*
The mist clung to the land for longer each day. Dreary dawns and spectral sunsets glowed eerily on the horizon, and already Selina was wishing for the first twitch of spring to touch the ghostly hills.
She was content with her routine and the part she played in the continuation of the community, and the rut of everyday life, a life that became standard and dull, erased all thought of the crumpled letter penned by Richard Kelly. Whatever it had been about was lost for fatigue and daily humdrum, and was only remembered - and even then only vaguely - when she saw Eryn and the torment behind her eyes.
The loss of her father still touched her; he knew she had been boarding an immigrant haul and with her lack of contact he would presume her killed by the U.N.. That was the hardest notion to bear.
She wished to tell her father that she was well and lay, night after night, willing the words into his mind yet knowing it was futile.
They were difficult thoughts to cope with alone, and she had initially turned to Priya for support - none in the village could identify with the totality of loss as she could. The villagers had always been there for one another and, apart from the occasional death, knew little of abandonment, despondency and loneliness, not to mention the loss of identity both she and Priya had experienced. They were no longer daughters or cousins, or members of their former social standing. To those who had loved them in the outside world they were nothing but an assortment of evanescent memories.
Priya proved to be quite the listener, and never refrained from lending an ear when Selina felt low; they would talk deep into the night, and Priya would listen intently, and tell her not to worry, that the life they had found was a better one even if it came with conditions. The words were flat on Priya’s lips, however. She didn’t believe a word of it.
Selina had heard her leave the house countless times in the middle of the night. She probed the village, Selina supposed, looking for means of escape, before returning close to dawn. On the days following her nightly excursions she was always sullen, as though she had expected to have found some promised transport to whisk her away and yet it had never come. On those days Selina didn’t speak of her father, her cousin, or the life they had left behind. She waited until Priya had grown bright again before unloading her fears. It was only on those days that Priya spoke of their new life being a better one – regardless of how cold her words were.
It was a better life, Selina would concede. A quieter life - a life less stressful. The only torment the people had to concern themselves with was the fear that it might end.
She sat on a crest of rocks by Ted’s dilapidated lighthouse at Bull Point, watching a mist rolling down from the cliffs.
She felt eyes on her and turned, Ted was standing in a high window of the lighthouse. He nodded at her and disappeared and it sent a shiver down her. He had been acting strangely since the disappearance of Breaker.
The villagers supposed the poor dog had been sniffing around the cliffs and fallen, though Ted was convinced something untoward had happened to him. ‘He hasn’t never gone missing before,’ he would remind at the beginning of an evening, before raising his voice to little more than blunt accusations when the drink had taken hold of his inhibition.
She couldn’t imagine anyone in the village doing anything malicious to Breaker, she thought as she watched the misty impression of South Wales on the horizon. The dog still reminded her of the one’s she had seen in old newsreels, violent and seemingly the cause of the world’s suffering, though she had grown to accept him as harmless.
Ted had spent long hours convincing her to stroke him behind the ears, to run her hands through his fur, but she couldn’t do it. And when Breaker had once licked her forearm – gooseflesh rippling along her skin at the thought – she had jumped up and almost burst into tears.
Ted had laughed then and coaxed her back into her chair. Poor Ted, she thought. He didn’t laugh any more.
She heard dry mud crunching behind her and neglected to turn. She had grown accustomed to Priya’s quiet footsteps.
‘Hi, Sel,’ Priya said, putting her hand on Selina’s shoulder before aping her position, her knees drawn to her breast.
‘How are things?’ Selina asked, still looking out to the channel.
Priya sighed, ‘Fine, I suppose. I’m missing my life,’
Selina smiled, and wiped away a strand of hair that had blown across her eyes, ‘It’s a better life here,’ she reminded Priya, leaning over and nudging her playfully.
Priya nodded, and Selina thought she saw her smile also, though it was short lived.
‘What’s up?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t just say that it’s a better life here to comfort you. I truly believe it. It’s just... It’s obvious we’re going to feel bitter, or lost, away from everything we’ve grown up around. I’ve spent my life moving around, and now I’m stuck here.’
‘A bird in a cage...’ Selina mused.
‘A mouse in a mousetrap.’ Priya corrected.
‘It’ll change. Over time, won’t it?’ It was a question that didn’t need answering.
‘I know,’ Priya said quietly, ‘I just wish I could forget everything up to the day we met,’ She looked at Selina, who couldn’t meet her gaze. Whether she meant the day they had arrived at Mortehoe or specifically when they had met, Selina didn’t know. After a moment of silence, the wind whipping their hair, Selina felt Priya’s gaze returning to the sea.
‘How long do you think they can keep this charade up?’ Selina said, changing the subject.
‘Not much longer, I don’t know how they haven’t been caught already. They’re not exactly masters of elusion, are they?’
‘What do you mean? They’re strict about keeping their curtains drawn at night and banning smoke during the day. They have those underground stables and the mill! The mill alone is a feat of technological subterfuge in itself.’
Priya shrugged, ’Let’s hope the powers that be don’t think of inspecting the place with any degree of scrutiny.' She moved closer to Selina and leant against her for warmth. ‘They keep on saying they’ve got plans and preparations for such a time but, well... I’m not convinced.’
Selina gave her a long hug and stood. She offered her hand for Priya to follow, but she said she’d like to sit and think for a little while longer. ‘I’ll meet you in the Smuggler’s for a drink later?’
‘See you then,’ Selina said as she walked away.
She thought about what Priya had said, and flushed to think of the words “I just wish I could forget everything up to the day we met.” It was a rare lapse into sentimentality, and for a moment Selina felt as though Priya needed her. Together they had been shipwreck survivors, had been companions for months, the closest of friends, and yet those few words, placed at the end a million others spoken over the course of their friendship, made concrete for the first time a bond that had never once been voiced. She felt silly and young, like a teenager drunk on freedom, and she bloomed inside as she made her way to the pub.
Jocelyn Sayer passed her on the way, bright in a long red woollen dress. She looked fresh and was surging with happiness, and several children from her class followed her happily.
‘Baron asked me out last night,’ she said, trying to contain a smirk. The children burst into giggles. She explained that the two of them were going to have a candlelit meal on the roof of the pub, and that she and the children were off to Fuscia Wood to pick flowers for her hair.
At that moment Selina heard her name being called. Her ears pricked, not quite certain where the voice had come from. It was Semilion.
Jocelyn turned, looking back the way they had come. He had rounded the corner and was waving to them. ‘Looks as though Mr. Tupper needs you.’
Selina rolled her eyes before heading onwards, her pace quickened until she and Semilion were a few yards from one another.
Breathing hard, he wiped his bald head and said, ‘Selina, it’s Hannah and Morag, they’ve been
asking for you. There’s a problem at the mill. The God-damned thing’s about to collapse in on itself!’
Chapter Twenty-Three.
South-easterly wind.
Seven knots.