The Blue Beyond
By Dilys Rose
Welcome to our regular feature showcasing the talents of the nation’s best writers.
It’s a blue day. Soft blue. Blue water, sky, hills, aye the hills are bonny the day and the water flat and smooth as a clean sheet. Seamless. No that, on my shift, I look at the view. I turn my back on the view. And the bus pairties. The boss disna like my attitude. Says I should get on wi my work, in full view o the veesitors, tip my cap, gie a wee smiley and carry on filletin salmon like I’m on piecework, while they, the veesitors, consult the leaflets that wir pressed upon them at the door. They read aboot how vital the smokehoose is tae oor bonny wee neuk, how they should be proud tae support the local economy and no mind payin ower the odds for premium quality and the distinctive flavour got by smokin fish ower the shavins o auld whisky barrels.
The shop dis a fair enough trade. When folk have been wheeched roond dizzens o blind bends on a single-track road, they’re keen tae stretch thir legs and flash plastic at ony kinna retail outlet. And seein me at the filletin is good for sales, the boss says. Pairt o the experience. But the boss is no on the premises the day. He’s awa tae the lodge wi a delivery o langoustines for the huntin, shootin brigade, so I keep my back tae the view. And the veesitors.
Some bugger chaps on the windae, hopin I’ll turn and oblige wi a cheery, Hielan welcome but I keep the heid doon and my back tae the viewin gallery, keep on slicin through the reid fish flesh, the knife skimmin a fan o banes, the fish scales worryin my epidermis, and the reek playin havoc wi my respiratory tract.
Some bugger chaps on the windae – hopin tae catch a glimpse o the mannie that fillets the salmon, slicin the reid flesh head tae tail, quick as a wink. Hellbent on catchin me on camera, happy at my work, tae bore thir freends wi when the holiday’s done.
When I dinna oblige, they move on, snappin shots o the blue beyond – sea, sky, hills, islands – aw hues o the same soft blue. And they sigh, mibbe get a bit weepy, mindin some soft blue view they turned their backs on long ago.
When my shift is done, I dauner hame, in the blue gloamin. Mhairi wrinkles her nose at the reek o me, packs me off tae the shower tae scrub masel raw, afore she’ll let me near her.
About the author
Dilys Rose lives in Edinburgh and is a novelist, short story writer and poet. She has published 12 books, most recently Unspeakable
(Freight, 2017). The Blue Beyond is taken from Sea Fret, her sixth collection of short stories, published by Scotland Street Press on 1 May, £9.99