by Jenn Lees
“I expect more than just a voice, Mrs Campbell. I am an influential figure in these parts. A significant force. A successful businessman who trades throughout the country. No matter whose side you’re on, you cannot deny it.”
“I don’t, Mr Lloyd, and we will be so pleased to hear what you have to say on restoring a government for the people and, indeed, rebuilding Scotland to her former glory.”
“We?”
“The Government.” Siobhan’s cheeks pinked under Lloyd’s stare.
“It won’t be easy,” Micah said around a mouthful of dinner.
“No, son, it won’t,” Lloyd slid his glance sideways at his younger son. “You are correct. Here’s hoping it will not involve conflict. Although conflict is, at times, inevitable.” Lloyd spoke through the clinking of cutlery on the gold-rimmed plates and the muffled voices of women in the kitchen. “It has been a necessity in the past.”
The salty smokiness of fish melted like butter on Rory’s tongue—along with the last dregs of respect he could muster for this man who was their host.
“How so, Mr Lloyd?” Rory kept his tone level, his desire to understand this man restraining the hate in his voice.
“Read your history, Mr Campbell, for it records war as beneficial to developing civilisations. It forces societies to be organised, manage their resources—including people.”
Siobhan’s knife thunked on the table.
“Think of the technological advances we owed to those two World Wars.” Lloyd looked up from his meal. “Medical advances such as penicillin! Means of detection—RADAR. You may have come across that yourself, young Campbell, on your journey in that submarine.”
Rory swallowed his mouthful of creamy mashed potato, all enjoyment gone.
“Aye, news travels.” Without pausing for a response from Rory, Lloyd continued resting his gaze on Siobhan as he said, “Computers, now they were a big innovation.”
The fork’s handle dug into Rory’s palm while his mind took one step ahead of Lloyd’s conversation. Part of him wished it to stop. The other part needed to know for sure where it headed.
“We need a good war to develop our world again.” Lloyd paused in his dissertation and placed a forkful of dinner in his mouth.
“What about the lives that are sacrificed in gaining that knowledge and development?” Rory tried not to speak through clenched teeth.
“Collateral.” Lloyd didn’t flinch at the tone Rory had thrown at him. “Sorting out the rabble from the genius. We want stronger, smarter, and improved versions of humans to run the new world that will emerge.”
“Are you speaking of eugenics, Mr Lloyd?” Siobhan’s fork clattered on her plate.
“Ah yes, you are on my wavelength, Mrs Campbell. A pure race of Celtic-Scots origin. I’d like that.” Lloyd sat back in his chair and gazed ahead, thoughtful. “The Celts—they understood what war and sacrifice were about. They were the thinkers of their day.”
Siobhan stood. “I’d better check on our baby.” She walked to the end of the table where she paused and briefly met Rory’s eye. Her hands trembled. “Actually, I’m exhausted. Thank you for a delicious dinner,” she said to Lloyd. “I must get to bed now. Goodnight.”
Maxwell stood and closed the door behind her. Rory returned his gaze to the Nazi-cum-Celt-lover at the head of the table. Lloyd’s rheumy stare was focused on the remains of his mashed potato, his eating utensils standing upright in his white-knuckled grip.
Rory searched for an equal reason to leave but it would risk the ire of their host, despite Micah’s presence. Instead he gritted his teeth and settled in for what he expected would be a dessert of further revelations.
Chapter 36
The Scottish Government Bunker, Edinburgh
Winter made its presence known to Siobhan’s toes, despite the thick-soled rabbit-skin boots she wore. Their day had started early in the cold predawn. It was now late afternoon and the sun had set two hours ago. Rory drove the wagon on the road that wound to the back of Arthur’s Seat. The high concrete wall surrounding the entry to the Scottish Government Bunker glowed grey in the dim moonlight. Siobhan let out a slow sigh, attempting to relieve the quivering in her belly, not sure if it was only the baby’s movement causing the fluttering. They approached the high metal doors, which opened and let their cart rattle in. Micah and his closest men rode their horses behind their wagon. Jock and Deet had joined them soon after crossing the Kincardine Bridge.
Lloyd and his entourage had travelled close with them all day. Rory drove the wagon and sat in a stony silence. When the rocking of the wagon had lulled Jake to sleep, Siobhan took a turn seated next to Rory.
“You have to admit, being on Lloyd’s bad side at this juncture, wouldn’t be beneficial.” She rubbed Rory’s back. “You’ll need to hide your dislike of the man.” The previous evening after dinner, Rory had come to bed fuming and asked for a neck and shoulder rub. His teeth-gritting had made his muscles like concrete.
“Ye are being a wee bit generous with the term dislike, Siobhan.” Rory drove the wagon down the steep driveway to the garage level and parked the cart right before the loading platform. The clang of the horseshoes echoed off the concrete walls and woke Jake who now cried as Siobhan gathered him in her arms.
The door from the stairwell flew open, Murray ran out, and jumped down to them. Rory leaped from the wagon, grabbed his brother in a hug and held hard. Murray disengaged himself from Rory and kissed Siobhan on the cheek, then took Jake who stopped crying and stared wide-eyed at Murray.
“Hello, little man. I’m your Uncle Murray.” He jiggled Jake. “You look like a blond Rory. Only prettier.”
Siobhan let herself laugh, drawing on the glow of her fondness for Murray, which settled some of her internal jitters.
“It’s a pity you’ll grow up to be ugly like your daddy,” Murray said.
“Och, that’s enough cheek. I’ve only just arrived!” Rory shouted from the rear of the wagon where he was unloading their bags.
Jake examined every feature on his uncle’s face while a soldier directed Rory and Lloyd’s men to the section prepared for the horses.
“Wow, Rory must feel like he’s had his arm cut off. He didn’t bring Boy.” Murray grinned at his nephew and blinked a few times. “Come on, Siobhan, I’ll take you in. Rory will find his way around,” Murray spoke over his shoulder and tucked Jake onto his hip, then led the way into the main stairwell. “There’re people here who’ve been waiting for you two.” Murray led them down the corridor to the accommodation area.
“Who in particular?” Siobhan stepped into the corridor where her room used to be.
“Siobhan!”
Siobhan spun at Louise’s shout and her old friend enveloped her in a hug. She swallowed hard on the lump in her throat.
“You all must prepare and dress in your best.” Louise let go of Siobhan, a slight blush high on her cheeks. “We’re having a special dinner tonight. It’s Midwinter’s Eve.” Louise’s face shone in the LED and her eyes sparkled. “You look great, Siobhan. I couldn’t believe it when they said you had to come for medical reasons.”
Siobhan put her index finger to her lips and looked behind her. Rory had caught up carrying a bag in each hand and one tucked under an arm. Lloyd strode behind him, Maxwell and one of his guards carrying his luggage.
“You’ll be in rooms down this way, Mr Lloyd.” Henderson, who had appeared from the corridor that ran off to the right, halted Lloyd and Maxwell.
Louise lowered her voice. “Sorry.” Then she saw the Lloyds. “Dinner is at seven followed by socialising in the main room.”
Louise looked back to Siobhan and held her arms with quivering hands. “We’ve decorated it for Christmas. A tree like we used to have when we were children. And an open fire! They’ve rigged a pipe to vent out the smoke!”
HOT WATER RAN IN RIVULETS down Siobhan’s back, the soothing heat melting away the chill in her leg muscles, aches in her lower back, and numb cold in her toes. The bathroom attached
to the double room had a shelf above the sink chock-full of shampoos, body lotions and l’eau de toilettes. Siobhan stepped from the shower recess into the steamy room and took the lid off every bottle and sniffed each one.
“Will they provide a babysitter?” Rory called through the crack in the door. Jake was already asleep in an old travel cot Rory had set up and crammed next to the bed. “I don’t think we should wake him. He’s sleeping with a full belly after that mush you gave him.” He pushed the door further open and eyed her.
She stood naked in front of the mirror, her skin streaked red from the water’s heat. Rory stepped behind her and trailed his fingertips down each arm, soft and slow as he sought the reflection of her eyes in the misted mirror. Her skin tingled and the hairs on her arms rose. His head tilted and his lips traced her neck with a soft warmth, sending pleasant shivers throughout her body. She gasped, relishing his closeness. It had been an arduous week, and his caresses were tempting. She leaned back against him, his solidity reassuring and his presence a comfort. He would leave after Christmas. She wasn’t sure how she’d manage without him here.
His hands roamed to her breasts, firming with her pregnancy, and he cupped them.
“Hmm.” His breath brushed her nape. He moved one hand further down and rested it below her navel where a bump had formed. His thumb rubbed the mound with tenderness. He raised his face to engage with her vision in the mirror now clear of condensation. His soft smile set the crinkles beside his eyes.
There was a knock on the door.
Rory’s lips halted at her earlobe and he gave a sharp grunt.
“Mrs Campbell?” A female voice spoke through the door. “It’s Dr Longford. May I speak with you? I thought I should check you over after your long journey and get some base-lines.”
Siobhan turned in Rory’s embrace and gave him a quick kiss. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”
SIOBHAN’S BLUE EVENING gown was tight across her belly, but on this occasion she didn’t mind. Let those in the Bunker know how fruitful living with a healthy man from up top could be. The obstetric examination hadn’t taken long but Dr Liz reported her mother’s medical history. Siobhan blinked back moisture and recollections while digesting the news of the reason her own mother had died in childbirth—a haemorrhage due to placenta previa. Her father had never revealed that to her.
The tables filled with guests arriving at the reception dinner. The members of the Bunker in charge of decorations had decked out the largest hall for Christmas. The walls were festooned with swags of pine branches, dusted in white to imitate snow. These covered paintings of past monarchs and ministers, which had been removed from Holyrood House and the New Parliament Building years ago. A large pine tree stood in a corner, covered in stylish decorations with similar dustings of fake snow and plenty of ribbons in Royal Stewart tartan. Piles of presents sat at its base, all wrapped in tartan paper. Central on the nearest wall, sat a cast-iron fireplace and flue, as promised, with wood set ready to light.
A long table covered in a white cloth ran down the centre of the room; Siobhan estimated it would seat one hundred. Centre pieces of candles surrounded by baubles and pinecones alternated with bowls and platters of festive foods.
They must have depleted the archives and stores. The Government was out to impress. A wave of heat flushed through Siobhan. It wouldn’t impress those Communities who were struggling at present. Their food reserves were already being rationed. Had the guys here not done their mathematics when the sunlight started failing?
Kelly called to her from across the room. She was also dressed in an evening gown. Her boyish figure had stayed slim after all these years of hard work, and Rory maintained she remained an awesome fighter. Alistair stood beside her. He was tall, thin and greying, and his face kept the gentle expression Siobhan remembered from their first visit to the Glencoe Community.
Siobhan waited for Kelly to reach her and embraced her older, but younger, sister-in-law. Siobhan’s trip to Glencoe in the early months of their marriage, to meet Kelly and Alistair, had cemented an instant bond with these two hardy and generous souls. Siobhan sensed in Kelly’s character traits that she believed Caitlin would have exhibited—compassion and pragmatism.
After greeting Alistair, Rory ushered Siobhan to the place-settings assigned for them.
“Hello,” came from along the table and caught Siobhan and Rory’s attention.
Rory waved back to Mrs Donaldson, who was wearing her tailored dress crossed over with a wide tartan sash, and nodded to Mr Donaldson who was in his kilt of the same tartan. Siobhan smiled at them both while the chatter of the guests around the table quietened.
Bethany sat at the very head of the dinner table and all eyes were now on her. She rose and commenced her welcome speech.
“Thank you to all for agreeing to come in a spirit of co-operation and camaraderie and limiting personal weapons—”
A side door flew open and Angela strode in wearing a clinging, green evening dress, which contrasted well with her red hair. She knew how to dress to invite attention, for every male-head in the room lingered on her entrance.
“I beg your pardon, Prime Minister.” Angela took her place halfway along the table.
“It’s embarrassing that Angela’s related to us.” Rory whispered over his shoulder to Siobhan as he sat facing Bethany. “Always wanting people to notice her.”
“Ssh,” Siobhan said when he opened his mouth to say more.
Bethany continued her speech. “We must all reconsider the use of our own resources in light of—well a lack of light.” Bethany paused and allowed for a moment of appreciation of her humour. Soft chuckles came from the seated guests.
“You are welcome to tour the Bunker, under the supervision of one of our designated guides.” Bethany slid a brief glance in Angela’s direction. “But now, as we believe in preserving the traditions of the past, please eat and drink and enjoy our pre-Christmas festivities on this Midwinter’s Eve.” She raised her glass, and the diners stood.
“Slànte mhor,” Bethany toasted.
“Slànte mhor,” the guests of the New Scottish Government responded and lifted their drinks to the toast.
“Where’s Lloyd?” Rory whispered to Siobhan once they’d sat down.
Siobhan scanned the room. Leaders from the other Communities sat forward of Rory, including the Donaldsons, and Maxwell Lloyd sat near the top of the table beside Angela. Further down near their end of the table, and on either side of Kelly, Alistair and Murray, were Micah and delegates from the bandit groups. High-ranking members of the Government and the surviving members of the Brains Trust sat strategically in between.
But no Lloyd.
Siobhan returned her gaze to Rory. His eyes were slits and his nostrils flared. A door opened and behind them someone entered the hall.
“Psst, Rory,” Murray hissed.
Rory turned in the direction he indicated. Siobhan twisted slightly in her chair to view the door. Hidden among the hustle and bustle of those serving the first course, Lloyd slipped in and made his way to the empty seat in between Maxwell and Angela.
After dinner, they cleared the room of the dining table and chairs, and a quartet performed while people mingled. Siobhan’s feet ached and travel weariness echoed in her muscles. The comfortable couches lining the walls looked so inviting. She sat on an overstuffed green cloth sofa and was soon joined by Rory, then Alistair, while Kelly stood watching the musicians.
“You know, it’s strange, whenever I see you, Rory,” Alistair leaned forward on the sofa and rested his elbows on his long legs, “you’re almost the same as...back then.” His Canadian accent still held strong.
“I’m barely four years older, ken,” Rory whispered.
“It might have been yesterday for you, but I’ll never forget what happened all those years ago for me when...” Alistair’s voice was of an older man than Rory, but he spoke as an equal. “We couldn’t have done it without you. You know that, right?”
Rory took in a sharp breath.
“Sorry, Rory, I know it hurts. But I also know, for some strange reason, you blame yourself for how it all went down.”
Rory stared at his fingers entwined in front of him.
“I know this isn’t a good time or place, but I’ve wanted to tell you this for so long.” Alistair placed his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t have pulled it off if you weren’t there. We would’ve all died. I’m convinced of that. I’m so sorry that...” Alistair’s voice broke.
Rory lifted his head and looked at him.
Alistair swallowed and continued. “Man, I miss your dad. I thought he hated me but, looking back, he was trying me out, testing me, but preparing me too. And I know you miss him.” Alistair spoke so low Siobhan could only just hear him. “If you hadn’t been there, Rory. The future wouldn’t be this.” He lifted his other hand for a brief moment. “Caitlin Murray-Campbell would not have survived. Hell, you wouldn’t be. I would never have known the love of your sister, and more importantly for this time we live in, the Community System may not have been as well-devised and founded as it was.” He leaned closer to Rory. “You’re a hero and you have nothing, and I mean nothing, to feel guilty about. If Scott was still alive, he’d be so proud of the man you are—just as I am.”
Rory bowed his head, hiding his emotion. His shoulders trembled.
Alistair’s whispered words came across to Siobhan. “And because the Communities are so well founded, we’ll be able to hold our own when the Government tries to negotiate away our autonomy.”
Siobhan swallowed and placed her hand on Rory’s arm; his ropey muscles knotted tight beneath her fingers. Rory needed to hear his brother-in-law absolve him of any blame over his father’s death, that was for certain. But Alistair exhibited the same reservations as Rory regarding the intentions of the New Scottish Government. Siobhan’s neck muscles tensed. Somehow, a collaboration between Government and Communities had to work. Or the civil war she experienced in the future would occur.