Read Online Orkney Twilight by Clare Carson - Free Book Online Page A

to the back, opened the boot. He had dumped his haversack on top of her bag. She leaned over, reached in, knocked her knuckle against a hard object in the front of his haversack, retracted her hand. Froze. Eyes locked. Half an inch of rag-wrapped dull black metal sticking out from the loosely buckled pocket. Not much. But enough. Pistol. She didn’t have to look twice; she’d seen it before. Once. Years ago. She had wandered into her parents’ bedroom for no real reason, drawn towards Jim’s unlocked cabinet – curious – she’d never seen it unlocked before, and opened a drawer. It had been lying among the rubber bands and envelopes. She had peered over and read the word ‘WALTHER’ engraved on its side. It looked like a toy, so small and neat with its funny name. Walther. She reached out to touch. And just then Jim had shouted up from the bottom of the stairs. What the fuck was she doing? She knew she wasn’t allowed in their room. She had better move her arse out of there pretty bloody quickly. She had legged it, more scared by the threat of a bollocking from Jim than by the danger of a gun. The very next day she had been watching the six o’clock news with her sisters and there was a story about the lead singer of this American pop group. Chicago. Accidentally killed himself with his own shotgun. Don’t worry. It’s not loaded. So he had said just before he pulled the trigger, according to the newsreader. She had burst into tears and Helen had whacked the back of her head, told her not to be such a big cry-baby, blubbing about nothing. She felt like crying now, although she knew she wouldn’t, knew that she could fight down the prickling tears of anger. What was he doing taking a pistol with him? In his haversack. On a journey with her. And one of her mates. Christ, what kind of a trip were they on?
    The noise of Jim moving around in the front of the Cortina snapped her back to her senses. She carefully, very carefully, lifted the haversack to one side. Removed her bag. Closed the lid of the boot. Locked it. Double-checked that she had locked it. Jim was standing by the car, scrutinizing the train’s trailer waiting for its load.
    ‘Motorail,’ he said, talking to the air, ‘I reckon it’s the only way we’ll get from one end of the country to the other at the moment without having our number-plate checked and being stopped on suspicion of travelling to join the picket lines.’
    She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and had a fleeting image of madness; they were outlaws on the run, fleeing north, dodging police surveillance, road blocks, pulling a crafty getaway move by travelling middle-class Motorail. With a lethal weapon. A Walther. Heading to Orkney for a shoot-out in a holiday cottage. Please leave this cottage as you found it and make sure all dead bodies are disposed of in the rubbish bags provided. But that was nuttiness. Even on Jim’s sliding scale of undercover cop simmering insanity that had to be crazy. Surely.
    ‘Oh the miners’ strike,’ she said. Her comment didn’t sound quite as casual as she had intended it to be.
    Jim raised an eyebrow darkly. ‘It’s a bloody war zone out there. Chaos.’
    He flicked his wrist to check the time, the watch face on the inner side of his left wrist. She had copied his habit, wore her watch on the inside of her wrist too. Just like Jim. He’d learned that one in the army he had once told her, easier for quick time checking when you’re driving. Or using a gun.
    ‘There are a couple of things I need to sort out with the guards,’ he said.
    ‘Right. See you in a bit then.’
    She handed him back his car keys. He headed off towards a huddle of men in blue uniforms, leaving her standing alone by the car. She glared at the Cortina’s boot, pictured the Walther, swaddled in its white cloth, nestling in its pocket on the front of Jim’s haversack. She shook her head disbelievingly, turned and walked away.

5
    The platform was humming.