In a minute.
Liz popped in to his mind. It was nice to spend some time with an actual human.
Then he thought about Martie. He really should reply to her text. His nonsense thought about the two kisses was just that: nonsense. She was his oldest friend. He missed her and he would benefit from having her in his life. He’d just have to accept the fact that friends were all they would ever be. His spirit wilted a little at the thought.
Still. He remembered all those days they spent walking, chatting, drinking coffee, going to the movies. Watching a film just wasn’t the same since they’d split up. He needed her there beside him to read the shorthand of his responses. It made watching movies more of a shared experience. Nobody could read his movie-induced snorts like she could.
And she’d absolutely love the TV room. She’d revel in the big, soft chairs, the giant lump of a TV.
There was no point in asking Liz to come back and watch a film. She was completely freaked out about the house. That was just not happening.
He should really turn out the light.
In a minute.
He turned onto his side, pulled his legs up in a foetal position and let out a long, slow breath.
The next thing he knew, he was walking in the garden and she was by his side, her hand in his, warm and as light as a bird. He must have said something funny because she was laughing, musical and soft. A sound that brought a lightness of spirit. Then they were in the tower room. He was in a chair and she was sitting at his feet, on the floor, her head on his knee. He ran his fingers through the satin of her hair.
Then they were on his bed. Fully clothed. She was at his back, lining the curve of his body with hers, the weight of her arm on his side, their hands clasped and at rest over his heart.
‘This is what you could have,’ she said, her lips brushing over the fine hairs on the curve of his ear. ‘For eternity.’ Then she was on top of him. Pinning him down onto the bed. ‘This is what you could have,’ she repeated.
He tried to see her face in the shadows of her hair, but could only see a strange light coming from her eyes. And her teeth.
She gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘But I can smell other women on you. Their perfume.’
He sensed her withdrawing from him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Please…’
They were on a lawn; he was standing in the sunlight. She was walking towards a row of tall trees at the far end. Before she reached them, she half turned, her right arm reaching out behind her and towards him, like an invitation. Come, hold me, it said. But his bare toes were curling into the lush grass, taking root in the light.
‘I’ll miss you, my love,’ she said just before she became one with the darkness in the border of the trees. ‘But … you’ve betrayed me. I can’t stay if you want others…’
Don’t go, he thought.
Then out loud. ‘Please don’t go.’
But she was gone, her leaving as final as the act of turning over the last page of a much-loved novel.
He fell to his knees. Her disappearance so brutal his legs couldn’t hold his weight. What is it? he asked himself. He recognised the feeling, that was for sure. The mass of it there on his chest, as black and as unforgiving as a lump of coal. As familiar to him as the Scottish outline on a map. He’d just never given it a name. Since his parents died he’d gone with the flow of just existing, knowing this weight was as much a part of his life as the need to breathe, but looking at it head on, giving it a name, was beyond his capacity.
Only now, in this moment, with her moving out of his sight into a dark farewell, could he name it. Possess it. Take the necessary collection of consonants and form that one mournful syllable.
Loss.
19
The doorbell rang. Wondering who it might be at this time of day, Ranald pushed his chair away from the desk and walked into the hall on bare feet.
Opening the door he was met by big smiles, which quickly transformed into barely concealed expressions of shock on the faces of Martie and Donna.
‘What are you both doing here?’ He stood with one hand on the door, the other in the pocket of his shorts.
‘Well ask us in, then, Ran,’ said Martie.
‘Nice to see you, too, son,’ said Donna. She looked at the front of his t-shirt and made a face. ‘I always change my t-shirts every two weeks, whether I need to or not.’
What was she talking about? ‘You don’t wear t-shirts. And since when did you two know each other?’
‘How about asking us in?’ asked Martie. ‘We’re getting a bit wet here.’
‘It’s raining?’ Ranald looked beyond her out into the drive and saw puddles among the slick shine on the pebbles. He stepped back. ‘Well, seeing as you’re here…’
Martie huffed. Donna silenced her with a warning look. Ranald tried – and failed – to work out what that meant.
He stepped back to allow them in. Martie passed him and walked into the hall with a small smile. Donna paused at the threshold, looked around as if suddenly unsure then crossed her arms as if bracing herself before stepping inside.
‘You okay?’ Ranald asked her.
She gave a little smile and a nod, before reaching out to touch his arm. ‘Great to see you, son.’
‘Come on through to the kitchen,’ he said wondering what had suddenly happened in Donna’s mind. ‘There’s a kettle and everything. Not sure there’s anything to go with it other than water.’ He gave a laugh that sounded false, even to him. What were these two doing here?
‘Your flat is still empty,’ said Donna in a slightly arch tone as they entered the kitchen. ‘Someone should sort that out. There was a lot of half-decent stuff in there, and some people might be able to make good use of most of it.’
Ranald nodded his agreement, and filed it to the back of his mind. He’d get to it eventually. He filled the kettle, switched it on and started rooting around for mugs, tea and coffee. Then he realised that all the mugs were in the dishwasher. He opened it to find that it was full of crockery – some of it clean and some of it dirty. He pulled out three mugs and rinsed them under cold water as he tried to work out how the clean and dirty thing had happened.
‘Must have added dirty dishes to a clean load,’ he said out loud.
‘What?’ Martie had a worried expression on her face.
Ranald felt the heat of a blush. ‘Sorry. You do that, don’t you, when you live on your own. Talk to yourself?’
Both women looked at each other, then at him, and at the same time said, ‘No.’
The kettle came to the boil, and while trying to recover some sort of equilibrium he made the drinks.
‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ Without waiting for a reply. ‘And how long have you two known each other?’
Donna was the first to reply, and as she spoke she was obviously attempting to gauge his state of mind. ‘Oh, not long after you moved in across the landing. I met Martie one evening when she was leaving. You know me.’ She smiled. ‘Mrs Busybody. There was a gorgeous woman leaving your flat. I had to know who she was.’
‘Then we connected through a friend of a friend on Facebook.’ Martie added.
‘But I still don’t understand what brought you two over here … together?’
‘My last text to you was three weeks ago, Ran,’ replied Martie. ‘No reply.’ She held her hands out, palms up, in a what’s-going-on? gesture.
‘We’re worried, son,’ added Donna softly.
Three weeks? That text from Martie had been three weeks ago? His mind presented an image of Liz leaving him outside the café; of him reading his phone. Three weeks had passed since then? He looked beyond through the window into the garden as if any changes in the trees would give him a clue about how much time had gone by. But there was no sign he could interpret. Three weeks would put them into August.
He looked from one woman to the other. Martie was wearing an expression that was four parts concern and six parts pissed-off.
Donna, despite her ever-present smile was also showing signs of worry.
‘Last I saw you, you were working on a bit of a tan,’ said Donna. ‘You look like you’ve turned into a vampire now.’
‘You could also do with a plate full of doughnuts,’ Martie said looking at his non-existent belly.
‘You know how I get when I’ve got a job on. Everything else fades,’ Ran replied.
The sudden appearance of these two women was giving him a strange sense of dislocation. Like two different worlds were being brought together. He took a deep breath in an attempt to adjust and felt like he was a diver returning to the surface from a long way down.
And then he thought of her and his longing. It was a coil in his jaw muscles. A hitch in his gut. It seasoned everything his mind touched. Since the night she accused him of betraying her, of thinking about other women, she had been absent. And not since his parents died had he felt an absence like that. He tried to fix his expression before it betrayed his thoughts, but he wasn’t quick enough for Donna.
‘I’ve seen that look before,’ she nodded slowly. ‘There’s been a woman. She dumped your scruffy arse and now you’re feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘What? No,’ Ran replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Martie tutted. ‘Of course.’ She looked at Donna. ‘You’re right.’ She reached across the table and patted Ranald’s arm. ‘Whoever she is, she’s not worth it.’
Ranald moved his arm out of her reach. ‘That wasn’t patronising in the least, Martie.’
But if anyone could read him it was these two. Feeling hot, he pushed his chair away from the table and crossed his legs.
‘That’s not it at all,’ he said. ‘Work’s just taken its toll on me these last few weeks.’
Donna sniffed the air sharply as if taking in a noxious smell. ‘What’s that?’ she said and looked at Martie. ‘I smell pants that are on fire.’
‘I smell bullshit,’ said Martie. The two women grinned at each other. Now that they could see Ranald was alive and functioning they were relaxing.
‘Christ, you two are like a double act.’
‘Dumb and dumber,’ said Martie.
‘Hinge and Brackett,’ said Donna.
Ranald enjoyed the good humour between them and felt a slight easing of his spirits. He stood up. ‘How about a tour of the place? Martie’s seen most of it, but you’ve not seen it at all, Donna.’
Donna got to her feet. ‘Thought you’d never suggest it.’ She walked over to him and studied his t-shirt. ‘That stain there looks like Brazil.’
Martie joined her. ‘And that one looks like a wee boat in profile.’
‘Maybe it’s some kind of sign? You’re going on a trip, Ran.’
‘Aye,’ said Martie. ‘Who needs tea leaves? This one – coffee? – looks like a shower head.’
‘Yup,’ agreed Donna. ‘I think there’s a wash in your immediate future.’
Ranald threw his hands up. ‘Right. Okay,’ he smiled, realising he hadn’t used those muscles too much recently. ‘A shower and a change. Then I’ll give you guys the tour.’
Sometime later, having walked through most of the house and gardens, they were back in the kitchen, nursing another coffee.
‘Well,’ said Donna as she sat back in her chair, ‘isn’t this something?’
‘Did you ever find out more about your great-uncle?’ Martie asked.
‘Not really. I found some notebooks full of quotes and stuff that must have meant something to him. And I came across some poems he wrote. But not much about the man himself.’
Martie leaned forwards, rested her chin on both palms and lightly drummed on her lips with her fingers. ‘This is great, eh? But he might have done more for you while he was still alive.’
‘All those years you were struggling…’ said Donna.
Ranald made a face. ‘I get it, though. I’d been brought up in a working-class home. All of this coming to me after my parents died? It might have gone to my head. Sent me off the rails.’
‘Aye, cos you’re totally together now, eh?’ Martie said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Donna fired a warning look at her. ‘Whatever his thinking was,’ she said to Ran, ‘he came good in the end.’ She raised her coffee mug. ‘Here’s to you, Great-Uncle Alexander.’
Ranald smiled at Donna.
Donna winked back, and looked around the room as if judging where it was in relation to the rest of the space she’d been walking through. ‘Is there more?’ she asked, sitting upright in her chair. ‘I could see a kind of tower thing when I was out in the garden. It would have been right above here.’ She looked at the ceiling.
‘Aye,’ said Ranald. ‘I keep forgetting about the other wing of the house.’
‘Get you,’ said Martie. ‘“Wing of the house.”’
They all laughed, the women both savouring Ranald’s good fortune, without the slightest suggestion of envy. For a moment Ranald felt blessed for having them in his life.
‘Don’t know why,’ he said. ‘But I’ve barely spent any time in that part of the house. The library, the kitchen and the pool are enough for me really.’
‘What’s above us, then?’ asked Donna.
‘The floor directly above us is where my grandmother had her rooms. The next floor up is old servants’ quarters. Above that is the tower room.’
‘Cool,’ Donna said. ‘Lead on Macduff.’
Both women stood, and Martie said to Donna, ‘There’s a lovely sitting room up there. Wait till you see it. The rest is a bit too grand for my tastes.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Ran. He rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. Perhaps because he had mostly been on his own, the ladies were too much for him. He didn’t want to be rude and tell them to leave, but perhaps a little break from them would help? ‘I’m done with the whole tour-guide thing. Martie knows the way. Why don’t you guys go for a look yourselves?’
They nodded at each other. ‘Sure,’ said Martie.
They left the room and Ranald walked to the kitchen window and stared out into the garden, probing his thoughts for a sense of her, like a tongue brushing against a chipped tooth.
Would she be jealous that these two women were here? There was no need. His relationship with both was platonic.
Might it drive her further away? For longer? He sent his thoughts to her: Missing you, he said. He felt the ache of it.
Nothing.
He groaned and leaned against the sink. Then he pushed himself away from it again. Enough, he told himself. Two of his favourite people were here, he should go and be with them. Feeling a surge of energy, he made his way through to the stairs that led to his grandmother’s rooms. Halfway up the stairs he heard low voices and became aware they were talking on the landing just ahead of him. He heard his name.
He stopped and pressed himself against the wall.
‘…I’m so worried about him, Donna.’
‘This has been a big adjustment for him, honey,’ Donna said. ‘He’ll come out of it fine.’
A pause, and he imagined Martie shaking her head. ‘I had to have him committed the last time he was like this.’ A sniff as if she was fighting back tears. ‘I can’t do that again. He hates me as it is.’
‘He doesn’t hate you, Martie. And it won’t come to that. Once he deals with all of this, the old Ranald McGhie will be back. Better than ever. You just wait and see.’
‘Did he ever tell you he was the one who found his parents?’
Silence. He hadn’t. And he imagined the look of shock on Donna’s face. Ranald crept up another couple of stairs so he could hear better.
‘Thing is, Ran just retreated from everything. He couldn’t handle it – and who could blame him? And there was no one else, so I had to help see to all the formalities. We’d only been going out for about six months and I was left with … this. I don’t know how I coped with it all.’
Ranald sagged against the wall, pinned there by the
immensity of his guilt. He really was a worthless excuse for a human being. How could he have left poor Martie to deal with all of that?
Another big black tick on the shame chart.
‘Fortunately, this lawyer guy turned up…’ Ranald perked up. ‘Said he was from his mother’s family and he would pay for the funerals and arrange to sort out all of their personal effects, so that was a huge help.’
What? Why didn’t he know this? Was she talking about Quinn?
‘He was a very old man,’ Martie continued. ‘Truth is I thought he was far too old to still be working as a lawyer.’ She paused. ‘And now that I think about it, with Ran looking so thin and with his hair like that … maybe the man I met wasn’t a lawyer at all. Maybe it was…’
Alexander? thought Ranald.
There was a long pause. And then Donna spoke, and Ranald could hear the tenderness in her voice.
‘Aww, honey, don’t upset yourself.’
‘It’s this house. Being here. It’s somehow bringing it all back.’
There were some shushing noises from Donna.
‘Then it all got a bit … murky. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. And of course I couldn’t say anything to Ran, he was in a mess…’
‘What happened?’
‘The old lawyer guy swore me to secrecy. Even tried to pay me off. I used the money he gave me to get a private therapist for Ranald…’
That’s how that happened. He’d gone to the doctor, prompted by Martie, but the doctor told him there was a six-month waiting list, at least, for that kind of service. And then suddenly, he had an appointment. Then followed years of sessions, sitting with a very large woman who kept pressing him, without success, to talk about his parents.
Why hadn’t Martie told him any of this?
‘This old guy must have had a lot of money, and a lot of powerful friends.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Oh, Jesus, I’ve held this in for all these years…’
For crying out loud, Martie, he wanted to shout, what was it? It was all he could do not to run up the stairs and force the words out of her.
House of Spines Page 14