Give me an answer, he said to himself, aware of how stupid it was but not even caring

Finn took his hand away from the door and turned. Walking towards them was a tall man with a gelled parting, hair buzzed to the skin at the sides, stubble and narrow eyes. He was in an FCUK T-shirt and jeans, body tight underneath, army tattoos up his forearms and biceps. “Hey babe,” he said to Claire. “Who’s this clown?” Claire’s body tensed. “He’s collecting for charity.” The guy looked Finn up and down. “Where’s your clipboard?” Finn looked at Claire, then nodded past the guy. “Left it in the car.”

“What charity?”

“Macmillan Cancer Care.”

The guy looked at Claire, as if trying to puzzle something out. He turned back to Finn. “We’re not interested, so be a good boy and clear off.”

Finn looked back at Claire as he spoke. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No worries,” Claire said.

“And don’t come back when I’m not here,” the guy said. “My wife’s a soft touch. If I find out she’s given you anything, you’ll be in trouble.”

“No problem,” Finn said, and walked to the car. The guy took hold of Claire’s arm and guided her further into the house. He stood on the step and watched as Finn got in the car and started the engine. He was still there when Finn looked in the rear-view mirror and turned on to Back Road, heading home.

Forbidding

Finn flicked the indicator and turned off the main road at Stenness. He drove past the first spread of standing stones and kept on the lane across the tiny isthmus of land between the lochs of Stenness and Harray. He got to the Ring of Brodgar and pulled into the car park opposite. His was the only car there.

Brodgar was one of Orkney’s biggest tourist attractions in the summer, colossal standing stones arranged in a circle amongst heather and bracken. It was so well preserved it looked like something from a fantasy movie set, and Finn imagined a pagan sacrifice, cloaked disciples bowing down to the first rays of sun filtering through the ring.

With the weather closing in and the exposed moorland flanked by brackish water on both sides, Brodgar had a forbidding air about it, something menacing in the gloom.

A flock of oystercatchers lifted out of the heather as he trudged towards the stones, their orange beaks daggers of colour in the grey sky.

More sleet was coming in from the west, the sky dappled over there. It would be here in a few minutes.

He stopped at the first stone and put his hand against it, felt its rough bulk. It was 15 feet high, the width of a man, God knows how many tons. Finn wondered about the people who brought it here, the effort involved.

He thought about the logistics of digging deep holes, cutting the stones, transporting them. He vaguely remembered that they used logs to roll them from wherever they came from, but there were no trees on Orkney any more.

All that hard graft. Was it for the gods? Sunrises and sunsets, all the solstice stuff, why did they think it was so important? Maybe they sought protection from the vagaries of existence, a guarantee of a good harvest, healthy children, long life. Good luck with that, Finn thought.

The truth was that the mightiest sun god in the world wasn’t going to save them, they were on their own. And looking for answers in the sky was pointless, worse than pointless because it gave you false hope, made you believe everything would be OK.

The reality was that bad things just happen, and you can do nothing about it.

Connection

Claire had been hiding something, Finn was sure. Did she already know that Kevin was dead? Everyone likes to think they can read people, but it’s crap. Going with your gut is wrong just as often as it’s right.

What was his instinct now? He didn’t even know. The oystercatchers circling the loch knew about instinct, they acted on it without thinking. He was cursed with free will, the ability to think.

He felt a spatter of sleet as clouds swept overhead. He got on his knees in the wet gorse, his hand still touching the ancient stone. He put his other hand on it, tried to feel its rhythm, its connection to the earth, the universe, the people who had put it there all those years ago.

Dampness soaked into his jeans as he closed his eyes. He wondered what it looked like to anyone driving past, a deluded hippy kid praying to old gods amongst a bunch of rocks in the middle of nowhere. Give me an answer, he said to himself, aware of how stupid it was but not even caring. Tell me what to do, oh great ones.

His phone rang. He pushed himself up, rubbed his hands together then pulled out his phone.

“Hey, Ingrid.”

“Just checking in with my favourite grandson. Making sure you’re OK.” Her voice was too light, forced.

The sleet was getting heavier. Finn raised his face skywards, felt the wetness on his skin. “I’m fine.”

“You can do whatever you want, Finn, you’re a grown-up. But if you’re going to take the car at least check with me first. I might’ve needed it.” “Sorry.”

“I’ve had someone round to speak to you. The young reporter from the Orcadian, the one who was at the hospital. Her name is Freya.”

“What did you say?”

“Sent her away with a flea in her ear. Told her she should get a job that didn’t involve harassing people.” “Thanks.”

Finn heard a bird call and looked left. A lone curlew stalked through the heather, jabbing its sharp curved beak into the undergrowth.

“I’m just heading home,” he said.

Meaning

He heard the beep for another call on his phone. “Hang on a minute, Gran.”

It was Amy.

The curlew sensed something and took off, away from the incoming weather.

“It’s Amy, Gran, I’d better get it.” He took the call. “Hey.”

“Hi, honey, how’s it going?”

The sleet was harder now, almost hail, stinging Finn’s face and the hand holding the phone. He huddled behind a standing stone and sheltered from the wind.

“Fine.”

“How are you feeling?”

She meant physically, he presumed, or maybe more than that. Where to start?

“I’m OK, a few aches and pains but nothing some painkillers can’t sort out.”

“Go easy,” Amy said. “You know.”

Those last two words, freighted with meaning.

More tomorrow.