Pig Island (10 page)

“You should have seen that camera, Joe,” Sovereign said, shaking out her umbrella. “I bet you’ve never seen a system like it. You’d be like, wow, this is so flare.” She led us through the refectory, where the trestle tables all stood, disinfected and shining, past the kitchen where the two men who always served dinner were moving around, rattling pans and plates, and into a side room. She switched on the light. Inside, three large chest freezers hummed quietly, and she rested her hand on one, looking at me, with a slight smile. “This was what was in the trap. It totally does my head that there’s a photo of it falling in on that camera he snatched.”

She lifted the freezer lid and a stale cloud of cold air floated up. We all gathered round. A pig lay on its side, half covered with drifts of flaky white ice. “A pig,” she said, smiling at me with a glint in her eye. “My very own pig. Do you like it?”

“Show Mr Oakes the other side,” said Benjamin. “Come on—turn it over.”

She sighed and dug her hands into the ice, trying to get a grip on the huge creature. “Well, help me, then.”

We all gathered round, plunging our hands in and rolling it on to its back. Its trotters stood up in the air, a frozen mixture of mud and grass caught in the clefts of its hoofs.

“On its side,” said Benjamin, and we hefted it up again, dropping it down with a crash, sending a fine spray of ice out of the freezer.

I peered at it, fumbling out my camera. In the centre of its flank, branded neatly into its flesh with something hot, was the symbol beloved of witches and
soi-disant
Satanists the world over: a pentagram. I rolled off a few shots of it.

“Blake,” I said, snapping on the lens cover when I was finished, “the next thing is for me to get over there. I want to speak to Malachi.”

“It can’t be done. The boat can’t run in this weather. You’d be asking me to commit suicide.”

“You’re not going over there at all.” Susan’s big face was twitching with anger. “By boat or otherwise. You know everything you need to know for your story. You must not, absolutely
not
, go over there and disturb him. It’s the most dangerous thing you could do.”

Chapter 10

In the end it was Sovereign who helped me. During lunch I left the table to get another notepad from Blake’s cottage, and on the way back through the mist I heard someone hiss my name. When I backtracked a few paces I saw her standing between two cottages, one finger to her lips, beckoning me with the other hand. She had a denim jacket pulled round her shoulders and dark circles of makeup round her eyes, like she was going on a date. I glanced over my shoulders to make sure I wasn’t being watched, then stepped into the alley.

“I’ll take you over there,” she said, leaning forward eagerly. “I know how to get to Malachi’s side without the cameras seeing us. There’s a blind spot.”

“You mean the boat?”

“No. Through the gorge. I’ve been looking at those cameras and I’m sure we can do it.”

“When?”

“Now.” She grinned, her eyes shining with excitement. She pointed to a rucksack that lay up against the cottage wall. “Bottled water and walking-boots. It’ll drive Mum ‘n’ Dad crazy, but I’ve got to live a little.”

I looked back over my shoulder down the narrow alley to the square of milky fog at the end. How long would it be before I was missed? Another ten minutes maybe? “OK,” I said, bending to pick up her rucksack. “But let’s go quickly.”

“No—wait. I need some money.”

‘Money?“

“Yes. Twenty quid and I’ll do it.”

“What’ll you do with twenty quid?”

“I’m saving up for when I leave. Twenty quid or forget it.”

“Jesus.” I thrust the rucksack at her and began patting my pockets for my wallet. “You’re a businesswoman, Sovereign, I’ll give you that.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes on my wallet, as I found a couple of battered tenners and held them out to her. She grabbed them, like they might disappear, and shoved them into her jacket pocket. Then, instead of turning to go, she bit her lip and raised her eyes to mine. “And something else.”

“What?”

“I want a quick feel too.”

I paused, the wallet half-way into my pocket. “A
what
?”

“A feel. You know what I mean.” She glanced up to the end of the alley and leaned closer to me. I could smell her breath—a bit caramelly, like toffee. “A quick grope.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said, kind of awed by her. “You want a grope. And for that you’ll take me through the gorge?”

“Yes.”

I pushed the wallet into my pocket. “And what does that mean?
I
grope
you
, or
you
grope
me
?”

“Both.”

I gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“No,” she said. This time she was a bit uncertain. A bit hurt-sounding. “I’m serious.”

“Come on,” I said. “You can’t be—‘ I stopped. Her face had dropped. All the bravado was dissolving. She looked suddenly smaller, like a kid, like she might cry. ”Sovereign?“ I said. ”Sovereign, listen. It wouldn’t be right.“

“What wouldn’t be right?” she said, her lip trembling now. “Why wouldn’t it be right?”

“Because …‘ I held out my hands:
do I have to spell it out
? ’Because I’m
thirty-eight
, Sovereign. That’s, what? More than
twice
your age.”

“I’m
nearly
eighteen.”

“You’re nearly eighteen, and you’re very pretty, Sovereign, but you—you can’t go around saying things like that to men my age.”

“Why not?”

I looked up at the sky, lost for the answer. Me and Lexie had been together for five years. We’d kept our vows, but in my imagination I’d been unfaithful about a million times. I’m not going to lie: in my head I’d done it with boatloads of them—the businesswoman with the ibook next to me on a long-haul to California, the girl who wrapped up organic chicken in the butcher’s in Kilburn, the nurse who once took my blood pressure when I had chest pains after a trip to Mexico. Even, strike me dead, some of Lexie’s friends. The list was endless. And, card-carrying pervert me, some of those girls were Sovereign’s age. Younger, maybe.

“Why?” she repeated, like she knew what I was thinking. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It just
is
,” I said lamely. “And, anyway, I’m married.” I held up my hand, showing her my ring. “It wouldn’t be fair to my wife.”

Sovereign sniffed and pushed her hair behind her ears, biting her lip and staring at the ring. I could see tears in her eyes waiting to fall. “It’s so, 50 shit out here, Joe,” she said, in a shaky voice. “There’s no one—no one. I mean, who am I supposed to have it off with?
Blake
, for Christ’s sake?”

I looked at her pityingly, resisting the impulse to put a comforting hand on her arm or shoulder. Things’ll be better when you leave.“

“But it’s
four months
? A tear broke and she pushed it away with her fingertips. ”And all I want is—‘ She paused, an idea striking her. “Can’t I at least
smell
you? That wouldn’t hurt.”

“Sovereign—‘

“I won’t touch you, Joe, I promise. It’s just—I don’t even know what men smell like. I know what Dad smells like, but I want to know…‘ She hesitated. ”I want to know what
you
smell like.“

I glanced up along the alley. I’d been gone more than five minutes now. Soon Blake would start to wonder what had happened and here I was, trapped by a teenager who wanted to
smell
me. She was gazing up at me, her eyes big and wet. The whole baby-seal, no-fur campaign flashed through my head. I sighed, shook my head, thinking, I can’t believe this is happening, and pulled off my sweatshirt. “Be quick.”

She paused, looking at my chest in the T-shirt, running her eyes down to my bare arms. “Yeah, I’m a manky old sod,” I said, looking down at her. “Bath shy. Don’t go thinking we’re all this gamey.” She didn’t answer. She pushed away the last of the tears and stepped forward, stopping just a pace away. I was ready to take a step back, thinking she was going to throw her arms round my neck, when instead she closed her eyes and pushed her face forward, inhaling deeply. I looked down at the skin showing through the thin hair, thinking how weird this must look, me with my chest forward, arms back, and Sovereign in front of me, moving her head in slow circles, a smile spreading across her face, breathing in like she was smelling fine wine and not my stale old body. Blissed-out ecstasy. How totally, totally sad—this girl, with all her swank and ballsy nature, sniffing a guy’s dirty T-shirt in an alley. How was she going to cope when she left Cuagach? She thought she was totally sorted, streetwise, but she had no idea,
no
idea the fucking bunfight it really was out there.

“All right?” I said, ready to pull my sweatshirt back on. “Get the picture?”

She stepped back, smiling dreamily, her eyes still closed. “Yes. I get the picture.” She opened her eyes. “Joe?”

“What?”

“I can’t wait to get to the mainland. I think I’m going to love it.”

I stopped at Blake’s cottage—still no sign of a posse ponying up and coming for me—and got my rucksack, shoving in my camera and some water. The wire-cutters were still at the bottom, but we didn’t need them to get through the gate—Sovereign used a key she’d stolen months ago. She was in a good mood, light-hearted, and the trip was much easier than it had been the night before. Even with white fingers of mist sidewinding through the trees the path up to the gorge was smooth and unchallenging. We passed the first gargoyle.

“Mum’s idea,” said Sovereign, giving it a dirty look. She skirted it like it might bite. “You see them and think they’re sane parents, but trust me, they’ve got secret freak bones a mile long. Sorry, but you can’t take Mum seriously. I mean, all that stuff about the devil and mine shafts—I ask you.”

There’re things she can’t understand,“ I said, keeping my voice low, I don’t know why. I didn’t want to discuss this on our way to Malachi’s land. That’s what ninety per cent of my work is about, thinking about things people can’t explain.”

“There are things she needs to drama-queen off about, more like.”

We came out on to the ledge and suddenly the misty drizzle of the forest vanished, leaving the sky above the gorge hot, dry and cloudless. The land below looked parched, the light so bright you had to squint. Sovereign wasn’t interested in the view, Malachi’s escarpment, wavering in the heat. She took a right along the ledge and walked fast, breathing hard, waving her hands as she talked. “That’s why I put the pentagram on the pig. Never thought everyone would fall for it.”

I stopped in my tracks. “What?”

She turned back to me. “Don’t look at me like that—I know I made things a whole ton worse, but I just had this, like, uncontrollable
itch
to freak her out.”

“And the pig?”

“Nope.” She shrugged, turning and starting up the slope again. “That really did happen. Found it in the mantrap. And the stuff about the camera too—Malachi really did rip it down.”

“Is that why he got a restraining order on the village?”

“It wasn’t just me, it was everyone coming over here and bugging him. But I think the trap was the worst. Think of it: I might have caught him wearing his strap-on tail.”

We went almost half a mile, dwarfed by the huge red letters at our side, until we reached a dried-up streambed cutting into the escarpment. “Blake was lying when he said there was no way down,” she said. “He just doesn’t want you going across there and getting caught on Malachi’s video.”

We half climbed, half slithered down the streambed, sending sprays of pebbles ahead of us. At the bottom you could feel how big the place was—the land seemed to go on for ever, chemical drums grouped in piles all over the place, rusting and falling apart, the yellow decals with their skull and crossbones flashing in the sun. Underfoot, the ground felt dead rubbery, like you might sink into it at any moment, and the few trees dotted around were dead and dried up, their naked branches fingering the sky like scorched scarecrows, one or two rattly dead brown leaves clinging to them.

Every now and then Sovereign paused and stared up at the video cameras on the far slope, her hand shading her eyes from the intense white light. “I swear, Joe, if we get caught on camera Blake’s going to
kill
us.” She kept stopping and starting, changing her mind and heading off at an angle, or even reversing her footsteps. It was so hot I had to keep wiping my face with the bottom of my T-shirt. But at last, when my watch told me two hours had passed, we slipped under the range of the video cameras and began to scale the opposite slope.

The fence glinted from between the trees above, the pigs’ heads like strange, luminescent patches against the thick green leaf cover. It was a much gentler slope than on the centre’s side, and it wasn’t long before the parched yellow land began to give way to a slatier rock and vegetation: first, patches of heather and plantain, then stubby grass and the occasional wild flower. We arrived suddenly at the fence—before we knew it, it was less than ten feet ahead of us and rose at least fifteen in height. At the top, peering down at us from the trees, was a pig’s head, a halo of flies circling it, like a stain in the air. Its eyes had been eaten away by decay and maggots, but the teeth were still there, big and bare, like polished bone. The smell that had drifted across the island the day before was stifling now. I cleared my throat and ran my tongue round my mouth. Malachi, oh, Malachi, I thought, is this where you get up to your little rituals, you mad old bastard?

“Hmmm,” said Sovereign, brazenly, looking up into the trees inside the fence to where hazes of midges wafted among the trees. A weak breeze came off the sea and ruffled the branches. “You don’t suppose he’s put cameras inside the fence, do you?” She squatted down and craned her neck up at the tops of the trees, narrowing her eyes. “Hello, Malachi, you old bonehead. Come and give it to us. Show us your strap-on tail.” Beyond the fence the undergrowth was so thick that I couldn’t see more than a few feet—everything in there hung eerily still, like the heat of the day was trapped in the heavy leaves. There was no flicker of movement, just a low-level buzz of insect life deep in the trees that made me wonder about stagnant water.