The busy day would buy him some time—time to work out how to say the words he’d been rehearsing for years. Never truly believing the day would come when he’d betray Heather’s wishes.
“It’s the only way to protect him.” Ina cocked her head towards the door. The engine of Archie’s car revved. “Although, right now I think it’s you who needs protecting.”
Archie nodded and headed out the back door. As a member of one of the oldest families on the island, perhaps it was finally time for Malachi to learn some of the secrets long hidden on Latharna.
Chapter 3
Archie
Malachi’s music drowned out any chance of conversation on the drive to Portmuck Harbour, an old stone port on the far corner of the island. Its weather-beaten limestone statue—a large boar being chased into the sea by a horde of farmers—offered tourists their first glimpse of a local legend as soon as Latharna came into view.
Archie didn’t push for conversation. He was content to listen to a Scottish brogue sing about his long-lost love, even if Malachi’s erratic driving kept interrupting his thoughts. The song reminded him of Heather. Life would’ve been very different for the Wolfendens if a drunk driver hadn’t smashed into her car when Rhys was just a baby. Death loomed over the family like a long, relentless shadow, convincing him that the Wolfendens were cursed, a notion he would never share with Ina—she wouldn’t entertain such nonsense and would take great pleasure in telling him so.
Heather wouldn’t have left their children unsupervised on the river for the Selkie to take, or allow Malachi to retreat into himself in the years that followed. She would’ve keptthe family together in ways he never could, even with Ina’s unwavering, and often overwhelming, support. Archie had failed his children in so many ways, he didn’t even have the courage to have a conversation with his son, even though it needed to happen sooner rather than later.
They snaked their way down the steep, twisty track, barely wide enough for two cars, and reached the harbour as the first wave of traffic was disembarkingTheUnsinkable Meara. Malachi turned the volume down to concentrate on finding a parking space in the empty car park. Engines hummed while cars, campervans, and buses crept down the rickety wooden plank with varying degrees of success.
Captain Bob Murdock, a scruffy old sea dog in his mid-fifties, waved his arms from side to side, to direct passengers off the boat. A black sports car accelerated down the gangway. “That’s it, faster now.” He beckoned the car towards him as its low bumper scraped onto the old cobblestones. “Woah, there. Too fast,” he shrieked, looking in the opposite direction to the car he was supposed to be helping.
The driver opened the door and leaned out to inspect the damage. “On you go there.” Murdock slapped the roof and glanced up at the queue of traffic. “Next!” he barked, already waving them on. A tour bus inched its way down the gangway, headlights flashing at the stationary car.
“Looks like someone didn’t leave a good tip.” Malachi broke his silence, nodding towardsTheUnsinkable Meara.
Murdock and the bus driver exchanged theatrical salutes. The sports car revved and tore off. A screech at the bad bend suggested the driver had narrowly avoided the hidden ditch that had claimed many hire cars, and more than a few of the island’s youngsters over the years.
“He’ll know to leave double if he wants his flashy car toget off Latharna in one piece,” Archie snorted, and covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh that Murdock might hear. If a tourist didn’t leave a tip on the way in, you could bet good money they’d leave a generous donation on the way out if they wanted to get off Latharna in one piece. Murdock was a shrewd businessman, who knew how to play the tourist crowd right down to their last penny.
“Do you think he’s part of the film crew?” Malachi stared at his fingers as they drummed on the steering wheel. “I heard they’re over on the east coast.”
“Most likely.” Archie turned his gaze to a car skidding down the ramp. There were no more vehicles behind it. “Come on, that looks like the last of them now.” He pointed to a gap between two metal mooring pillars. “Pull up over there and we can start loading.”
“We.” Malachi snorted, and made several attempts to park the car alongside the gangway.
Archie bit the inside of his cheek. Offering “helpful" directions while Malachi was parking would only lead to an argument, and given that he was already wound tighter than a drum, silence was the safest option.
Murdock stared at his shoes, ignoring the parking. As soon as the engine died, he practically skipped over, tipping his hat through the passenger window.
“Mornin’ sir,” he nodded at Archie. “Couple boxes for you back there.” He thumbed towards his boat. “Help yourself.”
Archie turned to Malachi and raised his eyebrow.
“I’m ready when you are.” Malachi flicked a glance at him, hands still clamped on the wheel.
Archie winked and unclicked Malachi’s seatbelt. Malachi’s stare could’ve curdled milk. Archie swallowed a smile—at least he was now getting eye contact.
“He’ll be along in a minute, laddie,” Murdock yelled through the window right past Archie’s face. It took all Archie’s strength not to rub his deafened ear. Malachi shot him a dirty look, climbed out of the car, and left the driver’s door hanging open.
“Watch you don’t sink myMearanow.” Murdock rubbed his beard and chuckled at the same joke he’d told for years.
Malachi’s shoulders tensed, as if fighting the urge to bite back. He jogged towards the boat, no doubt already planning on how he would make Archie pay for letting him do all the heavy lifting, but Archie needed a word with the captain, alone.
“Did you see that flash bastard earlier?” Murdock placed his fingertips on his chest to emphasise his effrontery. “He’s a miserable prick,” he yelled towards the road—the car long gone.
“He’s probably with the film crew.” Archie rubbed his chin as though giving it serious thought. “Those Hollywood types never tip.”
“Tip?” Little flecks of spit landed on Murdock’s beard as he spoke. “I’m no waitress. All I suggest is a small donation to ensure the unsinkable nature of myMeara. Is that too much to expect?” He placed his hands on his hips and waited for a response.
“That’s show business for you, Bob,” Archie sighed, getting out of the car to open the boot. “How’s sea life treating you?” He changed the subject, unable to keep up the charade of small talk any longer.
