Encounters

 

Copyright Cecilia Peartree 2011

 

Encounters

A Short Tale of Pitkirtly at Hallowe’en

‘Well, I think it’s the M.O.D., said Christopher firmly. ‘We never have any idea about what they’re up to – they could just as well be exercising on Pitkirtly Island as anywhere, especially with Rosyth so close by.’

‘Ach, it’ll just be kids messing about,’ said Jock McLean. It was one of his stock answers to everything.

‘Or reflections in the water,’ said Mrs Stevenson. She straightened her woolly hat and took another sip of Dubonnet and lemonade.

‘But maybe it’s the ghosts of old miners still looking for coal, not knowing the mines are as dead as they are,’ suggested Dave. ‘The lights are from their lamps.’ He drained his glass of Old Pictish Brew and got to his feet. ‘Right, then, what’s everybody having?’

‘What do you think it is, Amaryllis?’ said Christopher.

‘Aliens,’ she said, but she still seemed to be wrapped in gloom. It wasn’t like her not to join in wholeheartedly with a ridiculous conversation like this. Christopher was worried: her chin rested on one hand as if she could hardly hold up her head, and her hair wasn’t even standing on end but lay flat against her head.

‘Are you all right?’ Christopher asked her. He knew she wouldn’t admit it if she were ill, but at least he had shown some friendly concern for her.

She sighed deeply.

‘Come on, lassie, what’ll you have?’ said Dave.

‘Rum and blackcurrant’s very nice if you’re coming down with a cold,’ said Mrs Stevenson.

‘No, thanks, I’d better not,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I need an early night,’ she added, getting up and pushing past Christopher, who had shared the window-seat with her.

‘Let me walk you home,’ said Christopher at once.

‘Or I could give you a lift,’ said Dave.

‘You’ve had six pints of Old Pictish Brew,’ Christopher reminded him.

‘Beer doesn’t count as alcohol, though,’ said Dave earnestly. ‘And my reactions are as good as anybody’s.’

He demonstrated this by swaying on his feet and almost falling into Mrs Stevenson’s lap.

Amaryllis hurried to the door. ‘See you later.’

Christopher frowned, remembering past occasions when Amaryllis had drunk them all under the table.

‘What’s the matter with her?’ said Jock.

‘She seems almost – depressed,’ said Christopher.

Dave collected the empty glasses and went off to the bar.

‘I think I can explain,’ said Mrs Stevenson, smiling in a way that Christopher found extremely irritating. It was the sort of smile that suggested she and Amaryllis shared a secret – perhaps some female thing that mere men were by its nature excluded from.

Christopher and Jock huddled in towards the table to listen.

‘She’s got some old friends staying. From Edinburgh.’

‘Has she?’ Christopher leaned back suddenly in surprise and bumped his head on the window frame.’

‘She didn’t want you to know,’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘They’re old spying cronies.’

‘Spying cronies?’ said Jock loudly. ‘What are they – KGB?’

Mrs Stevenson gave him a look. ‘I think they were all on our side… Anyway,’ she continued, ‘that’s why Amaryllis is looking a bit peelie-wallie.’

‘Is she tired out looking after them?’ said Christopher, puzzled.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Mrs Stevenson.

‘What is it then?’ asked Christopher, by now even more convinced that Amaryllis and Mrs Stevenson were engaged in a feminist conspiracy.

‘It’s because they’ve got such a normal life,’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘They’ve given up spying – he works in a bank and she’s a cake designer.’

‘Cake designing isn’t a normal job,’ said Jock accusingly.

‘Amaryllis thinks that’s what she wants too,’ said Mrs Stevenson, ignoring him.

‘Hmph!’ said Jock. ‘Of course she doesn’t – she’d be bored out of her skull in no time if she led a normal life.’

‘I know,’ said Mrs Stevenson.

They stared at Christopher as if they expected him to do something. He felt an enormous weight of responsibility descend on his shoulders.

The thing to do was to apply logical reasoning power to the problem – but that was hard to do with Jock perched on a stool and looking like a quizzical gnome, and Mrs Stevenson fixing him with a basilisk stare.

In a  brief moment’s respite when Dave returned with the drinks, he thought: what we need to do is either convince Amaryllis that ‘normal’ life is boring, or – and this was his brainwave – demonstrate to her what fun she could have just by keeping things the way they were at this moment.

Just then he felt the icy draught as the door of the pub swung open. From his vantage point in the window-seat he saw two strangers come in. His first reaction was that they looked boring and he hoped they didn’t come over. Then Mrs Stevenson turned in her chair and saw them. She smiled and waved.

‘This is them,’ she said in a stage whisper. ‘Don’t tell them I said anything.’

The couple – for they were definitely a couple and were even holding hands, something which could get them barred from the Queen of Scots if the landlord noticed – approached.

‘Hi there,’ said the man breezily. ‘Seen Amaryllis?’

‘She’s just left,’ growled Jock.

‘Good’, said the woman. She pulled an extra chair over to the table and sat down. The man copied her.

‘Hello, Jemima,’ he said to Mrs Stevenson. She nodded a welcome.

‘I’m Zelda and he’s Bob,’ said the woman. ‘We’re here because we’ve got to do something about Amaryllis.’

She was dressed all in beige and brown, and her hair was brown too, Christopher noticed. He didn’t know if Amaryllis would like being the subject of this woman’s efforts.

‘Christopher’s going to do something,’ said Mrs Stevenson. ‘Aren’t you?’

They all stared at him again, this time, including the newcomers. The weight of responsibility increased exponentially.

‘Aliens,’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Bob. Christopher wondered if that was his real name. But surely if he’d been given a new identity they would have thought of a better name: Zak, or Ferdinand, or Julius. On the other hand, he did look boring enough to be a Bob.

‘Aliens,’ he repeated, dragging his attention back to the matter in hand. ‘Amaryllis wants aliens.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ said Zelda. ‘I don’t remember her ever volunteering for the ET squad when – ow!’

Unbelievably, Bob had kicked Zelda under the table. ET squad? Was that its real name? Christopher was doubtful such a thing even existed.

‘It’s about the lights on Pitkirtly Island.’ Mrs Stevenson took pity on the outsiders and started to explain. ‘People have been seeing them lately. There and in the water.’

‘I told you, it’s kids messing about,’ said Jock.

‘The ghosts of old miners,’ said Dave.

‘Reflections in the water,’ said Mrs Stevenson.

‘Amaryllis thought it was aliens,’ said Christopher. ‘That’s all.’

Sensing he might need to say a bit more, he added, ‘I thought we could give her some aliens. But it’s a silly idea.’

There was a pause. Christopher couldn’t work out whether it was an embarrassed ‘Christopher’s finally lost it – look away – don’t catch his eye’ sort of pause or more like ‘Cool – how could we do that?’

‘Cool,’ said Zelda after a moment. ‘I wonder how we could do that.’

‘We couldn’t,’ said Jock. ‘And if anybody thinks I’m dressing up as E.T. and prancing around in the mud in the middle of the night, they can think again!’

‘Giant puppets,’ said Bob. He looked at Zelda. ‘Do you remember seeing them at the Fringe last year? I wonder where you get them.’

‘Good idea,’ said Christopher, rushing in before Jock got the chance to stamp all over the idea and spoil it for everyone. He could see Mrs Stevenson and Dave weren’t convinced, but he pressed on. ‘Giant puppets with lights on their heads. Just on the island – they wouldn’t need to go in the water.’

‘This is daft,’ said Mrs Stevenson.

‘No, give them a chance,’ said Dave. ‘Amaryllis might get a good laugh out of it anyway. And she’ll be pleased we went to so much trouble for her.’

Christopher was amazed at how quickly everything took off after that. Apparently accountants and cake designers could be quite well-organised and practical when they tried. After returning to Edinburgh they emailed every day from their Blackberries with progress reports on their efforts to source giant puppets that looked like aliens. Eventually, the week before Hallowe’en, they said they were ready.

‘I hope they know what they’re doing,’ said Christopher to Jock when they met in the supermarket.

‘Hmph. Course they don’t.’

‘Oh well,’ said Christopher. ‘If it cheers up Amaryllis it’ll be worth it.’

As usual Jock’s cynicism had worked its magic and strengthened Christopher’s resolve. Sometimes Christopher wondered if Jock was doing it deliberately to egg him on, but he doubted if his old friend would be so subtle.

‘Here,’ said Jock, ‘what if they bump into those kids playing about out there?’

‘Or get shot by the M.O.D.,’ said Christopher. ‘I suppose Bob and Zelda would know if it was them, though.’

He didn’t really think the M.O.D. kept former spies informed of their maneouvres, but according to Amaryllis there was no such thing as a retired spy, so maybe they had their methods.

‘Or they might get chased by Dave’s ghosties,’ said Jock, ‘seeing as it’s getting near Hallowe’en.’

‘That’s a chance they’ll just have to take. Are you going to give me a hand with my side of things?’

‘What do I have to do?’ said Jock suspiciously.

‘We’ve got to get Amaryllis down to the park at the right time – you know the play park just by the railway line?’

‘Off Sunk Causeway?’

‘Yes, that’s the one. Near the end of Heggie’s Loan.’

‘It should be easy enough,’ said Jock. ‘Nothing Amaryllis likes better than wandering about in the dark.’

Christopher frowned.

‘If she thinks we want her to come out with us, she won’t.’

‘We can get round that,’ said Jock.

And so it was that the following evening they presented themselves at Amaryllis’s front door.

‘I’ll get the jelly-beans,’ she said when she saw them. ‘Wait here.’

She closed the door and disappeared. Christopher glared at Jock. ‘This was your idea. She hates it.’

‘That’s right, blame me.’

Jock tried to look like a picture of injured innocence, which was slightly more difficult than usual because he had dressed up as a devil, with red plastic horns and a clip-on tail. If anything, it made him look even more like a gnome. Christopher didn’t feel too idiotic in his vampire outfit, as long as he could talk without opening his mouth and exposing his fangs.

The door opened again. A black pointed hat came through it, followed closely by Amaryllis. Wearing her black coat and with her dark red hair sticking out wildly in all directions from under the hat, she made an all too realistic witch.

‘Well, I’m scared anyway,’ said Christopher.

‘Eat your jelly-beans,’ she said, distributing small packets of sweets. ‘You’re the first guisers I’ve had this year, so I thought I’d join you. Where are we going?’

Christopher and Jock avoided each other’s eyes.

‘We were just going up to Jemima’s,’ said Christopher.

‘Or maybe down to the fish and chip shop,’ said Jock.

Amaryllis looked from one to the other and back.

‘Let’s go down to the shore and look for aliens,’ she suggested.

Just putting the hat on had turned her into a real witch, thought Christopher, not sure why he was surprised.

‘No way,’ said Jock. ‘It’ll be freezing down there.’

‘But we might see something,’ she wheedled. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

‘Hmph!’ said Jock. ‘Nothing to be scared of.’

Christopher sighed heavily. ‘Suppose we’ll have to go then.’ He wondered if he had given in too easily: Jock was glaring at him.

‘OK, then,’ said Amaryllis, eating jelly-beans. She led the way down the small, narrow cobbled street that led to Sunk Causeway. She seemed to have cheered up on her own. Christopher wondered if they had really needed to go through this nonsensical charade. His fangs were beginning to hurt and the collar of his good white shirt was too tight.

‘Have you got a xylophone?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Xylophone?’ Christopher had resolved a while ago not to be surprised into asking that sort of question, but she had sneaked in something bizarre under his defences.

She sang the ‘Close Encounters’ tune and laughed. Could she possibly be in on this whole operation?

They arrived at Sunk Causeway. They crossed the road and then the railway line, and stepped on to the rocks leading to the expanse of mud and pebbles that passed for a beach. The night was cloudy, so there weren’t any stars to gaze at, but the river front at Pitkirtly was never completely dark because of ambient light from the street lamps and the sporadic glow of flames from the oil refinery across the river.

Pitkirtly Island loomed to the right of them, a solid mass set against the constantly changing waters of the Forth. Christopher glanced at his watch. They were a few minutes early for Bob and Zelda. Better than being late, though…

‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Amaryllis, having surveyed the scene. ‘Nothing to see here. Let’s go up to the fish and chip shop.’

‘No, wait,’ said Christopher. ‘Wasn’t that a light? Just there – a bit to the left of the island?’

The three of them stared solemnly into the middle distance. There was no light.

Amaryllis shivered theatrically. ‘Too cold to hang around here. Let’s go along to the Queen of Scots to build up an appetite for fish and chips.’

She had already half-turned away when Christopher put a hand on her arm. ‘There’s a light!’ He tried not to sound as relieved as he felt.

She stopped. ‘Are you just saying that?’

‘No, honestly, it’s over there!’

He pointed towards the two sets of twinkling eyes that had appeared.

‘Must be on the island,’ said Jock, nodding so vigorously that he dislodged his devil horns. He pushed them back up on top of his head, scowling.

Amaryllis glanced from one to the other of them again. ‘Do you two have anything to do with this?’

‘Do we look as if we’d play silly tricks just because it’s Hallowe’en?’ began Christopher. At the same time he became aware that Jock was waving a red plastic pitchfork in his face, and remembered that they both looked exactly as if they were playing some silly trick.

‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ said Amaryllis. She leaned towards him and said in an undertone, ‘I thought you were dressed up like that to look sexy.’

Christopher blushed in the darkness. He couldn’t help wondering, though, if it had worked. He knew teenage girls often fancied vampires: did it work with more mature women too? Not that Amaryllis was exactly typical of women of her age.

Under the twinkling eyes, the vague outline of something from another planet started to move in their direction. Amaryllis seemed to be trying to suppress a giggle.

‘Don’t laugh, you’ll frighten it away,’ said Christopher, feeling even more ridiculous than before.

There was a loud splash, and a much brighter light suddenly popped up out of the water directly in front of them. The luminous manifestation came to a halt. The sound of a human voice came out of the darkness of the island. ‘What the hell is that in the water?’

‘Sssh, it’ll hear you,’ came a stage whisper.

The thing in the water, whatever it was, moved swiftly towards the island, while the luminous shape seemed to be retreating.

‘… get the hell out of here,’ were the final words as the shape was swallowed up into the dense blackness of the island’s interior.

‘We should go too,’ said Christopher uneasily.

Amaryllis was laughing quite loudly by then.

‘It’s Bob and Zelda, isn’t it?’ she gasped. ‘You idiots!’

‘All right, it’s Bob and Zelda on the island,’ said Christopher. ‘But what’s that in the water chasing them?’

‘The thing from the deep?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Oh, that’s the landlord of the Queen of Scots. Diving for treasure.’

‘Treasure?’ said Jock indignantly. ‘You mean you knew what the mystery lights were all the time?’

‘It was more fun not to know,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I guess we’d better rescue Bob and Zelda. What’s-his-name from the pub won’t like them intruding on his patch.’

Christopher put his hand on her arm to stop her in her tracks for a moment. ‘You weren’t depressed at all, were you?’

‘Of course I was depressed!’ said Amaryllis. ‘Bob and Zelda had made such boring lives for themselves – it was years since they’d done something stupid like this. I can stop worrying about them now.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ said Christopher, smiling smugly. Even Jemima Stevenson had got it all wrong.

But by the time they got to Pitkirtly Island, which wasn’t an island at all in the most crucial sense of the word, since it wasn’t actually separated from the mainland, Bob, Zelda and what’s-his-name from the Queen of Scots were well on the way to becoming friends. Christopher thought the giant alien puppets looked more impressive at close range than they had done in the middle distance, and everyone gathered round admiring them. Bob and Zelda seemed slightly miffed that their brilliant plan hadn’t worked, and accused Amaryllis of hacking into their email to find out about it in advance.

Later, in the Queen of Scots, the landlord whose name they couldn’t remember explained what he had been doing in the chilly waters of the Forth in a diving suit on Hallowe’en.

‘Many years ago, at about the time of the Napoleonic Wars,’ he began, ‘some very enterprising people ran an illicit still on Pitkirtly Island.’

They settled in at the bar for a long session. Christopher threw caution to the winds and ordered a second pint of Old Pictish Brew. He had already removed his fangs, the better to relax, but he couldn’t quite shake off the formality of wearing a white shirt with a ruffled front. On the other hand, maybe it was appropriate for a story set in the early 1800s.

‘They supplied moonshine for a number of years, bringing it ashore somewhere near this very spot,’ the landlord explained. ‘Even after the illicit still just along the coast at Preston Island was raided by excisemen, here at Pitkirtly the liquor industry was still going strong.’

He paused, and they all took sips, or in some cases gulps, of their drinks.

‘It wasn’t until Victorian times,’ he continued, ‘when some idiot of a businessman wondered if the Valleyfield coal seam extended in this direction and started poking about where he shouldn’t, that the still was discovered. The excise made a raid on the island more or less right away. Rumour had it that the moonshiners threw all their wares into the Forth.’

‘Ah,’ said Christopher.

‘Aha!’ said Jock.

‘Brilliant!’ said Amaryllis. ‘Have you found it yet?’

The landlord smiled, looking, in Christopher’s opinion, more like the villain in a silent movie than ever. ‘What do you think?’ he said with an enormous wink.

Amaryllis regarded their drinks with some suspicion. ‘You haven’t been spiking the Old Pictish Brew with it, have you?’

‘Why do you think that stuff’s got such a deadly kick?’ parried the landlord, who was drinking whisky himself. He paused, then laughed. ‘Of course I haven’t! That would be extremely illegal. I don’t want to lose my licence. But I have kept a flagon of it for selected customers.’

‘Selected for extinction?’ said Jock.

Christopher was staring gloomily into his pint of Old Pictish Brew. He wasn’t sure if he would ever feel like drinking it again. He gave a deep sigh and lifted the glass. He might as well enjoy this last pint.