White Nights - Ann Cleeves [8]
After they’d finished working Kenny would go home to Edith, leaving Lawrence to talk to Bella. Sometimes it would be so late when Kenny walked up the track to the house that he’d be sure Edith would already be asleep. But she was always awake, waiting for him. She’d never been one for an early night. In the winter she’d be sitting by the fire knitting. He’d known it was late because the house was tidy – the only time it was ever tidy, with the two children there during the day. This time of year she’d be outside working in the garden, even in the small hours of the morning. She’d spit out one of her sharp comments about Bella taking advantage of him before going with him into the house. It might even have been before Eric had started school, and that was hard to imagine. Now they were both grown up. Ingirid was about to have a child of her own. She was a midwife close to Aberdeen and Eric was farming in Orkney.
Now Bella didn’t ask any more. She knew Kenny wouldn’t go. Edith might have been glad of a chance to dress up at one time. To go to the fancy party and drink the wine and listen to the talk about art and books. One way of getting their money’s worth out of Bella, at least. But Kenny had always put his foot down. Usually his wife was the one who laid down the law, but when it came to Bella Sinclair he was firm. ‘Lawrence might still be here if it wasn’t for her.’ Once he had almost added, That woman broke his heart. But Edith would have mocked him for being so sentimental. She’d always had a wicked tongue in her head, even as a child. She still did. He smiled. More than thirty years married and he was still scared of her.
He looked at his watch. It was nine-thirty, later than he’d thought. At this time of year it was easy to lose track. He came up on to the hill every night unless the weather was so bad that there was no point to it. To check the sheep, he said, though that was an excuse. It was an escape from Edith tapping away on the computer, a time for himself. When Edith was working, he felt that the house was just an extension of her office and he never felt comfortable there. In the winter he’d sometimes drive over the hill with a shotgun and a torch, after rabbits. The rabbits got caught in the glare of the spotlight and then they were easy enough to take. He had a silencer on the gun so he didn’t make a noise getting the first one; he wouldn’t want to frighten the others away. He didn’t much like the taste of rabbit, the flesh was too sweet and slimy, but hidden in a pie with plenty of onion and chunks of bacon he’d eat it occasionally. Usually though he ended up throwing most of the carcases away.
A waste, Edith said. There had been no spare money when she was a child and she still imagined the return of the bad times, even though she had a good job and he took on a bit of building work beside the croft. She resented money ill spent. But they had savings now. They wouldn’t starve in their old age or be dependent on their children.
He called to Vaila, his dog, and turned back towards his house. He could see it on a slight rise in the land just in from the water, with the Herring House much taller beyond. Further along the shore was the graveyard. In the old days before the roads were built they’d carried the corpses for burial by boat. That was why in Shetland the graveyards were always close to the water. He thought he’d quite like his body to be carried to its grave in his own boat, but he supposed there’d be some reason why it couldn’t happen like that now.
His attention was caught by movement on the