The Posy Ring Episode 19

Cal and Daisy find themselves on a narrow bluebell- fringed track, heading down towards the sea. Everywhere, threaded among the rocks, there’s a mass of green leaves and thorny stems.

Some are brambles, only just in bud, but there will be a fine crop of berries later in the year. Others seem to be roses.

“Burne t roses,” he says. “T hey ’ re everywhere. Never seen so many. Sorry, I’m doing it again.”

“Och, don’t be daft. I want to know everything about this place and you clearly know more than I do. Is that the white rose of Scotland?”

“The very same. Thorny. Beautiful. You wait. Another month or so and they’ll be flowering all over here.”

The track is well worn, almost obliterated, but something has kept it just visible: foxes perhaps. Once it must have been much broader, a proper track from the sea to the house, because there are flat stones thinly covered with a layer of sandy soil.

They can hear the steady swish of the sea and the sharp cries of oyster-catchers below, the shrill din of house martins behind them.

Somewhere nearby is the melodic gurgle of running water, a burn tumbling from the slope behind the house, down towards the seashore.

“Nice, isn’t it?” he says, turning to look at her.

“It’s more than nice. It’s wonderful.” He grins again. “And it’s all yours.” “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. The responsibility, maybe. It panics me a bit. What am I to do with it all?”

“You can take your time, can’t you? You say you’ve enough to pay the taxes.”

“So I’m told. But with nothing much left over.”

The track ends in a slew of flat grey stones and then they are on the beach. It is sheltered by rocky slopes on either side and to the north, she can see the small promontory he had mentioned earlier, with a stone structure, a mouthful of teeth, on top.

From here it doesn’t even look manmade. It looks as though it is part of the landscape, the bare bones of the hillock on which it sits. “Is that what you meant? Dun Faire?”

“That’s it. An expedition for another day maybe.”

She’s surprised, but also touched by his assumption that there will be another day, another expedition. Well, what would be the harm in it? He seems to be good company.

Behind them the house, seen at this distance, looks even more like a fortress. The tide is quite low and the sea has deposited a line of shells and pebbles here, with a few pieces of seaweed, like question marks along the shoreline.

There are tiny bird footprints on the white sand. There’s a low wall, and tied up against it with a piece of massive but frayed rope is a tubby wooden boat, the planks sprung, the wood rotting.

“What a pity,” Cal says, striding over to it. “I do love boats. And this is a really old one.”

“Could you fix it?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think so, hen. I mean, anything can be fixed, but this would need such a complete overhaul that there wouldn’t be much of the original left. It would be like the axe that had seven new handles and seven new blades!

“My boat is a lot better than this. I can take you out fishing some time, if you want.”

“Does this bay have a name? Other than the name of the house.”

“It’s called Portree.”

“I thought that was…”

“On Skye, yes, but it just means the port of the king. Or leader, I suppose is more accurate. Fiercely proud of their own wee sovereign territories.”

He grins at the notion.

She sits down on a rock and pushes up a ridge of sand with her trainer. The sea catching the sunlight, row upon row of tiny waves, looks very enticing. She’d like to take her shoes off and paddle, but she’s inexplicably shy in his company.

Not like her at all.

But then he has slipped off his Sketchers and he’s already in the sea, casually holding out his hand to her. So she leaves her shoes neatly beside the rock and joins him, taking his hand.

“We get jellyfish later in the year,” he says. “The big ones like swimming lampshades won’t harm you, but they’re not very nice when they get stranded.

“You have to watch out for scalder. Long pink trailing things. See if you get those on your skin, you’ll definitely know all about it.”

They paddle, hand in hand, splashing gently through the water, stopping to look back up at the house from time to time. His fingers feel warm and dry.

“At least this gives me some perspective on it,” she says.

She stubs her toe on something, says “ouch”, releases his hand and reaches down to pick up – what is it? Something heavy and wooden.

He takes it from her and examines it, brushing damp sand from it. “Now that’s really something,” he says.

“Why? What is it? Is it something off a boat?”

They are looking at a heavy chunk of oak, roughly circular, about 12 centimetres in diameter, with a deep groove around the top, two big holes through it and a semicircular opening at the bottom.

It has the look of a mask, or a weird face. You could stand it upright and that’s exactly what it would look like.

“I think it may be off a ship,” Cal comments. “It’s a block – you know – the rope would have gone around it. It looks as if it’s very old, though. It’s probably off a wreck.”

“Were there shipwrecks around here?” “Oh yes.” He gestures out into the Sound. Far away, she can see the distant misty hills of other islands, row upon row of them. Or a single large island.

She isn’t quite sure what she’s looking at. Closer, and to the south of the bay, probably within rowing distance, is an islet, shaped like a seated beast, with a low hill on the top, a flattened cone.

She had seen it more clearly from the hotel.

Nice, isn’t it?” he says, turning to look at her. “It’s more than nice. It’s wonderful.” He grins again. “And it’s all yours”

More tomorrow.

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.