The Sound of Whales Read Free

boat close to shore. It was battling the waves, bouncing around in the swell. She wished those on board a safe sail back to harbour. She smiled at the thought that there might actually be someone on the island crazy enough to be worth meeting.

CHAPTER 3
    T he morning after the storm. Fraser sat on the stern of Ben McCaig’s boat, his legs hanging over the edge. The glare of the sun made him squint and he rubbed his tired eyes and pulled a hand through his dark hair that was needing a cut. The sky was clear blue and the air was warm; in the first week of July it was the first hint that good weather had finally arrived. Fraser yawned; what little sleep he had had the night before was broken by dreams of drowning men crying for help. In the sunlight now, with the ocean calm, he was almost convinced that it had been his imagination and nothing more. Almost.
    Ben pulled himself up from his position dangling over the hull and dipped a brush in the paint pot Fraser was holding.
    â€˜That’s Moby done,’ Ben said, ‘Now for Dick .’
    The boat that saved them from the storm was getting a new name in black letters that would stand out against the rusty white. Moby Dick , an appropriate name for the vessel of a whale scientist. Beneath the paint could be seen the faded port registration number, SK712, a Skulavaig vessel. The old lobster boat was twelve metres in length, the fishing gear removed but not the smell.
    Fraser took a breath and asked his question. ‘So any reports of a body washed ashore?’
    Ben sighed. ‘No bodies, no shipwrecks.’ He pulled himself upright. ‘There was no one in the water, Fraser, there was no one swimming. Let it go.’ He leant back down and asked as he painted, ‘So what did your dad say last night when you finally got home? You obviously escaped the killing.’
    â€˜He didn’t even notice I was gone.’
    â€˜That was a bit of luck.’
    â€˜Aye, I suppose.’
    It was luck; it would have been a grounding if not a killing. Fraser had hurried home to face his father’s wrath and found the house empty. He’d thought with growing anxiety that they were all out looking for him and had slid beneath the bed covers to await his fate. But when his parents arrived home they had a wet Dunny in tow. This was a first for his brother: he was always wandering the beach or sitting up on the cliffs, but never at night.
    Dunny had crept out of the house and quickly been missed.
    Fraser had done the same thing and no one had noticed.
    As always, it had been his mute brother who had somehow gained the last word.
    Back in bed, in the dark, Fraser had thought, I’m really starting to hate him . And then he had heard a muffled conversation between his parents, had learnt it was the American girl staying in their cottage who had found his brother, high on the cliffs beside the castle. No one had explained what she was doing up there.
    The sound of feet made him turn and he saw Willie McGregor walking towards them down the jetty. The tide was in and the boat sat high on the water, moored against the lowest section of harbour wall. Willie hopped the gap between the jetty and the boat, landing unsteadily on the deck. In his sixties but fitter than most, he was one of the few fishermen left in town and the old boat had once been his. He seemed to think he could still come and go whenever he pleased.
    Willie pulled a face when he saw Ben painting a new name. ‘You survived, then?’ he asked.
    Ben hauled himself on to his feet and handed the paintbrush to Fraser. ‘Just about. She’s a tough wee boat.’
    â€˜Oh, aye. She’s been in worse than last night.’
    Fraser said, ‘I can’t imagine worse than last night.’
    Willie shook his head. ‘Laddie, you’ve not been in a storm until below deck is full of water up to your waist and St Elmo’s fire is dancing round the wheelhouse. Did I tell you about the