The Glass Guardian

by Linda Gillard

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure it was.’

  ‘Do you think it would be an inspiration to me?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Generations of your family have lived here. And this house has been filled with music. And a great deal of love.’

  He turned round then. His cheeks were wet and his skin looked grey in the fading light. Grief had transfigured him and he looked shockingly young. ‘I’m the older generation now, Ruth... Isn’t that strange? I just turned thirty-eight and now I’m head of the family. Somehow that feels... oh, I don’t know - it feels...’ he broke off, struggling to find a word.

  ‘Lonely?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It does.’ He gripped his phone and stared at it. ‘I mean, now, when something good happens - or just something crazy, something stupid! - who’m I going to call?’ He sounded angry, but I understood.

  ‘I hope you’ll think of calling me.’

  His head shot up and he looked at me, his eyes bright with fresh tears. ‘Could I do that?’

  ‘I really wish you would. I used to love getting your calls. They often made my day. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I do now. Please call me, Stan. Whenever you need to. Any time.’

  He managed a wan smile. ‘Thank you. I’ll do that.’ He rubbed at his eyes and said, ‘Right now, I have to ring my sister. Let her know.’ He turned away and looked out the window again. ‘They said he’d been very excited the last couple of days. Happy. Telling people about his son’s great discovery in the Old Country. He told one of the nurses it made him feel closer to the father he’d never known...’ Stan was silent for a few moments, then with a note of anguish in his voice he was unable to disguise, he said, ‘Do you think they’re together now? Jim and Hector?’

  ‘I think they might be.’

  ‘That’s a good thought, isn’t it?’ He clutched his phone. ‘A good thought to hang on to.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  He looked at his phone again. ‘OK, I’m going to ring Edie now... Her name’s really Eadgyth. Sister of Athelstan, the first king of a united England. They were the grandchildren of Alfred the Great, did you know that?... No, nobody knows that. But Dad just loved his history.’ Stan shook his head and smiled. ‘He didn’t foresee a lifetime of spelling out your name over the phone.’

  Stan didn’t seem anxious to make the call, so I said, ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee? A drink of water? At times like this, the British make copious pots of tea. Which we never actually drink.’

  The remark wasn’t remotely funny, but Stan gave a sort of choked laugh. I could see he was close to cracking, but he smiled - in a way that nearly broke my heart - and said, ‘You know what I’d like, Ruth? What I’d really like?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A hug.’

  ‘Of course!’ I replied, moving quickly across the room and taking him in my arms.

  We stood like that for some time. As the afternoon light faded rapidly, I thought for one moment that I saw Hector, wraith-like, standing out in the snow, his red hair glowing. Then I realised it was Stan’s reflection in the window.

  After Stan had made his call, I lit a fire and turned on all the table lamps to banish the darkness. He switched on the Christmas tree lights and we sat on the sofa, drinking tea. Conversation was desultory and painful. For both of us.

  ‘Ruth, I’m afraid I have to leave. Straight away.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll drive you to the airport.’

  ‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I have the hire car, remember.’

  ‘Oh, I was forgetting... But I can come with you anyway. If you’d like the company. I can get the bus back from Glasgow.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly put you to all that trouble.’

  ‘No, I’d like to come. And it would give me a bit more time with you. I mean, as your visit has been cut short. But I wouldn’t want to intrude. If you’d rather do the journey on your own?...’

  Stan set down his tea and swivelled round to face me. ‘Now don’t reject this idea without thinking about it first. Hear me out... I’d like you to come to Toronto with me. And I’d like you to come to Dad’s funeral. I know you never met him, but he was your kin. And Hector’s son.’

  I didn’t reply - couldn’t reply - but it didn’t matter because Stan carried on talking.

  ‘Then I’d like you to spend Christmas with me. I’d like you to meet Edie, my brother-in-law and nephew. My family. Our family. You’d like them. And they’ll love you.’ I opened my mouth to speak but Stan forestalled me. ‘And before you start telling me you can’t afford the flight, may I remind you that earlier today you were offering me a grand piano as a gift? A gift I couldn’t possibly accept unless you allow me to treat you to a winter holiday in Canada. Edie and Doug live in Vancouver. You’ll love Vancouver. Everyone loves Vancouver. It’s the kind of place people go to for a holiday and forget to go home. Seriously.’

  I stared into my empty cup, trying hard not to cave. But Stan was merciless. ‘Of course, you might prefer to spend a quiet Christmas alone. And I realise most people hate travelling at Christmas. But if we went now, we’d be going before the Christmas mayhem begins.’

  I still didn’t reply and he began to lose heart. ‘I suppose you’re worried about leaving the house empty in the depths of winter? If you drained the system, the pipes wouldn’t burst.’

  Finally, I found my tongue. ‘I wouldn’t need to do that. I could ask Tom to move in while I was away. It would be doing him a big favour, actually. His place is just a renovated hovel, right by the sea. I don’t know how he survives the winter. I could ask him to move in while I’m gone. He could do some decorating. It badly needs doing... ’

  I ground to a halt and gazed at Stan helplessly. He still looked drained, but happier.

  ‘So that’s settled, then. I’ll book our flights and tell Edie to expect you for the funeral. Oh - do you need to shop for an outfit?’

  ‘No. That’s one thing I won’t have to do. I have a selection of funeral outfits, all bought recently.’

  Stan swore under his breath and seemed to crumple. ‘I’m sorry. That was unforgivable. I wasn’t thinking.’

  I took his hand and squeezed it, deriving an odd sort of comfort from the warm, hard bones. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’ve just suffered a major bereavement! You’re stressed out. And tired. And doing bloody well, if I may say so.’ I let go his hand with a certain reluctance - a reluctance that made me question the wisdom of Stan’s travel plans for me. ‘Look, can I take some time to think about all this? I think you should too. Talk to Edie about it. She might not think it’s such a good idea... Can I let you know later on tonight whether I’m going to come? After dinner? Would that be OK?’

  ‘Of course. I have to fly back straight away, but you don’t. You could take a day or two to think about it.’

  ‘I’ll sleep on it and tell you my decision in the morning.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Would you like some fresh tea?’

  He eyed the empty pot with suspicion. ‘Is it possible to O.D on tea?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Though you can get serious withdrawal symptoms.’

  ‘We’d better have some more then.’

  As I gathered up the tea things, Stan sprang up from the sofa, strode over to the door and opened it for me. As I passed him, he said, ‘Ruth?’

  I stopped in the doorway and looked at him. He stood looking awkward and seemed at a loss for words. Then reaching for the tray, he said, ‘Here, let me take that.’ He stared at the tray as if memorising its contents. ‘I just wanted to say, if you do decide to come... there’d be no strings.’

  ‘Stan, I really didn’t think—’

  He looked at me then, his expression earnest. ‘You know, what you said earlier - about the way I was looking at you? When you confused me with Hector?’

  ‘Oh, please - don’t remind me!’

  ‘We’re friends, Ruth. And family. And that was all I meant when I said I wanted you to com
e. Though I won’t pretend something more hasn’t crossed my mind. Forgive me for being frank, but I’m a little too tired to be diplomatic.’

  ‘That’s all right. I understand. And I did realise your intentions were entirely honourable.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘You’re Canadian, Stan.’

  He beamed. ‘And fast becoming addicted to British tea. Time for the next fix...’

  While Stan was booking flights and speaking to the nursing home about funeral arrangements, I prepared supper. As it was probably his last night on Scottish soil, I dug out a haggis from the freezer and peeled quantities of potatoes and “neeps”. (Turnips to Scots, but, confusingly, swede to the English.) It was a high risk meal, perhaps. Haggis is something of an acquired taste, but the ultimate in comfort foods, second only to porridge. I thought we both needed all the comfort there was going.

  As I worked my way through the veg preparation, I decided I probably shouldn’t go to Toronto. It was just too complicated. But then I wondered if I wanted to stay on at Tigh-na-Linne in the hope that Hector would re-appear? I was sure he wouldn’t, not now Jim Blake was dead. I didn’t think anyone would be seeing Hector ever again. ‘It’s finished, Ruth’. That’s what he’d said. And Hector wouldn’t lie to me.

  That thought depressed me utterly until I realised why no one would see him, which was that the poor man had finally found peace - everlasting peace, I hoped. I was very glad for Hector and glad he’d met his grandson. And what a splendid grandson he’d turned out to be. One who had to be warned against trying to rescue drowning women from frozen ponds. One who wasn’t afraid to shake hands with a ghost...

  As I looked at my own hands peeling the veg, I remembered the chill of Hector’s fingers and then the warmth of Stan’s as I’d held his hand in the sitting room. I hadn’t wanted to let go. Nor had I wanted to let go when he’d asked to be hugged after the news of his father’s death. I couldn’t kid myself I was confusing the two men when they both felt so very different - even smelled so different. Stan didn’t smell of mud and blood and his flesh didn’t yield under pressure. Stan was solid. Fit. Alive.

  I started to feel rather warm and tried to change the direction of my thoughts - without much success.

  Hector had said, “You’ll care again, Ruth. And you’ll be cared for. Believe it.” He surely couldn’t have meant his own grandson, could he? And how was I to distinguish my feelings for Stan from my feelings for Hector? They had very different personalities, but looked like identical twins. How could I possibly separate my feelings for these two men?

  Except that they weren’t two men. One was a man and one was a ghost. One was alive and the other was very dead.

  As I lobbed peeled potatoes into a pan of water, I continued my self-interrogation. Why would I go to Canada to spend Christmas with a man I’d met only a week ago?... Well, because he was family - some sort of distant cousin - also a friend I’d been emailing and speaking to on the phone for months, that’s why. And I’d never been to Canada... It would be just a holiday. With a funeral thrown in. Stan was inviting me to stay as a friend. That’s all. Why did I have to go and complicate things?...

  It occurred to me, the reason I was so hot was because I was standing beside the Aga. I dried my hands and took off my cardigan, flinging it over the back of a chair. Something fell out on to the tiled floor and landed with a metallic clink. I bent down to retrieve Frieda’s locket. Anxious it might have been damaged by the fall, I flicked it open to check the mechanism still worked. Bracing myself for the sight of Hector’s hair again, I found my eyes were in fact drawn to the inscription opposite.

  This is my beloved and this is my friend.

  David had been a friend and probably should never have been more.

  Tom was a friend, one who’d wanted to be something more.

  Hector had been a friend, one who’d become much more.

  And now there was Stan. Who was just a friend. So far.

  It had to be said, my track record for distinguishing between friends and lovers was not impressive. I shut the locket and fastened it round my neck for safe-keeping, patting it absently as it settled against my breast-bone.

  Complicated? Too damn right it was complicated.

  Stan was understandably subdued for the rest of the day and, as I hadn’t yet said whether I was going back with him, conversation was a little stilted. He appeared to enjoy the haggis and after dinner he sat staring into the fire, nursing a glass of Talisker, saying little. He retired early and after I’d cleared up the kitchen, I too turned in.

  Perhaps it was the haggis or maybe too much wine, but I woke some time in the night after one of my nightmares. I couldn’t remember much about it, only darkness and a sense I was choking to death. I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. By its dim light I surveyed the bedroom. I don’t know what I was looking for. Hector probably. But I saw nothing.

  I looked at my watch and groaned. 3.30am. Still hours to go until daylight, but I was no longer tired, so getting back to sleep would be difficult. I stared at the closed door, remembering all the times I’d been comforted as a child by the thought of Hector on sentry duty at my door...

  It wasn’t a dare exactly. It was just that I wanted to prove once and for all that Hector was gone. Gone for good. I needed to know he wasn’t coming back and I couldn’t think of any other way to be certain. So I summoned him. I concentrated my heart and mind on calling Hector back. Because I needed him. Or rather, I needed to know.

  Nothing happened of course. Hector was a man of his word. It was finished.

  I settled down in bed and was just about to turn out the light when there was a light tap at my door. I sat up again, my heart hammering.

  ‘Come in.’

  The door swung open to reveal a ghostly white figure, standing in the doorway.

  ‘Ruth?... Are you OK?’

  It was Stan. Stan dressed in crumpled white linen pyjamas. Stan, monochrome in the dim light, apart from his bright, tousled hair.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t, but I’m fine now.’

  ‘Oh... That’s good.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m fine.’ His smile was bleak. ‘In a sad sort of way. Sad about my father. Sad to be leaving Scotland so soon... But he had a good life. And a long one... And Scotland will always be here, won’t it?... Sorry if I disturbed you.’

  ‘You didn’t. I was already wide awake. And thinking.’

  ‘What about...?’

  ‘About Christmas. And Toronto.’

  ‘Oh...?’

  ‘I’ve decided I would like to come. I’d like to spend Christmas with you and your family. And I’d like to be present at your father’s funeral. I think that’s what Hector would have wanted. And Janet... And it’s what I want too.’

  His pale face broke into a smile. ‘You’re sure? That’s really what you want to do?’

  ‘Yes. That’s really what I want.’

  His expression changed again and was suddenly grave. ‘Well, I won’t trouble you now with the hideous fate Edie promised me if I failed to persuade you to come, but, let me tell you, boiling in oil would have been a softer option. Good night, Ruth. Sleep well.’

  He grasped the door handle and was about to close the door when I called out, ‘Don’t go! I want to ask you something.’ He turned round and took a step back into the room. ‘Stan, why did you come and knock on my door? Did you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That I... That I wanted someone to be with me?’

  He thought for a moment, then dragged a hand through his already untidy hair and frowned. ‘I don’t rightly know why I came... It seems a strange thing to have done now. But at the time, it seemed like the only thing to do.’ He took another step forward, so he was standing almost at the end of the bed. ‘I guess I just knew this was where I needed to be. By your side... And it was where I wanted to be.’

  I said nothing, but stared - not at Stan, but past him,
at the open door behind as it began to swing, very slowly on its hinges. As it shut with a click, Stan wheeled round. He stared at the door, then turned back to me, looking shaken.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, smiling. ‘It’s Hector. I think he’s giving us his blessing.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yes. But he’s gone now... Gone for good.’

  ‘And... is that OK?’ Stan asked, peering at me.

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s OK.’ I looked up at him and smiled. ‘It’s finished, Stan. He won’t be coming back.’

  And I was right. We never saw Hector again.

  ~~~

  About the Author

  Linda Gillard lives on the Black Isle in the Scottish Highlands and has been an actress, journalist and teacher. She’s the author of six novels, including STAR GAZING which was short-listed in 2009 for Romantic Novel of the Year and The Robin Jenkins Literary Award, for writing that promotes the Scottish landscape. HOUSE OF SILENCE became a Kindle bestseller and was selected by Amazon as one of their Top Ten Best of 2011 in the Indie Author category.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’d like to thank the following people for their help and support during the writing of this book:

  Tina Betts, Jill Broderick, Amy Glover, Philip Glover, Lynn Latimer, Michelle Moore, Laura Ramsey & Colin Richardson.

  Other books by Linda Gillard...

  EMOTIONAL GEOLOGY

  A LIFETIME BURNING

  STAR GAZING

  HOUSE OF SILENCE

  UNTYING THE KNOT

  Connect with Linda

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LindaGillardAuthor

  Website: http://www.lindagillard.co.uk

  Smashwords author page: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LindaGillard