LIV, 1998 L~n Haven The Black Isle, Scotland I The lighthouse was called the Longing. Pitched amidst tessellations of rock black as coal, thrashed for over a hundred years by disconsolate squalls, it needled upward, spine-straight, a white bolt locking earth, sky, and ocean together. It was lovely in its decrepitude, feathery paint gnawed off by north winds and rust-blazed window frames signatures of use and purpose. I always thought lighthouses were beautiful symbols, but this one was more than that-it was hauntingly familiar. Night was drawing in and we hadn''t yet met the owner. We''d driven hundreds of miles over mountains, through sleepy villages and winding roads, usually behind herds of cattle. We had taken a ferry, and got lost four times, on account of using an outdated, coffee-stained A-Z road map with several pages missing. I parked up behind an old Range Rover.
"We''re here," I told the girls, who had fallen asleep against one another in the back. I wrapped my raincoat around Clover-she was wearing only a swimsuit over a pair of jeans-and lifted her up to walk a little way along the rocky beach daubed with spiky patches of marram and tough white flowers. The four of us scanned the bay. It was a raw scene: a full moon hiding behind purple cloud, ocean thrashing against black cliffs. Gulls wheeling and shrieking above us. Trees stood like pitchforks, flayed by the wind. They hemmed the island, watching. II The lighthouse keeper''s bothy was a squat stone dwelling built close to the lighthouse.
Smoke plumed from the chimney, pressing the earthy smell of peat into our noses. A woman stepped out to greet us. "Olivia?" she said. "Hi," I said. "Sorry I''m earlier than expected ." "No trouble at all. Come on in out of the cold." We found ourselves in a cramped hallway, where someone had pinned a shark''s jawbone to the inner wall.
Luna reached out to touch one of the teeth and I tugged her back. Saffy nodded at it. "Is that from a great white?" "Porbeagle shark," the woman-Isla-said with a tilt of her chin. "We don''t get great whites. Porbeagles are just as big, mind, and every bit as dangerous." "I don''t like sharks, Mummy," Clover whispered. "We have a basking shark that tends to hang around the bay," Isla said. She glanced down at Luna, who threw me a panicked look.
"You''ll be fine with a basking shark. No teeth, you see. Basil, he''s called." "Is this where we''ll be staying?" Saffy asked warily, eyeing the shark jaw. "It is indeed," Isla said. She turned to the girls. "I''m Isla Kissick, and it''s absolutely thrilling to meet all of you. But I''m afraid I only know your mummy''s name.
Why don''t you tell me your names?" "I''m Luna," Luna said. "I''m nine." "Luna," Isla said. "What a lovely name." "It means ''moon,''" Luna said, a little shy. "Mine''s Clover," Clover said, elbowing Luna out of the way. "I''m seven and a half and my name means clover, like the plant." "Also a lovely name," Isla said.
"And I bet you already know that clovers are meant to bring good luck?" Clover nodded. "Mm-hmm. But my mummy said you make your own luck." "Very wise," Isla said, glancing at me approvingly. She turned to Saffy, who flushed red. "And who might this lovely one be?" Isla said. "Sapphire," Saffy mumbled to the floor. "I''m fifteen.
" "Well now, that''s lovely," Isla said. "My daughter, Rowan, is fifteen. I''m sure you''ll meet soon enough. Now, come and sit down. I''ve made you all some supper." I nodded at the girls to leave their bin bags in the hall before following Isla to a kitchen at the back, where the smell of freshly baked bread and tomato soup made my mouth water. I''d supposed that Isla was Mr. Roberts'' partner, but she turned out to be his housekeeper.
She was short and lithe with long copper hair neatly pinned up, and her quick, round eyes searched all of us up and down. She had a beautiful Scottish brogue and spoke fast, as though the words were too hot to hold in her mouth for long. She was smartly turned out-a crisp white shirt, gray check trousers, polished ankle boots. The bothy was incongruously old-fashioned. I would learn that L~n Haven, its inhabitants included, was full of skewed time spheres. The absence of modern retail chains and its breathtakingly rugged landscapes made the place feel like you''d stepped back in time, perhaps to the very beginnings of the earth. The lighthouse itself was built upon an ancient Scottish broch that was built upon a Neolithic fort, which in turn was built upon late Jurassic rock, like an architectural babushka doll. III "There you go," Isla said, placing bowls of steaming hot soup before each of us.
I apologized again for the mix-up about our arrival. I''d planned to begin the commission a few weeks from now but decided to head north on the spur of the moment. Or the middle of the night, to be exact. We''d driven the whole way from York to Cromarty, only to find that the ferry was canceled for the day on account of high winds. The girls and I had to endure a very cold and uncomfortable night at a rest stop, sleeping in the car. "It''s no trouble," Isla said. "Mr. Roberts is away, of course, but I''m to take care of everything until he returns.
" "Are we sleeping in the car again?" Clover said, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. "In the car?" Isla repeated, looking to me for explanation. "I''m sure there are plenty of beds for all of us," I said quickly, and this time I was the one to look to Isla for confirmation. I didn''t want to mention that we''d had to sleep rough. "Of course there are," she said. "Shall I give you the grand tour?" The bothy was small but efficiently organized. A door at the rear of the kitchen led to a scullery with a washing machine and loo. Three bedrooms provided ample sleeping space with freshly made-up beds, and there was a bathroom with a shower cubicle.
We followed Isla to the living room at the front of the house, overlooking the garden. "Now, you''ll have noticed it''s a bit chilly on the island. So you''re not to worry if you need to turn the heater on." She nodded at the wood-burning stove. "You''ll find a shed at the side of the bothy stocked with wood. And I''ve put plenty of blankets in the cupboards for you to get cozy in the evenings. Which reminds me. Sometimes the electricity goes off.
Nothing to worry about. You know how to manage an oil lantern?" I followed her gaze to an old-fashioned oil lamp in the windowsill, which I''d assumed was for decoration. I caught Isla rolling her eyes as it became clear that no, I didn''t know how to manage an oil lantern. "I''ll be sure to leave instructions," she said with a tight smile. "Does Mr. Roberts live here?" Saffy asked. "This is one of his properties," Isla said. "But no, he doesn''t live here.
His main residence is north of here, twenty minutes or so by car." "Will you tell him I''ve arrived?" I asked. "Well, I''d love to," Isla said brusquely, "but he''s at sea just now." "At sea?" "Aye, for all he has a half dozen houses dotted about the place, he prefers to be out on his boat." "I have a boat," Clover offered. Isla lifted an eyebrow. "Do ye, now?" "It''s green with a purple chimney and I play with it in the bath." "Well, Mr.
Roberts'' boat is a wee bit bigger than that, I''d wager," Isla said, chuckling. "He tends to sail to Shetland at this time of year." "He''s a pirate, then?" Clover said, astonished. Isla bent down to Clover''s eye level. "No. But I reckon he''d be a good ''un." "Do you come from Shetland?" Clover asked, running her fingertips along the stubbly wood-chip wallpaper. Wood chip was her favorite texture.
"No," Isla said. "I come from L~n Haven. Where d''you come from?" "My mummy''s vagina," Clover said. I watched Isla''s face drop. "Girls, go have a look at your bedrooms," I said, ushering Clover quickly away. "Do you know when I''m to discuss the commission with Mr. Roberts?" "He said to give you this." Isla reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper.
I opened it up to find an elaborate and highly abstract sketch, a diagram of sorts. Lots of lines and arrows and circles, like a zodiac. "What is it?" I said, turning the page to the side. There was no indication which way the sketch was meant to be viewed. "It''s the mural," Isla said flatly. "The thing you''re painting inside the Longing." I stared at her, wondering if I''d misheard. "This? This is the mural?" She cocked her head.
"Is something the matter?" "No, no ." I said, though I didn''t sound convincing, not even to my own ears. "I suppose I thought there might be more to it than this. Written instructions, perhaps.".