by Emma Fraser
At the end of November there was a ceilidh in the village hall. Margaret hadn’t attended any of the previous ceilidhs that had been held while she’d been on the island but when Effie had mentioned this one, her daughter, now completely recovered, had begged to go. ‘Please, Mummy. I’ve never been to a grown-up party.’
‘Very well. This once. But we have to leave when I say so, all right?’
Elizabeth started bouncing on the tips of her toes. ‘What shall we wear? Can I put lipstick on?’
‘No indeed,’ Dolina said from behind them. ‘Children don’t wear lipstick.’ Her expression softened. ‘Besides, you are too pretty to need any of that nonsense on your face.’
The question of what to wear to the ceilidh had been troubling Margaret. She had only brought one dress with her that might do, but it was navy and plain – not quite right for an evening’s entertainment. As for Elizabeth, she’d sprouted since coming to the islands. No doubt due to the fresh air and wholesome food she’d be having.
Dolina had left the room and when she came back she was carrying a length of Harris tweed in purples and pinks. ‘You can wear this as a stole,’ she said, thrusting the garment at Margaret.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful! Is it yours?’
‘Yes. But I have no longer any need of it. An old woman like me doesn’t need to dress up to go to a dance but a young woman like you should have something nice to wear.’
‘I couldn’t. It’s yours. You wear it!’
‘Are you coming to the dance, Dolina?’ Elizabeth asked, bouncing from foot to foot.
‘If I did, who will look after young James here?’
‘He can come too, can’t he, Mummy?’
‘He’s far too small to go dancing.’
‘I could bring him,’ Dolina said. ‘All the children will be there. We could stay for an hour or so, or until he gets sleepy, then I could take him home and put him to bed.’
‘You wouldn’t mind?’
Dolina cleared her throat. ‘I said I would help you, didn’t I?’
‘Thank you, Dolina. You are very good to us.’
Dolina made a noise in her throat that sounded as if she was holding back tears. ‘There’s no need to go all soft.’
‘In that case, thank you.’
‘So yes, Libby, I’m going to the dance.’ Dolina smiled and all at once Margaret could see that she must have been an exceptionally beautiful woman when she was younger. ‘And why not? Do you think these old pins can’t do a jig any more?’
Elizabeth flung her arms around Dolina’s legs. ‘You’re coming to the dance! Mummy, Dolina is coming to the dance.’
For a moment tears glistened in Dolina’s eyes. She blinked rapidly. ‘Who will look after you and James if I don’t? Make sure you’re wrapped up in bed all cosy when the time comes.’
‘Isn’t Mummy going to put me to bed?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘Mummy might be dancing. We wouldn’t want to spoil her fun now, would we?’ Margaret could have sworn she saw Dolina wink.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest but before she could, Dolina continued. ‘That reminds me, do you know how to dance the Scottish country dances?’
‘No.’ Elizabeth giggled. ‘Will you teach me?’
‘Of course, but first I have something for you too.’
‘For me?’
‘I couldn’t give your Mummy a present without giving you something too, could I? Now wait you here.’
Dolina disappeared off again.
‘Can you dance those dances, Mummy?’
‘I used to be able to. But it’s a long time since I danced.’
‘Dolina will teach you too.’
Margaret hid a smile. A more unlikely scenario she couldn’t imagine. ‘I hope so. Let’s have something to eat before we get ready.’
Dolina returned as they were washing up. ‘You should have left that for me.’
‘You have to get ready, too. And you still have to teach me to dance!’ Elizabeth said.
‘Silly me. Of course I do. She placed a brown paper package tied up in string on the table. ‘I would have wrapped it in fancy paper if I could have found some.’
‘Can I open it?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Yes. Let me help you with the string.’
A few moments later, Elizabeth pulled out a dress in colours similar to the stole Dolina had given Margaret. But where her wrap was made of rough Harris tweed, the dress was more like gossamer than wool. It must have been knitted with the tiniest needles.
Elizabeth held it to her. ‘It’s the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. Did you make this for me?’
‘I made it for a little girl just like you.’ Dolina welled up again. ‘She never got the chance to wear it, but I know she would have been happy for you to have it.’
Margaret swallowed a lump in her throat. Whoever that dress had been so lovingly and painstakingly made for must have meant a great deal to the older woman. It and the stole were clearly made to match.
‘Can I try it on?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Yes. After your bath. I’ve kettles on the stove and you can have your bath in front of it. Then you can put your dress on and I’ll show you a dance or two.’
‘I’ve got something for you too,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ She scarpered away.
‘Are you sure, Dolina?’ Margaret asked gently. ‘Are you sure you want Elizabeth to have that dress?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? There’s no one else it will fit so well.’
Before Margaret could say anything more, Elizabeth came running back. She held out her hand to Dolina and opened her fingers. Alasdair’s watch was lying in the palm of her hand. ‘Mummy gave me this so I wouldn’t be sad. I think you’re sadder than I ever was. And Mummy isn’t so sad any more either. It belonged to my Daddy. You put it against your ear when you are missing someone and it’s like listening to their heart. Go on. Try it.’
Margaret did her best to hide her dismay. Elizabeth was going to give Alasdair’s watch away – the only thing she had left of him!
Dolina took the watch and held it to her ear. As she listened to its tick-tock tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. ‘You would give me your daddy’s watch,’ she said. ‘I have never been given a present before. Never mind such a fine one as this.’
‘My daddy would be happy for you to have it,’ Elizabeth said.
Did her daughter realise that giving it away would be for keeps?
‘I can’t keep this,’ Dolina said, thrusting it back at Elizabeth. ‘It’s too precious.’
‘But you must! Otherwise I won’t keep the dress you gave me and I want to.’
‘Tell you what,’ Dolina whispered. ‘I’ll hold on to it for a little while. Just until I feel less sad. Then you can have it back.’
‘All right. Is it time for my bath?’
Dolina and Margaret shared a smile over the top of Elizabeth’s head. The older woman had managed the situation perfectly. Nevertheless, she brought the watch up to her ear one more time, listening intently before putting it safely in her pocket.
The town hall was thronged with people by the time they arrived. It seemed as if the whole of North Uist was here. There were certainly enough horses and carts. It had been one of the cold but clear winter days that had continued into the evening, and the sky sparkled as if studded with a thousand diamonds. A table had been set up along one side of the room and was groaning with food. The women of the island must have been baking and cooking for weeks.
Gone were the stout boots and wellingtons. In their place were little heels and best dresses. Even the men had been scrubbed to within an inch of their lives. Most were wearing suits – albeit like Margaret’s dress showing signs of age – and if they didn’t have a decent enough jacket, they wore newly knitted jumpers over clean shirts.
The children were there too. Some running about and bouncing with excitement, but mostly on their best behaviour. Margaret recognis
ed Chrissie, who was there with her baby wrapped in a shawl and the focus of much admiration.
As they walked towards the table where Sophie, Effie and their husbands were waiting, several people smiled and called out a greeting, patting Elizabeth on the head and taking James in their arms to exclaim over. Libby’s Gaelic was good enough already to answer simple questions and Margaret had learned enough to say ‘good evening’ and ‘I’m well, thank you. How are you?’
‘You look gorgeous,’ Effie said when they arrived finally at the table.
‘So do you,’ Margaret said truthfully.
‘Are you going to dance?’
Margaret smiled. ‘I doubt Libby is going to let me get away with sitting in a corner.’
She danced an eightsome reel and a strip the willow. The unaccustomed exercise made her breathless and hot.
Knowing her children were safe under the eagle eyes of Dolina, she went outside for some fresh air. She found a boulder and sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. The sky was clear, the stars shining as bright as diamonds on a bed of velvet. Was Alasdair thinking of her? Somehow she knew he was.
Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned to find Dr Alan standing there. She scrambled to her feet. ‘Is there an emergency? Do you need me to cover for you?’
‘No, my dear.’ He touched her on the shoulder. ‘I thought you’d want to know. Caroline passed away a short while ago.’
‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘The baby?’
He shook his head. ‘We did everything we could but we knew it would end this way.’
‘I wish I could have done more.’
‘You’re too hard on yourself, my dear. In the time you’ve been here, you’ve achieved a great deal. And because of you, Caroline didn’t die alone. Her parents and her husband were right there with her.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to let Sophie and George know. Will you be all right?’
Margaret couldn’t trust herself to speak so she simply nodded. Dr Alan was right. No one should die alone. At least Caroline hadn’t.
One by one the people she’d come to care for came outside to find her. First was Effie, who said nothing but sat down beside her and joined her looking up at the stars. Then came Elizabeth, who plonked herself in Margaret’s lap and leant against her. Hard on her daughter’s heels came Dolina, holding James on her hip. Moments later they were joined by Sophie, holding little Ruaridh. They all stood quietly. Even James was silent – his big eyes taking in the enormous sky.
‘Are you all right?’ Sophie asked after a while.
‘Of course she’s not all right,’ Dolina snapped. ‘She’s crying. No one cries when they’re all right.’
Margaret looked around at her new friends who had in a short space of time become more of a family to her than her own parents. Between them they held her heart in their gentle hands.
‘No, I’m not all right.’ She swallowed. ‘Not right now. But something tells me that one day I will be.’
A few days after the ceilidh Dr Alan left for Edinburgh to marry his bride. Margaret now had sole responsibility for all the patients on the island, but the prospect no longer held any fears for her. What did worry her was that there were just three weeks to go before Alasdair’s trial and still Firth hadn’t enough evidence to secure his release.
She had just helped Dolina put the children to bed when there was a loud banging on the door. She sighed. She was on call, which was why Dolina would be staying the night. Even when she wasn’t, Dolina appeared intent on spending every spare moment she could at Margaret’s cottage. She only hoped that when Dr Alan got married his new wife would keep Dolina on and not wish to employ someone younger.
When she was on call and Dolina was in the house, the older woman insisted on answering the door, telling Margaret she would soon dispense with any ‘time wasters’. Not that there were many of those. The islanders rarely called for the doctor unless they were really worried. In which case it was almost a certainty Margaret would be going out.
She checked her hair in the mirror, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. It was growing quickly and she should really take a pair of scissors to it.
The banging started again and Dolina’s heavy footsteps hurried to the door. She could hear her muttering as she passed. ‘Don’t folk know there are children in the house? They’ll be getting a piece of my mind.’
There was the sound of a man’s voice, one she thought she recognised.
‘This is no time to be calling on the doctor,’ Dolina was saying. ‘Not if there’s nothing wrong with you. She was about to get herself ready for bed. She needs her sleep.’
Margaret thought it best she rescued whichever poor soul was getting a tongue-lashing from her over-protective housekeeper.
‘Who is it, Dolina?’ she asked, walking into the kitchen. To her dismay, Dr Sinclair stood there, apparently unperturbed at Dolina’s hostile attitude.
‘Dr Sinclair! What can I do for you? If you’ve come to enquire about Caroline, I’m afraid she passed away a few days ago.’
‘Caroline?’ His brow furrowed.
‘The young pregnant woman with diabetes.’
‘Oh, her! No, that’s not why I’ve come to see you.’ He glanced over at Dolina. ‘Perhaps we could speak in private?’
A chill ran up her spine.
Dolina harrumphed but retreated, pulling the door behind her but, Margaret noticed, leaving it slightly open.
‘Do you have a patient you wish to consult me about?’ Margaret asked, still praying his visit was nothing more than a professional one.
‘Consult you about a patient?’
‘Yes, well, I can see no other reason for this visit.’ But she could. Oh God, she could.
Dr Sinclair sank into the chair beside the Rayburn and without asking permission, lit a cigarette. He exhaled slowly.
‘Dr Martha Murdoch? Eh?’
Her heart gave a sickening thump. ‘Excuse me?’
‘There is no need to pretend. I know exactly who you are.’ He leaned forward, his cigarette dangling between his long fingers. ‘You see, the last time we met I couldn’t get it out of my head that I’d seen your face before. I just couldn’t remember where. Last week I had to go to Glasgow for a meeting at the university and while I was there I thought I’d look through photographs of past graduates. And lo and behold! There you were. Sandwiched between the real Dr Murdoch and Dr Lillian Forsythe. Your hair was different, longer and blonder, but there was no doubt it was you.’
Feeling as if her legs were about to give way, Margaret hung onto the back of a kitchen chair for support. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, but I think you do, Dr Bannatyne.’ He leaned back in his chair and took another draw of his cigarette. ‘So I began to wonder. Why would Dr Bannatyne be pretending to be someone she wasn’t? Then it came back to me. The murder of the gang member. I only paid attention to that because they mentioned Alasdair Morrison’s wife was the daughter of Bannatyne the shipbuilder and had qualified as a doctor. Even then it crossed my mind you were bringing the profession into disrepute, but I soon forgot all about it.’
Margaret’s throat was so dry she couldn’t speak.
‘I decided to do a bit more investigating. I tried to locate the real Dr Murdoch. Didn’t take me too long to find that she was in India – had been there for years. But, funny this, there was no finding Dr Bannatyne. Or Dr Morrison if that’s what you called yourself. She had disappeared.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one. ‘And lo and behold she turns up on a remote Scottish island under a different name!’
There was no point in denying it. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Now let me see. How much trouble are you in?’ He held up his forefinger. ‘Firstly, you are impersonating another doctor – does she even know?’ Margaret shook her head. ‘Because if she does, she’ll be in all sorts of trouble herself. And what about the good Dr Alan? What about him?’ Margaret shook her head again. ‘Because if he did, h
e’d be in all sorts of trouble too. Now where was I?’
Margaret answered his question with a lift of her eyebrow.