Black Cairn Point (2 page)

We walked along the narrow hard shoulder of the road without talking, only the quiet slapping of Emma’s flip-flops breaking the silence. I could feel the gazes of the three boys burning into my back along with the sun and I folded my arms across my chest, cross.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ I complained. ‘Your boyfriend’s an arse!’

Emma didn’t respond, which I took to mean she agreed with me.

We didn’t spot a sign until we were almost on top of the place. I was relieved to see it looked fairly professional, announcing the place to be a metalworking shop run by J. P. Robertson and Sons. The driveway hadn’t been tarmacked, though. It was just a dirt road running a hundred metres to a large circular parking area where several vehicles – mostly small vans – had been abandoned haphazardly.

We had a quick look around the outside, hoping there would be a lone friendly soul lurking about so we wouldn’t have to go in, but there was no sign of life. Gritting my teeth, I headed for the small door to the right of the huge warehouse roll-top shutter, which was firmly closed.

‘You talk,’ I said to Emma as we hesitated on the threshold. ‘You’re the pretty one. And he’s your boyfriend,’ I added as she opened her mouth to argue.

I had her with that one. She pursed her lips but stalked through the door when I held it open for her. She didn’t go very far, though, grinding to a halt just inside. I almost walked into the back of her, barely stopping myself in time before squeezing past so I stood alongside her. We glanced around, feeling a little stupid. The room was big, partitioned by giant machinery. Here and there I caught movement, the backs of shoulders as men bent to their work. The noise was incredible, like I’d stuck my head inside a vibrating drum. I couldn’t hear myself think.

No one seemed to notice us. I looked to Emma, who stared back at me uncertainly. Should we just wander about? It didn’t seem safe. Everywhere the walls were dotted with hazard and warning signs.

‘Can I help you?’ The words were hollered from our right. I turned my head and saw a girl, maybe eighteen or so, dressed in oil-smeared overalls, short dark hair slicked back, looking at us questioningly. She waved us into a small glass cubicle, which I guessed served as an office, and shut the door. The noise of the machinery was immediately halved. I sighed in relief.

‘Can I help you?’ she repeated.

There was a short pause whilst I waited for Emma to take the lead. She didn’t.

‘We’re looking for a jump,’ I explained. ‘Our car’s just died up on the road. Something to do with the alternator?’ I gave a brief smile and spread my arms helplessly, thinking she’d empathise with my distinct lack of mechanical know-how. Instead she frowned, thinking.

‘Clogged brushes?’

‘Eh, yeah. Think so.’

‘You’ll need a hammer.’ She moved across to the opposite wall and started to rake through a drawer.

‘We’ve done that,’ I said hurriedly. ‘We just need the jump.’

‘Okay.’ She smiled at us. ‘I’ve got a charged jump battery in my boot.’

‘You just keep this in here?’ I asked moments later as we watched her dig a plastic box about the size of a shoebox out of the back of a battered Ford Fiesta.

‘Yeah, my dad didn’t want me driving around out here without one. Mobile signal’s not very good if you get stuck.’ She stood up. ‘Where’s your car?’

I pointed with my fingers to where the Volvo was just visible, glinting in the distance. I couldn’t see the three boys but guessed they’d taken refuge inside the car.

‘Hop in then.’

I grinned to myself as we drove back in her car, imagining Darren’s face when I arrived with my heroine. She wasn’t exactly what I’d been sent for.

‘Where are you heading off to?’ she asked, her low voice almost masked by the rumble and rattle of the Fiesta.

‘Camping,’ I offered. ‘There’s a beach down near Stranraer, nice and quiet. Black Cairn Point?’

‘Oh right.’ She smiled at me. ‘Hope your alternator doesn’t die again down there!’

I smiled back, but my stomach dropped. What
would
we do if the damned car died again? The girl caught the thought on my face.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, pulling over just in front of Darren’s car and flinging her door open. ‘You’re never too far away from someone around here. You’ll just be in for a bit of a hike. Hi!’ She waved a cheery welcome to Darren, who was sidling out of the driver’s side, watching our approach. I saw his face crumple a bit – he’d obviously expected us to come back with a man – but his eyes zeroed in on the bulky thing in the girl’s hand. ‘I hear you need a jump.’

‘Yeah.’ He recovered himself, plastering an ingratiating smile across his jaw. ‘Yeah, we do.’

He popped the bonnet then stepped back and folded his arms across his chest, watching as she went to work, deftly attaching two cables somewhere in the maze of car parts. I saw him raise two eyebrows and noticed with a smug sense of satisfaction that he was impressed.

‘Do you want to try starting it?’ the girl asked.

He did, and seconds later the car roared to life.

We left the leads attached for ten minutes, letting the battery charge itself back up, during which time Darren managed to find the decency to thank the girl. No gratitude for Emma or me though, I noticed.

When the leads came off, the car kept running and we were back on our way.

The beach we were heading for was somewhere none of us had ever been. It was a place Dougie’s dad used to go fishing and camping with his friends when he was a teenager. He’d given us a scrap of paper with directions scrawled across it, something Darren resolutely ignored until we hit the seaside town of Stranraer.

‘Right.’ He pulled over, idling illegally alongside double yellow lines. ‘Emma, get out. You’re swapping with Dougie.’

Emma looked outraged.

‘What? Darren!’

‘Sorry, angel, but I have no confidence in your ability to direct me. In the back you go.’

‘Because I’m a girl? That’s totally sexist!’

‘Not because you’re a girl. Because you’re you. I might have let Heather have a go –’ I focused incredibly hard on not letting a fleeting wave of smugness show on my face – ‘but you’d get us lost in about five seconds.’ He paused, stared at her. ‘Come on, shift before I get a ticket.’

She glared back at him and for a moment I thought she wasn’t going to move. I watched, proud of her defiance and eagerly anticipating fireworks, but Dougie had already climbed out and when he opened the passenger door she vacated the seat without complaint. Muttering venomously under her breath, she plonked herself down next to me. There was more room with Emma next to me instead of Dougie, but her disgruntled aura filled the space and I soon found myself wishing for my old seating partner back.

Looking to escape her bad mood, I leaned forward between the front seats, watching Dougie and Darren navigate, drinking in the scenery.

‘Are we close?’ I asked. I didn’t recognise any of the names on the signs we passed and hadn’t seen any for Black Cairn Point, the place we were heading.

‘Yes.’ Dougie twisted his head, smiled at me. ‘We’re nearly there now. Turn here, Darren.’ He pointed to his left.

Darren steered the Volvo round the bend onto a single-lane road. High hedges closed in on us on both sides, hiding the fields from view. Then the road dipped down and away, revealing …

‘The sea!’ I said, instantly sitting up straighter.

It glimmered deep blue in front of us, almost sapphire against the paler sky. I stared at it eagerly. Living in the heart of Scotland it was a sight I rarely saw, especially in such glorious weather.

‘Is that it, is that where we’re going?’ I asked excitedly, sounding a decade younger than my sixteen – almost seventeen – years.

‘Sort of. The road hugs the coast for a bit before we drop down,’ Dougie replied, studying the hastily drawn map.

It was an impatient wait for me as Darren guided the car along the road, which twisted and turned, narrowing further until it was a squeeze for us to force our way through. Windows were wound up as nettles, brambles and long grasses from the hedgerow scraped against the sides of the car. For once, Darren drove at a sensible speed, trying to dodge potholes and the worst of the crumbling tarmac.

‘Where is this place?’ he asked tersely, finally provoked as the bottom of the car grated noisily, wheels dipping into a particularly deep crevice.

‘I think we’re nearly there,’ Dougie replied, frowning intently at his paper. ‘My dad says there’s a dirt track off to the left that’ll take us right down to the beach.’

‘How long since he’s been here?’ Martin asked. ‘Is the track definitely still there?’

‘Yeah,’ Dougie mumbled. ‘Yeah, apparently his friend was here fishing last summer. He said it was still the same, still deserted. Just … just keep your eyes peeled. It might be pretty overgrown.’

We continued forward in near total silence, the music turned off, only the growl of the engine and the whir of the fan – working overtime now we were closed in by the attacking plants – breaking through the quiet. Each of us stared to the left intently, convinced we’d miss the turning if we so much as blinked.

It proved remarkably easy to find.

‘There!’ Dougie shouted, pointing.

A wide gap in the hedge, tousled by a breeze that none of us could feel, seemed to wave at us. Darren smiled, easing the car round the tight bend. From there it was a steep drop, the road scything its way across a hill that was so devoid of plant-life it was really more of a cliff. At the bottom was a narrow parking bay of compacted dirt, a low stone wall separating it from the grass-covered dunes. Beyond them I could make out smooth sand and the vast rippling blue of the ocean.

Darren parked haphazardly in the centre of the makeshift car park. He barely even had the handbrake yanked up before all four doors were open and we tumbled out.

Like children, we clambered excitedly down the narrow sandy path between the dunes, eyes set on the wide expanse of shimmering sparkles thrown up as the sun tickled the sea. It was a totally deserted landscape. Not even a bird swooping in the broad blue sky to interrupt the peace and quiet. The beach, several hundred metres long, curved in a thin crescent like a new moon. Tumbles of rocks hemmed us in at both ends and behind us hills covered in heather and long grasses provided a backdrop. With the road hidden from view, the spot seemed completely inaccessible, completely protected. Completely isolated.

‘All ours,’ Darren smiled. ‘I bet there’s not a soul for miles.’

‘Awesome,’ Dougie grinned back.

Awesome, right. I spun in a slow circle, taking in the glorious beach, the rugged hills, the absolute emptiness. I tried to keep the sudden nervousness I felt off my face. So we were alone, big deal. That was what we wanted, right? I looked to Dougie to reassure myself.

‘Shall we get our things, then?’ I forced my voice not to tremble.

It took several trips back and forth to the car to unload our provisions. Parental permission had been based on the fact that we separate into two tents – girls and boys – and our stuff was split pretty much fifty-fifty. I had to lug most of Emma’s and my gear alone. On the first return trip to the car Emma spotted a fish that some fisherman had hooked and discarded, leaving it baking on the top of the low stone wall. It was dried out and rotting, maggots writhing in its belly. It stank and was repulsive to look at. Emma absolutely refused to go near the thing, and it was cart our load myself or go without our tent, clothes, toiletries …

I was sorely tempted just to take my own things, but I didn’t want to look petty. My irritation was plain on my face, though, and I made sure to scatter sand over Emma’s prone body – sunbathing as she ‘watched our stuff’ – every time I dumped something new on the pile. It was mid-afternoon and the heat was suffocating. I was sweating as I stormed back up the short hill, trying not to breathe so I wouldn’t inhale the putrid stench of decomposing fish. Hissing out a string of profanities at her newfound selfishness, I rounded the back of the car, arms already reaching for the heavy bag containing Emma’s assortment of beauty products (another new development) and the two sheathed sleeping bags. My fingers closed on air; the boot was empty.

‘Hey, has anyone seen –’ I looked around just in time to see Martin and Dougie heading back towards the beach, the rest of our stuff slung awkwardly across their shoulders.

I watched them go, bemused. I wasn’t used to anyone doing things for me. Well, boys doing things for me. Something about me didn’t scream damsel in distress.

After a second I shrugged, grabbed the last couple of things from the back seat – an air mattress and a can of insect repellent – and ran after them.

‘Thanks,’ I said, a little breathlessly, as they plonked everything down by the rest of our gear.

‘No problem.’ Martin smiled.

Dougie gave me a half grin and a wink.

A wink?

I blushed scarlet. Luckily both boys had already turned their attention to their own pile. Darren was busy picking through the boxes and bags, so only Emma was left to see my burning cheeks, but she had her eyes closed, sunglasses staring up into the fiery heat of the sun.

‘Right, Emma!’ I barked, exasperated by my motionless teammate. ‘Help me.’

She flipped her shades up and eyed me speculatively.

‘What?’

‘Help me,’ I repeated. ‘We need to get the tent set up.’

‘Now?’

‘Unless you’d rather do it in the dark,’ I replied acidly.

Five minutes later I wished I’d left her lounging in the sand. Emma was worse than useless. She just stood around, hovering ineffectually, fiddling with the straps on her top or the hang of her skirt, glancing over to see if Darren was looking back at her. Without her help, I managed to get the canvas unravelled and oriented on the lumpy beach. Then I dug out the poles and snapped them into a long, bendy line.

‘Just hold this here. Like this,’ I ordered her.

She ambled over and stood obediently where I’d asked, keeping one end of the pole jammed into the ground whilst I ran round attaching clips and forcing the tent to assume its erect shape. After several seconds of watching me, Emma looked over to where the boys – or rather, Martin and Dougie – were having much more success. They were already hammering in the tent pegs to hold the fly-sheet. Darren appeared to be ‘supervising’, standing with his legs planted in the sand, finger pointing imperiously.