*
The next day Tom woke in his narrow bed, his head throbbing. It had been a fine night back at the house and all his new-found relatives had taken him into their arms and their hearts. It was tempting to stay here in the warmth of family, but he knew he had to go – and quickly. The longer he stayed here, the more he began to feel a sense of belonging that he could never remember feeling before. He packed his things into his bag and went down to where Mary Agnes was standing in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. He ate quickly and threw his bags into the boot of the car.
Mary Agnes held him close and he could sense rather than see tears in her eyes. ‘Haste ye back’, she whispered.
‘I’ll come again, Mary Agnes.’ As he said it, he hoped that it was true.
Chapter 8
Sarah paced around her front room, a duster in her hand, wiping the furniture in a random fashion. As she turned to the coffee table, she saw the manila folder with HJ Kidd’s material. Rory was never around much, but he was at home even less than usual at the moment. He seemed obsessed with the Kidd programme, poring over the material the poet had given him. He was especially delighted with the handwritten comic ‘The Blue Moon’ (because that’s how often it appears) which HJ had written with his older sister Antonia. Sarah picked it out of the folder. Between crayoned adverts and family news items was a poem called Tibby the Cat.
Tibby tiptoes across the carpet
White socks on each paw
Whiskers like wires
Eyes like marbles
I love you Tibby
Come and sit on my knee.
By Horatio J. Kidd
Sarah smiled. So his name was Horatio. Now she knew why he was always known as HJ.
There was a yellow post-it note attached to the comic. On it Rory had written in his surprisingly beautiful handwriting First of the animal poems? A link to the metaphorical language of later works?
‘Have you got that folder from HJ?’
Sarah started at the sound of Rory’s voice. She hadn’t heard him come in. She looked up and saw Rory standing in front of her.
‘Yes, I’ve been looking at ‘The Blue Moon’. That’s a lovely starting point for the programme.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ He sat down on the arm of the sofa. ‘I’m so glad to get out of the studio. My guests tomorrow are that body-waxed apology for a footballer, Greg Muldoon and his anorexic WAG. He’s written,’ he signified quotation marks, ‘an autobiography and I’m supposed to promote his book – oh sorry, question him about his fascinating life. I’ve got that dim new researcher girl to read the drivel and write up a few questions. All he’s famous for is dating a few talentless models or members of girl bands. Oh yes, and his exciting collection of tattoos.’
Sarah smiled. She liked it when Rory had his rants, as he called them. She was pleased if he could use her as a safety valve when pressures at work built up.
‘These modern day so-called sportsmen are just not like the real footballers we used to have – like Donald Ford, for example. A genius and a gentleman.’ He gave an ironic smile. ‘Well, unfortunately he played for the Jam Tarts, but you can’t hold that against him forever.’ Rory picked up the folder. ‘I just want to get on with this programme. We’ve got a great provisional title – Kidd down with the Kids.’
Sarah smiled, ‘It’s wonderful to see you so enthusiastic.’
‘I have to be, because the programme planners aren’t that keen. They don’t see poetry as a great hook, so I have to get another angle to sex it up a bit.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Anyway, I’m just going to see HJ’s sister, Antonia – or Lady Moncrieff as she is now. A widow, I think. She lives not far from here, in Ann Street.’
‘Great if you can get some of HJ’s family to contribute.’
‘Yes, I think the family’s a great angle. Actually the idiot researcher was supposed to make an appointment, but she couldn’t pin Antonia down to a time, so I’ll just pop round and dazzle her with my boyish charm.’
Rory jolted as if something had just occurred to him. He took the folder, patted Sarah on the top of her head, and was making for the door when the phone rang. Rory picked it up as he was passing. Patsy’s high-pitched voice squawked at the other end of the line.
Rory turned on his charm. ‘Yes, I saw the photo. It was great, well done you!’ He kept walking as Patsy said something else and then he replied. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just going out. Work, you know – no rest for the wicked. But Sarah’s here – she’s not doing anything, so just pop round.’
Sarah grimaced and indicated wildly to Rory that this was the last thing she wanted, but it was too late. Rory put the phone down. ‘Patsy’s just coming round. She’s a good kid. It’ll be good for you – you spend far too much time by yourself.’ Without waiting for Sarah to reply he continued into the hall and the door slammed behind him.
Sarah groaned. Patsy was good-hearted, but Sarah wasn’t sure why she was so keen to be her friend – because of her sparkling personality or because she was married to Rory?
Moments later the door-bell rang and Sarah heard Patsy’s voice on the other end of the intercom and then her heels clicking up the stairs. She arrived, panting and clutching a bottle of Pinot Grigio. ‘I’ve just taken it out of the fridge, so it’s cold.’
She stopped and looked round. ‘Wow, this flat is lovely. Such high ceilings and all those lovely original features. Could I just have a little nose round? Gavin and I have a few properties so I’m always interested in seeing other people’s houses.’
Sarah mentally checked that all the beds were made and then showed Patsy the rooms. She was effusive in her praise. ‘Lovely, lovely Georgian rooms, so much character – and in such a great location, too. You’re so lucky!’
Sarah nodded and got two glasses and some olives from the kitchen before leading Patsy through to the drawing room.
Patsy raised her glass. ‘Well, cheers. It’s really nice that we can have a drink together like this.’ She took an olive. ‘We didn’t really get a chance to talk the other day because of that horrid news about the murderer, so I thought it would be a good idea to have a catch up now.’
Sarah sighed. ‘It was so awful. I can’t stop thinking about it and wondering who could have done it, if it wasn’t Logan Baird.’
‘We don’t want to talk about that now. It was terrible but it’s such a long time ago and, as Captain Kidd said, they’ll probably find out that it was one of those serial killers. Anyway, we don’t have to worry. It’s not as if we have a murderer in our midst.’
Sarah shuddered. The killer had thought he was safe for all these years. What might happen now the case had been reopened?
Patsy was oblivious to her mood. ‘Let’s talk about something more interesting. I still go out with some of the girls from the class sometimes. We have such a laugh and it’s always nice to catch up on a bit of gossip. Wasn’t the reunion great?’
‘Great,’ Sarah said weakly and took a gulp from her wine glass.
Patsy leant over confidentially. ‘But someone, I won’t say who, made a pass at me at the end of the evening. The cheek of it!’ Her small face twisted with disapproval. ‘Everyone knows I’m married, and Gavin had just arrived to pick me up.’
Sarah thought of Patsy’s slight, sandy-haired husband. He always seemed to be delighted just to fetch and carry for his vivacious wife, happy to stay in the background and gaze at her with total devotion.
Patsy continued in an affronted tone. ‘I do flirt sometimes but I’ve never been unfaithful to Gavin. He understands there’s a line I would never cross. But I think a few things do happen at these reunions,’ she gave a sly smile. ‘Some of the girls were wondering what happened between you and the lovely Tom.’
Sarah felt herself blushing. ‘Absolutely nothing. I just gave him a lift home.’
‘He is rather dishy though, isn’t he? So attractive and so mysterious. I wonder why he never got married? It’s a bit funny him coming back to Scotland after a
ll these years. Did he say why?’
Sarah was going to mention Tom scattering his mother’s ashes but then stopped. She didn’t want Tom’s plans to be Patsy’s next hot topic of gossip. ‘Not really.’
‘And what about Jennie? She left with Rory, didn’t she?’
‘You know what Rory’s like. Can’t bear to see a damsel in distress. He took her back to her hotel.’
‘It must be difficult sometimes, being married to someone as attractive as Rory, isn’t it? I mean he must have loads of women after him.’ Patsy gave Sarah an encouraging smile.
Sarah drew back in her chair; she was used to women fishing for information about Rory, usually more subtly than Patsy. ‘Of course, he does have to meet a lot of women, but that’s part of the job.’
Patsy reached over and patted her hand. ‘You know, it’s nice we’re friends. It’s important to have someone to chat to, share things with.’ She shot Sarah another encouraging glance. ‘If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, you know, about men and things, I’m always just a phonecall away.’
‘That’s nice of you,’ Sarah replied. She knew a lot of people, women especially, couldn’t understand their relationship, but Rory had chosen to be with her, and had stayed with her for nearly thirty years. She looked around for a way to change the subject. ‘You know, I don’t think I know what it is you do, apart from organising reunions that is.’
‘I don’t really do anything, now. I was Gavin’s PA, but now we’re married he says we shouldn’t work together. I do help a bit with our property portfolio, which is why I was so interested in your lovely flat. We’ve got over forty flats now, but that’s just a hobby really, separate from Gavin’s main business.’
So that’s where the money comes from. I wonder what attracted Patsy to millionaire Gavin? Sarah thought, and felt ashamed of her bitchiness.
‘What do you do, Sarah? Apart from looking after Rory, that is,’ Patsy giggled.
‘When the twins were at home, looking after them did take up all my time.’ Sarah smiled; she’d loved that time, looking after the house, doing activities with the twins, making a home for her family. But now the twins had left, and Rory was always so busy. ‘Now I work part-time in an office. Not very interesting.’
Patsy carried on brightly. ‘Perhaps we could do something together one evening? I belong to White’s Health Club. Would you like to come along as a guest sometime? They have super trainers and the Zumba class is amazing.’ She simpered and leant forward. ‘You know, I’ve got so flexible since I started Zumba, we’ve managed positions we haven’t tried for years – Gavin loves it.’
Sarah tried to block the unwelcome image of Gavin and Patsy in unusual positions and wondered how she was going to get rid of her. She looked at her watch. ‘Oh is that the time?’ Her voice sounded hollow and unconvincing, even to her. ‘I’m sorry, Patsy, I’ve promised to give my mother a lift to the Bridge Club. I didn’t realise that it was so late already.’
She stood up and passed Patsy her coat, ignoring the look of disappointment on her face as she opened the door. ‘I’m sorry it’s been so rushed, but you know how it is with mothers.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks for the wine.’
She closed the door. She knew she was being rude, and, although the thought depressed her, Patsy was the nearest thing she had to a friend. But she didn’t want to get too close to anyone, didn’t want to have to explain her relationship with Rory. She wanted to keep up the façade of the perfect family life and didn’t want to have to explain why she would always stay with Rory.
*
The front door slammed and Rory stamped in. ‘Stupid woman!’ Sarah looked up from her book.
‘Kidd’s sister is impossible!’
‘In what way?’
‘You’d think that she’d be pleased to be the sister of Scotland’s greatest living poet, but no. She wouldn’t even discuss him. Said she couldn’t remember anything about ‘The Blue Moon’ comic – and refuses to have anything to do with the television programme. Said she hasn’t spoken to her brother for over forty years.’
‘She must be getting on a bit now, so perhaps she really can’t remember.’ Sarah tried to be conciliatory; things must be bad, because Rory never usually admitted defeat in anything.
‘Bollocks. She’s only about sixty-five – and I must say, a damn fine-looking woman for her age. Of course, she can remember and she’d be great on television. A great character and a real looker.’
So that’s it, thought Sarah, a woman who didn’t succumb to his charms. No wonder Rory was so furious. She laid her book down. ‘Perhaps there was a falling-out. HJ doesn’t seem to fit the mould of the rest of his family.’
‘You’re right there. They’re all law lords apart from him. And Antonia, Lady Moncrieff, must be rolling in it – that house in Ann Street’s worth millions.’
‘Perhaps he’s a black sheep of the family? Maybe they think he should have done something more prestigious than be a teacher in a comprehensive?’
Rory stood up straight and gathered his folders together. ‘You’re right. I think there is something behind this. And I’m going to find out what it is.’
He turned round and went out again, the door crashing behind him. Sultan climbed onto Sarah’s knee and Sarah stroked him behind the ears in the way she knew he loved. The house was peaceful again.
She took out her mobile phone and looked at it, for perhaps the thousandth time since Tom had left. She knew Tom had her number. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Why didn’t he send a message?
Part 5
The kitchen at Shona’s. A sink unit in front of the sash window looking out over the Forth. Dishes hidden on shelves behind red gingham curtains. The smell of mince cooking on the range. Mrs McIver is stirring with a wooden spoon, wearing her long pinny with a ruff up the sides. She is asking us about school and the teachers in her melodic Hebridean tones.
Then a crash at the door and Mr McIver, red-faced, dark hair tousled, stumbles in. Everyone freezes. He lurches towards his wife, knocking over a chair. Shona grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room. I see Mrs McIver shrinking back over the formica kitchen units as her husband puts his red face close to hers. The door closing muffles his roaring curses. Shona and I stand outside the door, not daring to look at each other. Tom appears beside us and gently puts his arms round our shoulders, leading us to the front room.
Chapter 9
Tom drove along the straight empty roads to the north. There wasn’t a ferry due at Lochboisdale so there was little traffic. As he approached the more mountainous skyline of Harris he realised that he was just driving, not knowing where he was going. He hadn’t been in contact with any of his father’s relatives for years. The only thing he knew was that his father had lived in Nigg so he was going there and hoped he’d find someone related to him.
As he drove through Lewis, the landscape became flatter and bleaker. He saw the circle of standing stones at Callanisch, gaunt against the skies, with dark clouds shot through by shafts of silver sunlight. Driving towards Nigg, slightly lower but still exposed to the unrelenting wind on the barren treeless landscape, Tom hoped he’d find a pub with a roaring fire where he could chat to the locals at the bar while sipping a welcome pint. But when he arrived the streets were empty and lifeless, reminding him of a town in a film he’d once seen, where all the inhabitants had been spirited away by aliens.
Beside the road he saw a bungalow with a sign Nigg B&B and vacancies. He was tired, had to stay somewhere, so he went in. Terry and Maureen, the proprietors, were very welcoming. The room was comfortable, but they couldn’t help him with his quest because they’d only recently moved up from Coventry and didn’t know many locals.
The next morning Tom walked to the local shop, which doubled as a post office, and, Tom was sure, the hub of all local knowledge. A shiny round face peered from between stacks of tins of beans, cereals, washing powder and shoe polish, everything that villagers might need.
‘
Nearly everyone here is called McIver,’ the shopkeeper said with her sing-song lilt, in response to Tom’s question.
‘My father was called Kenny, he joined the Merchant Navy.’
‘So many of the young boys did then. If they couldn’t go to the university, that was the only thing to do. The fishing was not enough to support all the sons.’ She paused. ‘Kenny, did you say? Went to Edinburgh and never came back to the island?’
Tom felt a surge of excitement. ‘Yes, that’s the one. He was my father. Do any of his relatives live nearby?’
The round face hesitated. ‘It’s a long time he’s been away from the island. I’m no sure.’
Tom sensed she was holding something back. ‘We never used to come here as children. I know there must have been something of a falling-out.’
The shopkeeper removed her round glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘Mary McIver at the church may know. But I’m not sure she’ll want to talk. Those were hard times.’ She paused. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’ Her head withdrew behind the piles of tins and Tom knew there was no use asking anything else.
He drove the hire car over the flat, bleak landscape. The clouds travelled quickly over the huge skies but there were few trees or landmarks until Tom saw an enormous church dominating the landscape. A thin woman in a faded dress was sweeping the doorstep.
He approached her slowly and coughed. She raised her head and stared at him. Her eyes were deep-set in her care-worn face.
‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Mary McIver.’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘I’m Tom McIver and I’m looking for relatives of my father, Kenny. He joined the Merchant Navy. I think he came from round here.’
‘There’s many that came from here and are long gone.’ A cold wind swirled round Tom. The woman turned away and continued vigorous sweeping.
Sewing the Shadows Together Page 7