Free Empty Nets and Promises by Denzil Meyrick Page A

obstacles he faced were of an altogether less challenging nature. The rain had stopped completely now, and he felt a wave of confidence that, if he was being honest, had been utterly absent when he parted from Hoynes.
    â€˜Push on, Iain,’ he told himself. ‘Just a little while and the MacKinnon farm will be in sight.’
    As he uttered those words, his foot caught on a boulder. He fell forwards, landing on his side and winding himself badly. As he sat up, trying to get his breath back, he heard a distant sound. It was barely discernible at first, but after a few seconds it rang clearly, echoing around the high hills that hemmed him into the pass.
    â€˜You’ve banged your head, you daftie,’ he muttered, pulling himself to his feet. ‘There’s nothing there – it’s all in the mind.’ But as he took a few faltering steps, something made him look up.
    There, on a small rise up ahead, stood a figure standing stock-still.
    â€˜Bugger me,’ he gasped. ‘It can’t be . . .’

13
    Out at sea, the swell was greater than the fishermen had expected. Though they were trying to stay as close to the coast as possible, an offshore wind, combined with an ebb tide was proving too much for the tiny engine of Geordie’s lobster boat, meaning their progress was slow: three lurches to the side, one forward.
    â€˜If we carry on like this, we’ll be taking Marshall tae the hospital in Newfoundland, Geordie,’ said Hamish, as an unexpected wave sent a shower of seawater into his face and extinguished his pipe with a gentle hiss.
    â€˜This old girl’s jeest designed tae go oot in the bay and collect creels. She’s no’ an ocean-going liner. Once we’re roon’ the Mull, the conditions should improve.’
    They had wrapped Marshall in woollen blankets taken from the bothy, under which he mumbled and moaned. His bandage was now stained a deep red.
    â€˜This fella’s still bleeding, though it’s no’ as bad as it was,’ said Hoynes. He had put on an oilskin jacket and a Sou’wester he had found under a bench seat on the boat. The garments stank, but at least he wasn’t getting soaked by the spray like Hamish, who was cursing as he frantically tried to relight his pipe.
    â€˜There’s the Cat Rock,’ shouted Geordie. ‘Once we’ve weathered that, it’s plain sailing.’
    The little boat was caught by a wave, cresting the top of the swell and then plummeting down into the trough it had created. There was a sharp clunk, then what sounded like a dry piece of wood being broken in two.
    â€˜I hope that’s no’ whoot I think it is,’ shouted Hoynes.
    â€˜It’s the bloody rudder,’ said Geordie. ‘Look at this.’ He spun the boat’s wheel, to no effect.
    â€˜I’m betting there’s no radio aboard this craft, neither,’ said Hamish.
    Geordie shrugged. ‘I told you I jeest potter about in the bay. There’s never been the need for a radio. If you lift the lid on that chest, you’ll find a flare or two.’
    Hamish did as he was asked, and the bright orange flare rent the dark sky above them as they drifted out to sea like a cork in a bath.
    â€˜We should be thankful for small mercies,’ remarked Hoynes. ‘At least we’re not being driven ontae the Mull.’
    â€˜But the Barrel rocks are no’ that far off,’ countered Hamish. ‘And if we’re lucky enough tae avoid them, we’ll no miss the coast o’ County Antrim.’
    â€˜My, but you’re the cheery one, Hamish. Every craft within ten miles o’ here will have seen that flare. I’d be surprised if the Ballycastle lifeboat isn’t preparing tae make way, as we speak.’ His words were lost as a wave crashed over the vessel, drenching all aboard.
    â€˜Well, they better get here quick,’ shouted Geordie, ‘or we’ll be having oor