’s my dabbling that’s been paying the bills and clothing our sons.”

“That’s not fair. And art college isn’t the only thing you’ve been keeping secret from me.” He had another reason to take the high ground. “Simon loved telling me all about your book deal. Why exactly does he know and I don’t?”

“He promised not to say anything. It was him that sent my book to a friend of his in publishing. That’s why he knew. They want me to write and illustrate a whole series of books. If Simon’s plans work I’ll have my own studio at the big house, beside the classrooms.”

“I bet you will.”

“You’re being ridiculous. There’s no room here to work properly. And I tried to tell you last night but you weren’t listening. You started going on about Mairi. What is it about her and the men in your family?” Hildy didn’t wait for an answer. “The worst bit is that I’ve been waiting for you to be in a good mood to tell you, so that I can pretend you’re genuinely happy for me. If you spent as much time looking for a job as you do moaning about everything we’d all be a damn sight better off. If you don’t want to work for Simon get on the ferry each day and go work somewhere else.”

“Why should I? We could have a life here . Simon’s destroying what’s left of us.”

“Listen to yourself. It’s always about Simon. Your issue with Simon is that he went off to university and came back with new ideas that don’t involve you.”

Magnus stared at the floor. The words wouldn’t come. Something was rising inside him.

“Sea fishing’s dead. There aren’t the stocks left. Get over it. Everyone laughs at you because they know all those stories you tell are hand-me-downs. You’ve never worked on a boat in your life and you bleat on about making nets.” She followed him to the door. “And while we’re at it, your grandfather was a tyrant. He trampled over everyone, including your mum and dad. He gave them a dog’s life.”

“He loved this place. He sacrificed everything for it.”

What? What exactly had he sacrificed?

“You don’t want a job or a future. You want the past.”

Magnus couldn’t help it. The past persisted in his blood. He craved what was lost. Lighting a candle and carrying it in a cow’s skull through the byre and out into the black night of the new year. Stargazy pie. Gifts launched on the tide. A time when men ruled the seas and themselves and life was easier to navigate.

“All that crap about wanting things to be better for the boys. The problem with you is that you want them to live the life you want for yourself.”

The problem with you is that you want to be important. The problem with you.

Simon and Hildy had talked behind his back. They’d talked and laughed.

“I love you, Mags. There’s only ever been you, but I don’t know how much more I can take. I need you to think about this. I’m telling you so that we can try and change. I’m telling you because if things don’t change I’m going to leave.”

“Leave? The island?”

“I’ll take the boys somewhere, just until we both work things out.” She started to cry. “I’m not trying to punish you. I’m trying to save our marriage.”

Peter and Donald had been born at the cottage. Magnus had cut the cords tethering them to Hildy. Every inch of the squalling babies was his from the fine down on their backs to their screwed-up faces. They made him immortal. Part of an unbroken line. His heart had flipped and flopped in his chest. Fear and awe gnawed at him. It was his duty to remake the world for them.

Nothing would part him from them.

“Say something. Anything. Tell me you’ll fight for us.”

The swell inside him threatened to wash him away. He would pummel Hildy with his fists. He would snap her neck. This body that he promised to worship would fall before him. Beautiful Hildy. Strong Hildy. The mother of his sons. She held out her arms to him.

“I have to go out.”

“Not like this—”

“No.” He backed away from her, pleading on his face. “Let me be for a little while.”

At the door he turned back. “I’ll make it right, I promise, no matter what it takes.”

The beach was clear as the tide was coming in. As Magnus approached he could see that a figure was crouched beside the container. When it stood, he could see it was Mairi.

She stood up, paint dripping from the brush as she slapped it against the container’s side. She made a clumsy spiral with a shaking hand. Red stood out against the blue paint.

“Mairi.”

Her nightdress flapped around her legs. Her bare feet were covered in dark smears of paint.

“You must be freezing.” He took off his coat and put it around her shoulders.

“It won’t stay.”

The spiral was fading. It was sinking in . She turned to him, crying.

“What’s happened to you?” He clutched her head in his hands.

One side of her mouth drooped. She looked like a lopsided doll. He recognised it as a stroke. It wasn’t paint on her feet. They were bloodied from cuts and abrasions.

“Come on, let’s get you to my place.”

She pulled away, intent on daubing more marks. BRID. The word faded fast.

“Who’s Brid?”

“You dare ask me that, John Spence?”

“I’m Magnus, not John.”

Herring gulls gathered on the rocks around the container, more and more coming in. Some of them landed on the container’s top edge. A pair faced off, screaming at one another. Their wings made acute angles with their bodies in furious symmetry. Then they flew at one another, intent on blood. Red-stained grey and white feathers. The other gulls piled in, finishing off the weaker one.

“I should be young and beautiful. I used to run ahead of the lightning. Now it hurts when I get up in the morning and it’s all your fault, John.”

“Mairi, we need to get you inside.” He reached out for her.

“No, you don’t touch me. I’m not Mairi. I’m the Cailleach. You’ve tricked me before, you devil. I used to summon the wind and fly down to visit my brother, Maw, in the water. You, with your silky promises and kisses. Then it was too late. You made me just a woman. You stained my plaid. It’ll never white again.”