O Caledonia

This meant a worse fate for Janet. She and Cynthia were now forced into unholy union, a union which was to last for four more years. Cynthia was very good at games and very bad at lessons; Janet was the opposite. Each despised the other’s abilities and let her know it. They had nothing in common save their mutual scorn. In grim silence they walked to school together through the windy streets, Janet panting to keep up. On the way back Cynthia would sing at the top of her voice and spin about like a dervish, squealing, her cloak whirling around her, to attract the attention of the grammar-school boys as they meandered homewards; she was happy because the day’s work was over. Janet scuttled along, with downcast eyes; her pigtails slapped her about the face. She dreaded the long cold evening, prep, charity knitting, the gleaming white walls of the dormitory where other girls huddled companionably together in their cubicles, giggling over their diaries. She tried to read, tried to sleep, and yearned for Auchnasaugh.

At last the Christmas holidays came. Very early in the morning they were on the station platform. The air was vaporous, the sky mother-of-pearl. Circlets of ice crunched and melted under their feet. Then there was the anxious thrill of climbing onto the train — was it the right one? would it stop at the right place? had she lost her suitcases? would it ever start? — and the great surge of relief as it jolted into motion, the gathering speed, the landmarks, at last the great rusty dinosaur of the Forth Bridge. Janet remembered the old railway poster “Over the Forth, To the North” and excitement rose in her, so that she could hardly breathe. On and on and over the Tay, and the first sight of the hills; tears welled in her eyes. The other girls had all gone now, some even wishing her “Super hols, Janet.” No one lived so far north as she. Hector was there to meet her at Aberdeen Station. There was a sparsely decorated Christmas tree at the end of the platform. Looking at it, Hector observed, “This will mean death to thousands of innocent birds.” Through falling snow they drove west into a hushed landscape. It was dark when they reached Auchnasaugh. The snow had stopped and the stars glittered in myriads. She had forgotten that the heavens held so many. She stood for a moment on the drive, straining after the intense silence of the hills, the damp pine-scented air. She thought, “I am alive again.” When she went to see Lila she found the room in darkness; the fire spluttered low and fitful, illuminating only the inert shape of Mouflon. She shuffled cautiously across the room, sliding her feet as though walking through deep sand, lest she kick over any of the books, cups, glasses, or ashtrays which she knew would be littered there. She reached the long table where the lamp stood. Blindly she stretched out her hands, feeling only empty air. Someone knocked on the window. Three times the knock came. “Who’s that?” she shouted. “Wait a minute, I can’t find the lamp.” No one answered. Janet stood motionless, suddenly afraid. She heard footsteps retreating, crunching across the frozen grass. Her shaking hands found an object. Slowly she moved her fingers over it. The texture was delicate, soft like vellum or the skin on a baby’s head. Her heart began to thump. She felt a broad plane, like a brow, now cheeks, smooth as her own, but cold, cold. It was a head. It was a severed head. She lurched back from it, screeching.