The Thirteen Stones

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The Thirteen Stones Page 6

by Finegan, KT


  ‘It’s out of their hands now, all decisions like that are taken at the council’s regional headquarters, and they are probably thinking about safeguarding employment rather than a place of natural beauty and an old legend. Some people say that the councillors and planning department are receiving bribes –things like golfing trips and holidays –– from the owners of the mine,’ said Angel.

  ‘Surely that can’t be legal?’

  ‘Well, I suppose if they dress it up like fact-finding trips then no-one is the wiser! But we got lucky – or should I say, your gran knew one of the ladies who worked in planning at the local council offices. She told her everything, including that the permission would go through, the stones would be shifted, and even the names of the officials involved.’

  I felt sick. ‘Would that have put my gran in danger?’ Even as I whispered the words, I felt a cold chill and the lights flickered as if in response.

  I could see Angel was really worried, too. The temperature in the room had dropped, and she jumped up to put on another log. I also noticed that her body language had changed again, as if she was avoiding looking me in the eye.

  ‘How much was my gran involved in this? I’m sure she had something to say about it all, after all we have one of the March Stones on our property. We had the first stone, Gran said. The other twelve stones are around the town, and the last one, the thirteenth was about a mile from us, at the quarry. It used to be such fun seeing the entire town appearing all together as they inspected each stone to make sure they were in place. Our house and garden used to be crazy during the Marches, as we had to give refreshments. Granny used to be baking for a week beforehand.’

  At the mention again of my gran, Angel jumped up and made some comments about being tired and past her bed-time, and suggesting we could talk more in the morning.

  I had no choice but to agree, so I headed to her spare room. ‘Thanks again for having me, Angel,’ I said sincerely. ‘I hope I get a better sleep than last night.’

  ‘Goodnight, Kirsty,’ she said with a gentle smile. ‘Don’t worry. I have asked Archangel Michael to come in and watch you while you sleep, and the house is surrounded by angels keeping a watchful eye on us.’

  That made me smile, but also gave me some comfort.

  9

  Something worked for me. I slept soundly all night, the best in weeks; no strange dreams, sensations, sounds or feelings, and I woke up early to the sound of the church bells and the smell of baked scones. I pulled on my dressing gown and headed into the kitchen. Angel had already left to open up her business, and underneath a warm blueberry muffin there was a note to say she would be downstairs.

  I took my time showering, and trying to sort out my hair so I looked less wild woman, and more groomed than over the last few days. I popped the kettle on and had some tea and toast, sitting in front of breakfast television like it was a holiday.

  Although this was the most rested I’d felt in ages, my shoulders ached with tension, and I knew I couldn’t put off visiting Granny’s house. I found my mobile phone in the bottom of my handbag, still on silent from the service yesterday. I had some missed calls and texts from friends in London, so I replied to them to let everyone know I was okay. At least at that moment I felt okay, but the thought of going to the house was worrying me, and my jaw ached with tension.

  My phone pipped again with a text from Derek. I didn’t really want to read it, worried that it would be something horrible, but instead it said he was sorry. He said he had made a big mistake, and he loved me. I felt tears come into my eyes as I held it to my heart. I realised I wanted him to want me, but I didn’t know what I felt about him any more.

  The last few weeks apart had shown me that it had always been all about him. Not his fault or anything, but I hadn’t been true to myself. I’d always compromised, which meant I’d always yielded in an attempt to avoid conflict. Even when I’d left I hadn’t been honest about how I felt. I’d left quietly and easily like a mouse. No wonder I felt such shame and hadn’t wanted to tell my gran.

  I decided not to reply immediately. I really didn’t know what to say to him. Instead, I called Granny’s solicitor, Mr Douglas. He answered on the first ring, and we arranged for me to go down to his office right away. He had the will ready, and the keys to Granny’s house.

  A few minutes later I was out of the door, wrapped up warmly in coat, scarf and gloves, and ran down to let Angel know my plans. The sharp wind had died down from the night before, and the courtyard was still and silent as I hurried past the pyramid, down the passageway, and through the gate into the coffee shop. Angel was busy with customers, but waved me over to the counter and said she would be ready to go whenever I arrived back with the keys. I was so grateful that she remembered, as I had been dreading asking her.

  The solicitor’s office was at the bottom of the High Street. I headed downhill into a cold, damp, foggy morning, and noticed another little white moth fluttering away in front of me. So strange to see another one in the daylight; I’d never noticed that before.

  I was soon sitting across from Mr Douglas at his big mahogany desk. A very large painting of the local waterfall was on the wall behind his head, and I felt my eyes flicker back and forward between it and the solicitor. He had known me all my life, but I’d never sat in his office on my own before. I had no idea what age he was, as he’d always looked the same – tall, slim, and dressed formally in a pin-striped suit, with waistcoat, shirt and tie.

  Last time I had been here was with Gran; I might have been ten or eleven. I’ve no idea what it was about, lots of adult talk I suppose, then we had gone for ice creams at the Italian café across the road. It had closed down years ago. They made their ice cream on the premises. It was always a great treat to sit there with a bowl of vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce, eaten with the tiniest little spoon so that it lasted for ages.

  I suddenly realised that Mr Douglas had been speaking, and was now looking at me expectantly as his little speech came to an end. I apologised and told him how difficult I was finding it all, being back in the town, and everyone’s kindness.

  I suppose I knew or expected that everything had been left to me. With some bequests to local charities, the house and gardens were mine, and he thought there would be a sizeable inheritance once the estate was finally settled. He was waiting for some information on some stocks Granny had held, and then he handed me a big set of keys. To be more precise, he handed me a set of big keys. Big, old-fashioned keys for big, old-fashioned locks. I felt like a jailer as I pushed them to the bottom of my handbag.

  I suppose I had thought Gran would have left me a personal letter. The will was all official language and there didn’t seem to be anything of my grandmother in it. She might have taken care of all her affairs and organised her funeral, but I was still sure she hadn’t expected to pass away that particular night. If she had, surely she would have left me a note or called me or something.

  I tried to remember our last conversation and how normal it had been. I had been distracted, I remember. She had called me at work, which was really unusual, and I said I’d call her back. I felt sick as I realised that was the night before she died. She had wanted to talk to me. I felt tears again, and a feeling of shame. She had wanted to talk to me, but I hadn’t taken the time to talk to her.

  And here I was inheriting everything. I had to get out of the office and be on my own, so I shook the solicitor’s hand and thanked him again. As he walked me to the door, I asked him one final question.

  ‘Mr Douglas, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for making all the arrangements. And I forgot to ask… this probably sounds terrible, but who found Gran… after… she… you know?’

  I whispered and felt my voice give up. I couldn’t say the word ‘died’; it was too soon, too hard.

  Mr Douglas cleared his throat and seemed to look everywhere but at me, probably giving me a few minut
es to compose myself. He probably didn’t want me bawling my eyes out here in his outer office and doorway to the street.

  ‘Kirsty, I have to apologise. I thought you were told all this. Doctor McLeod found your gran, he’ll have all the details. You might want to talk to him. And your gran made all her own arrangements. She came in and saw me a week or so before she died, to tie up all the loose ends, as she said! I was surprised that she passed away so suddenly after that, but you know what she was like… with her visions and everything.’

  I was really surprised to hear Mr Douglas refer to Granny’s intuition. I supposed being a lawyer he would have probably have ignored that kind of thing. And was it really surprising that Gran wouldn’t have known that it was her time? It was so like her to organise things. But I hadn’t known she was ill. Why else would the doctor have come to her?

  I felt terrible. Granny had been ill and I hadn’t known. Shame and grief hit me in equal parts, and I left Mr Douglas quite abruptly, hoping he would understand. I headed back up the High Street towards Angel’s Cakes, sadness again settling on my aching shoulders. Perhaps Granny had called me that day to tell me she was ill and dying. What had I been doing that was so important that I hadn’t called her back? Work. And avoiding her because I was so embarrassed about Derek. I hadn’t wanted to tell her. No wonder I felt so bad. Guilt and shame, that’s what I felt, and sick to the stomach.

  As the tears filled my eyes, I heard someone call my name and saw Grizelle waving at me from the doorway of a shop on the other side of the road.

  Of course, that’s who she is! Suddenly I remembered where I knew her face from. She had the antiques shop, Serendipity, near The Three Keys. Not that it was the kind of shop I ever used to visit. It was crammed with stuff. The kind of place I got nervous in just in case I knocked over something valuable.

  Behind her, the shop looked dark and packed full with chairs, tea sets, rugs, lamps, a couple of grandfather clocks, a piano, and I could even see a stag’s head hanging on the wall.

  She seemed to know I was upset and tried to offer me tea, but I turned her down and explained what I planned to do with Angel. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I went inside her shop, all the collectables would become breakables. Funny how we hold onto childhood fears, I thought.

  I really didn’t want to talk about how I felt with anyone. I knew I had to keep busy. For me, that was the only way to get through life.

  Reluctantly, she let me go and I heard her calling after: ‘Take care. Sending you lots of love.’ There was something about that voice that still made me feel anxious, but I didn’t know why. I had a sense that I’d heard it somewhere before, a long time ago. Perhaps at Granny’s house? Was that it? Why couldn’t I remember?

  As I crossed the road towards the coffee shop, I saw James Jack the undertaker and his father, John, coming towards me. They were practically identical in their black-tailed suits and waistcoats, and tall hats. The street was too narrow to avoid them and I knew that Granny would have expected me to thank them for their service. I would also have to see the minister and the doctor, a little voice whispered in my ear.

  ‘Hi there, thanks for everything… You were so helpful,’ I said.

  The older man shook my hand, pressed my arm and said how sorry he was to lose Granny. ‘She was like a mother to me. Always so kind and caring to people. We’ll all miss her.’

  James interrupted, ‘And how amazing that she came in only a couple of days before and booked everything! I was really shocked when we got the call from Dr McLeod, wasn’t I, Dad? And you just said, “that would be unbelievable, except that we’re talking about Kirsten Wallace”, didn’t you, Dad?’

  I could hardly believe it myself.

  ‘Sorry, what? My gran came in and booked the funeral recently? I thought it was something she’d done ages ago with no definite date in mind…’ I sounded so feeble, so pathetic. Did it really matter? My gran did know it was her time, that was obvious. And she had been ill, yet I hadn’t known.

  The Jacks said how sorry they were again and, with another squeeze of consolation and sympathy on my arm, they were gone in the grey drizzle, cutting across the busy road to their premises.

  I felt pathetic by the time I reached Angel’s, and she insisted I have some food whilst she handed over to one of her staff members, a lovely looking young girl with fashionable, thick, black eyebrows, eyeliner, and pink spiked hair.

  I sat and flicked through a magazine and had lentil soup and a toasted cheese sandwich, and a couple of cups of tea. The food, time out, and angels around me, all worked their magic and I felt better more able to face going to the cottage. Or at least I had the physical strength to go, but my heart and head were somewhere else.

  If only I could stop these thoughts of regret, of sadness, guilt and shame. If only I had known what was going to happen. If only I’d known she was leaving me, how different things would have been. I could have told her how much she meant to me. I wondered if she knew that. If only I’d known, I would have come home sooner. What I would give to see her face, hear her voice one more time. To hold her in my arms and tell her I loved her. I felt so ashamed, and my eyes filled with tears of sadness.

  10

  Granny’s house sat on the other side of the graveyard from the church and the town. Her garden sloped very steeply down to the River Clyde below. The river started high in the hills behind her house, dropping hundreds of feet in three large waterfalls to the old mills across the river. We had occasional glimpses during winter when the dense woods on the opposite bank dropped their leaves. Sometimes, in a particularly cold spell, the waterfalls would ice up completely and there would be silence rather than the distant sound of rushing water.

  My heart was beating fast when we got out of Angel’s car, and I pushed open the squeaky iron gate in the low wall, hand-built from old stones by one of my ancestors. Although she had died only a week ago, the gardens and house had already taken on an abandoned look.

  Granny was born and died in this house, like her mother before her, and her mother before her, and so on. This house was part of my family, and I struggled with feelings of guilt and shame as I walked towards the door. It was a long time since I’d visited. Life in London kept me busy, and as much as I spoke to Gran often, it had been ages since I’d seen her. Not speaking to her on the night she died was a secret shame I couldn’t share. Maybe that’s why I was so unsettled, I thought. Old-fashioned guilt.

  As I walked through the garden, I realised that it was now mine, and I didn’t have a clue what I would do with the place. So many memories; some painful, some fun, and all with Gran. I caught a flutter of white wings at the corner of my vision and as I turned towards the moth to try to see it better, Angel again seemed to read my thoughts.

  ‘What do you think you want to do with the place?’ she asked.

  I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, misery settling over me.

  The house had originally been on one level – two rooms and a kitchen and bathroom downstairs, with an attic. The attic, over time, had then modelled into two bedrooms – one for me and one for my mum. I didn’t remember my dad ever living there; actually, I don’t remember him at all. I hardly remembered Mum living here.

  That’s strange, I thought, my memories are really only of me and Gran. She slept downstairs in a small bedroom at the back of the house. It sat in large grounds, with the graveyard in front, the woods and river at the back, and fields on either side. We had no neighbours, and I used to love that. But this time it felt isolated, and lonely. Or was feeling that coming from me?

  I used to love this place. The garden had been an adventure land to me and my school friends, full of trees and shrubs, places to hide, and trees to swing from. We’d had our own little stone bridge across a stream in the garden. Gran called it the ‘Roman Bridge’, as supposedly the Romans had set up a large camp nearby.

  And we ha
d one of the ancient March Stones as well, so every year we entertained the town as they marched round the perimeter stones. Granny called us the Guardians of the Stone, which always seemed overly dramatic to me. Our family name of Cairngeal was supposed to be Scottish Gaelic – the old language – for guardian. Funny how I hadn’t thought of that in years.

  We walked slowly up the gravel path, our feet crunching in time, aware of the echo off the white-washed walls. Close up, the cottage was in good condition, so I had no idea why I thought it looked abandoned. The white paintwork round the windows was fresh and crisp, the door red and glossy, the brasses glinting and polished. To the side of the house, the vegetable and herb garden, and plant pots with winter pansies all looked smart and well cared for, as if Granny had just stepped out for a moment. I saw two white butterflies meander in and out of the pots.

  ‘Do you see those?’ I asked Angel. ‘Are they moths or butterflies?’

  ‘I think it’s a sign,’ she said.

  ‘A sign? Of what?’

  ‘Spirit… soul… angels… It’s like when I see white feathers, I know the angels are around me.’

  ‘I don’t believe in signs,’ I said dismissively. ‘They must be special types of moths. You can’t get butterflies in the winter. It’s not possible.’

  We turned back towards the door and I realised that I wanted, no, I expected Gran to open the door, smiling and reaching out to hug me tight. The realisation that it would never ever happen again hurt deeply, as if for the first time. I swallowed, took in a long breath, and pulled the keys out of my bag. I‘d never had to unlock that door before. It had always been open, as if she knew I was coming.

  As that thought came into my head, Angel and I realised that the door was indeed lying slightly open, obviously unlocked. We looked at each other in surprise. For a moment I thought Gran was waiting for us, had heard us come up the path, and had left the door ajar, like she always did. That she wasn’t dead. That it had all been a mistake.

 

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