Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  “Yes, I love living here. It’s a far cry from the Highlands.”

  “Ah’ll bet. Ah don’t know if Ah mentioned oan the phone, bit we’ve goat a mutual acquaintance, you and me.”

  “No, you never mentioned it. In fact, you didn’t mention much, other than you were from a company called Blytheswood Investments Limited, but that you weren’t trying to sell me anything,” she replied.

  “Aye. Pat Broon? A colleague, Ah believe. Me and Pat go back a long way tae oor Toonheid days. Ah wis in the same class as her wee brother.”

  “Oh yes, I know Pat very well. She looked after me when I first moved to Glasgow from Dumbartonshire.”

  “Aye, it wis Pat that Ah goat yer telephone number fae. She sends her regards, by the way,” Donna said pleasantly, chuffed that she’d been able tae get her credentials sorted oot straight away.

  “Oh, right, you must be good friends then. We’re not supposed to share a colleague’s personnel details to patients or friends,” Angelina said, sounding at ease.

  “Aye and nae wonder, wae whit goes oan, oot there oan the streets these days. Us wummin hiv never hid it so bad. It’s terrible, when ye cannae even walk aboot the streets withoot fear ae being attacked, jist because ye happen tae be a wummin. Terrible, so it is.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It sounds as if you’ve maybe had a bad experience.”

  “Me?” Donna replied, sounding surprised, cackling. “Ach, it’ll take a lot mair than some ae they wee tickets running aboot oot there tae stoap somewan like me gaun aboot ma daily business, so it will.”

  “Anyway…”

  “Oh, right. Well then, Ah’ll jist get straight tae the point, will Ah? Fur your information, Ah’m the harbinger ae some good news fur ye, hen.”

  “Oh?”

  “Little Vestey’s Croft?”

  “Yes?”

  “Senga Jackson, who Ah believe his leased the property, alang wae her boyfriend, Johnboy Taylor…who’s an author, by the way…did ye know that?”

  “Senga never mentioned it, but I seem to remember Pat did.”

  “Anyway, Ah believe ye wrote Senga a wee letter enquiring if they’d like tae purchase the hoose, alang wae the land roond aboot it?”

  “Yes, but that was quite a while ago. I hadn’t heard back from Senga, so I wasn’t too sure if she’d received it.”

  “Well ye hiv noo, Angelina, hen. Ah’ve been instructed tae get in touch tae let ye know that they’d be delighted tae take ye up oan yer offer,” Donna beamed, sitting back in her seat, wondering if she should risk asking if it wis okay tae light up a fag.

  “Oh…I see,” Angelina said, a pained expression taking o’er her face.

  “Two ohs in as many seconds? In ma experience, that disnae bode well,” Donna said, gasping fur a fag noo.

  “I…I’m sorry, Donna. I think you’ve perhaps had a wasted journey out from the city centre. Little Vestey’s Croft has already been sold.”

  “Sold?” Donna croaked. “Bit…look, Ah don’t want tae be cheeky, hen, bit dae ye mind if Ah light up a wee fag?” she asked, trying tae collect her thoughts.

  “No, of course not,” Angelina replied, staunin up. “Let me find you an ashtray.”

  “When?” Donna asked, efter lighting up, taking a few wee puffs ae the fag holder.

  “I’ve just been back in touch with Galbraith’s, the land management company who contacted me. Here, you can read for yourself,” Angelina said, haudin o’er the letter fae Galbraith’s.

  “Three grand plus the legal costs?” Donna said, looking up fae the letter, taking another puff, a deeper wan this time. “That’s generous. Senga telt me that ye’d be prepared tae let it go fur two and a hauf. And ye’ve accepted the offer?”

  “Yes. It was too good to refuse. My landlord, Woodside Accommodation, asked if I would be interested in buying this place, which I am.”

  “Ah see,” Donna said, no being able tae hide her disappointment, as the tap deck ae another bus pulled up ootside the windae behind her, its brakes screeching.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  “Senga, can I have a word, please?” Ishbel MacKenzie asked her, sounding unusually nervous.

  “Oh, right. Ah wis actually hoping tae catch up wae ye masel before ye finished fur the day. So?” Senga replied, following Mrs Mixer intae the kitchen and leaning back against the sink, her erms crossed, conscious that she wis taking up a defensive posture.

  “I don’t quite know how to put this, but…I…I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’d stolen the old typewriter that’s been lying in the cupboard collecting dust.”

  “Really, Ishbel? So, why did ye no jist come and speak tae me first, before ye mentioned it tae yer nephew, PC MacKenzie?”

  “Oh, well…”

  “Or even tae Dr Innes? Efter aw, he’s the boss aboot here, ye know.”

  “Yes, I know. And you’re quite right…I should have.”

  “Look, Ishbel, Doctor Innes, Dolina and masel hid a meeting this morning...before ye came in. The three ae us think ye wur bang oot ae order, so we dae. This job is difficult enough withoot somewan like you meddling in things that hiv absolutely nothing tae dae wae ye.”

  “Oh, but my administrative responsibility is to…”

  “Carry oot the instructions ae the professional members ae staff in the surgery which includes answering the phone, typing letters, ensuring that they get posted, manning the reception and keeping the appointments diary up tae date. Ye’re no an admin…ye’re a part-time clerical typist. Ye don’t hiv budget responsibility fur anything in relation tae whit goes oan in the surgery here…”

  “But…”

  “Doctor Innes is planning tae hiv a wee word wae ye. If Ah wis you, Ah’d listen very carefully tae whit he his tae say. It took them years tae attract somewan as experienced and professional as me intae this post. So, ma advice tae you is tae dae yer job and let us dae oors. If ye’ve goat a problem or an issue, then either take it up wae Doctor Innes or come and talk tae me or Dolina. Fae whit Ah kin gather, there isnae many permanent jobs aboot here in Lochinver. If we cannae trust ye, them Ah’m sure there’s others oot there that we kin. Hiv Ah made masel clear?”

  “Oh right. I, er, yes, quite clear, Senga.”

  “Oh and by the way. It’s Nurse Jackson tae you.”

  “Oh, but…yes, sorry, er, Nurse Jackson,” the receptionist replied, looking as if she’d jist been slapped silly, scooting oot intae the corridor, back tae behind that reception desk ae hers, as Senga looked doon at her shaking hauns, her heart gaun like the clappers.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Johnboy stoapped typing and sat watching her. She’d been in cleaning mode since he’d cleared the breakfast dishes away.

  “Ah hope ye don’t mind,” she’d said, rather than asked, taking his ‘Dark Side Ae The Moon’ aff the turntable and replacing it wae Joni Mitchell’s ‘Blue’ album.

  It wis her favourite album. She wis noo staunin by the windae wae a bucket ae water at her feet, efter hivving taken doon the net curtains and slinging them in the washing machine. She’d come across a sheet ae paper, probably a letter and wis noo leaning, silhouetted like a dark shadow, side oan tae him. Mr Hopkins wis sitting oan the windae ledge below her, and like him, wis silently watching her. Her blonde hair wis tied up at the back, wae wan single strand hinging doon oan her face, as she focused on whit she wis reading. He wished he hid a camera. She wis absolutely stunning and it wis aw natural as well. She didnae need make-up tae attract attention. Whenever he’d been oot and aboot wae her, she’d turned heids. The pinny she wis wearing, which she’d wrap hersel intae when tackling hoosework, hid seemingly belonged tae that ma ae his. A couple ae days before they’d heided up north, her ma hid gied it tae her.

  “Poor Helen couldnae sort him oot while wearing it. Maybe you’ll hiv better luck,” she’d said tae Senga.

  Ann, Senga’s ma, hid borrowed a pinny fae his ma efter hers hid fallen apart. It hid only been a few days before
his ma hid drapped deid, the night ae her cooncil election up in Springburn, back in 1972. Watching Senga, he wondered if his ain da hid ever sat watching his ma, finding her sexually attractive, while she busied hersel aboot the hoose, cleaning, in her pinny. It wis a strange feeling hivving his ma’s presence aboot the place, even if it wis in the form ae wan ae her wee flower patterned pinnies that she’d regularly bought oot ae the Co-op oan Springburn Road. Senga always spoke aboot his ma in the present, as if she wis jist a phone call away. It always made him uncomfortable. Her and Pearl Campbell hid goat oan like a hoose oan fire wae his ma. Senga said that her ma, Ann, Pearl’s ma, Sharon, and his ain ma hid always speculated aboot which wan ae the two lassies wid end up marrying him. It always made him uncomfortable when Senga brought the subject ae his ma up, which thankfully wisnae very often. Despite Senga challenging him tae open up and speak aboot her, he still found it difficult. He knew fine well that there wis guilt in there, the way he’d treated her when he wis growing up, the polis never being away fae the door. That wis wan side ae it. The other side being that he never felt he could live up tae her expectations. Nooadays, it wid be called a love hate relationship, he supposed, wae a fine dollop ae fear oan his part thrown intae the mix. He hardly thought aboot his three sisters, Isabelle, Anne and Norma. That also applied tae his aulder brother Charlie, who lived in Jersey. He’d gone up by tae see his da a few times. The first time hid been a week or so efter the funeral, bit he’d been too pished in his grief fur him tae get any sense oot ae him. Despite wanting tae try and help at the time, he’d never felt qualified tae comfort or offer his da advice. There hid been a disconnect there, no jist wae his da, bit wae aw the family. He supposed that’s whit happened when somewan wis away in the jail, especially if they wur as young as him. By the time ae his twelfth birthday, his real family hid been The Mankys. Despite the best efforts ae his ma, there hid been nae competition. The streets hid been far mair attractive than the confines ae living under her rules at hame. The second time he’d nipped up tae see his da wis efter he’d moved intae his new hoose. He’d goat a move efter no being able tae live in the same hoose that she’d collapsed and died in. He’d been aff the drink and back tae work. The lassies hid been making sure he wis awright. The conversation hid been stiff. Whit could he hiv said that wid’ve redeemed him in the eyes ae his da? That he wis sorry, which he wis, that he’d caused so much grief tae the baith ae them as he wis growing up? His da hid never reproached him and it hid been clear that he wis fighting his ain demons.

  “Ah should’ve put ma fit doon,” he’d cursed. “If she hidnae stood in that bloody election, she’d still be wae me.”

  As he understood it, the haemorrhage in his ma’s brain hid been like a ticking time bomb, waiting tae go aff, election or no. Everywan knew fine well that the punch she’d received fae Thompson, the big sergeant fae the Toonheid, doon in Central, efter being lifted during the warrant sale stramash at the tap ae John Street back in 1965, hid been the cause. Efter that punch, she’d been getting headaches aff and oan o’er the years, right up until she died. The fact that she’d refused tae go tae the doctor aboot the headaches wis another bugbear fur that da ae his.

  “Ah should’ve dragged her up there tae see him masel,” he’d cursed, still in a state ae shock, grief and bewilderment.

  Despite whit Senga believed, he hid come tae terms wae his ma’s death. Obviously no in the way she believed, by talking aboot it, expressing his inner feelings…making himsel miserable. The guilt wis still there, probably always wid be, bit he wisnae crippled by it. Whitever she wis, angel tae some and mega pain in the arse tae others, his ma hid never been wan tae allow life tae take her doon tae a point where she wallowed in it. While she’d never suffered fools gladly, she’d always searched fur the good in people, believing that while she wis always right, her tormentors wur jist misplaced souls who probably didnae know any better. She hid always managed tae come up wae an excuse fur the behaviour ae the polis or sheriff officers, efter they’d ladled intae the wummin doon at the closemooths during a warrant sale. Senga hid pointed oot tae him that that wis whit hid made her special. She never took it personally and could never understaun why the people she wis up against did. The last time she’d brought up the subject ae his relationship wae his ma, he’d nipped the conversation in the bud before she’d managed tae get up steam. He couldnae help himsel. They’d jist hid a lovely meal and hid heided across tae the cliff overlooking Vestey’s Bay. She’d arrived hame wae a couple ae bottles ae Van Dyke’s expensive petrol. They’d taken the second bottle ae wine wae them and hid sat, passing it between themsels efter furgetting tae take glasses wae them. It hid been sunset and the water hid been like a sheet ae glass. They could’ve been oan a desert island. They’d sat in silence, watching the cat make his way doon the slope tae the beach, failing miserably tae catch any ae the oyster catchers, efter taking ages tae creep up oan them, when she’d started.

  “Ach, no that auld tune again,” he’d girned, passing the bottle back tae her.

  “Ye know, she wid’ve been so proud ae ye,” she’d said, taking a wee skoof.

  “Okay. Here’s wan fur ye. You and Pearl. Which wan ae youse, if given the choice, wid that ma ae mine hiv chosen tae end up sitting here wae me?” he’d asked her, aw innocent sounding, trying no tae piss himsel laughing.

  She’d been sitting wae her heid oan his shoulder, him wae his erm roond her waist. He’d felt her body stiffen, before she’d snatched her heid aff his shoulder and turned roond tae look at him.

  “Eh?”

  “Ye heard me.”

  “Johnboy, Ah cannae believe you. Whit kind ae question is that tae hit me wae?” she’d replied, totally thrown, sounding confused, as he couldnae help himsel and burst oot laughing.

  “Well?”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Ah’m no. C’mone, whit dae ye think?”

  She’d sat watching the cat, her knees drawn up tae her chest, wae her chin sitting oan them, pondering, twiddling the shoelaces ae her trainers wae her fingers. Efter a long minute or two, she’d turned and gied him a dirty look, as he’d laughed, taking the bottle ae wine fae her.

  “Ah don’t know,” she’d admitted.

  “Aye, ye dae.”

  “Look, whit kind ae weirdo wid ask his girlfriend something like that? That’s sick, so it is.”

  “You’re the wan that keeps bringing her up in conversation. Ye obviously must hiv some idea,” he’d hit her wae, as she’d sat there squirming.

  Silence.

  “Okay, so who dae you think she’d hiv chosen?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better ae her.

  “Hoi, don’t turn the question back oan me.”

  He never did get an answer, which he’d never expected anyway. Two best pals, fancying the same boy, bit no fully confiding in each other aboot their true feelings…at least oan Senga’s side. He’d never fancied Pearl Campbell as they wur growing up, despite whit Senga believed. In fact, fur some strange reason he hidnae been aware that she fancied him as they wur growing up. The problem wis that while Pearl hid confided in Senga, Senga hidnae shared her feelings towards him wae Pearl. Pretty weird when he thought aboot it. She’d said that by the time she’d built hersel up tae tell Pearl how she felt, it hid been too late. Pearl wis in too deep emotionally and Senga hidnae wanted tae upset her best pal, so hid kept quiet. Unfortunately, Pearl’s feelings hidnae gone away and hid been like an emotional anchor roond Senga’s neck right up intae her mid-teens. He often wondered whit Senga saw in him…whit the attraction wis. They goat oan great, bit despite his best efforts, she never seemed tae fully trust him a hunner percent. Wis that the attraction? As she’d admitted hersel, there wis never a dull moment when he wis oan the go. While he’d laughed, he knew whit she meant. Fuck. How wis he gonnae break it tae her that she wis noo the proud owner ae Little Vestey’s Croft?

  “Drat!” she cursed, breaking intae his thoughts.

  “Whit?”

 
“Ah furgoat tae use the baking soda,” she replied, waving the piece ae paper at him.

  “Ah’m sorry, Senga. Ah hivnae a bloody clue whit ye’re oan aboot.”

  “Ma scones? Nae wonder they looked like pancakes. Ah knew Ah’d furgoatten something. Everywan doon at the WRI last night laughed when Ah telt them they wur scones.”

  “Scones? Is that whit they wur?”

  “See?”

  “Ah’m only joking. They wur delish, so they wur.”

  “Johnboy, don’t sit there and lie. They wur horrible, so they wur. Even Mr Hopkins turned his nose up at the bit ye gied him and he’d eat anything. Right. That’s it.”

  “Whit?”

  “Kin you wash the windae…inside and oot?” she asked, unwrapping the pinny.

  “Me? Bit Ah’m writing.”

  “Look, Johnboy, this is a crisis ae mega-proportions, so it is. Ah hiv tae nip doon tae the Spar tae see if they’ve goat some baking soda.”

  “Eh?”

  “There’s no way they scones ae mine ur gaun intae that competition, doon in the hall the morra, withoot baking soda in them. Ah’ll never live it doon if that Dolina wan walks away wae a rosette…even worse, Ishbel MacKenzie. Seemingly, she came third last year.”

  “Ur you bloody bonkers? Kin ye no see Ah’m writing ma bestseller?”

  “And remember tae use scrunched up newspaper oan the glass efter ye wash it, or it’ll end up full ae streaks,” she reminded him, dashing oot tae the car.

  “That’s your fault, ya wee diddy, ye,” he growled at the cat. “No eating that bit ae rubber scone.”

  Chapter Forty

  The cat sprung aff the erm ae the chair, a millisecond before the front door nearly came aff its hinges wae the thumping oan it.

  “Flintlock…er, nice tae see ye,” Johnboy said, as the fight between Blackie the collie and Mr Hopkins erupted at their feet.