‘Utter crap.’ There was a ringing in Ranald’s ears. The world had narrowed to the pounding of his heart and Marcus’s mouth. ‘Lies. All lies, you arsehole.’
‘My father told me all about it on my twenty-first birthday. How’s that for a loving parent, eh?’ He stepped away from Ranald and sat in his usual spot, as if pleased to have told Ranald the story of his inception. His posture perfectly displayed his attitude. If he couldn’t get Ranald to change his views, by God he would spoil his peace of mind. Marcus rested his right foot on his left knee, back in control now that he had spat out all of his bile. ‘We could be brothers as well as cousins. How messed up is that?’
Ranald opened his mouth to speak. To shout. To deny. His mother and Marcus’s father? He could see the taunt in Marcus’s eyes. Even he didn’t believe they were really brothers. It was just a provocation. Something to set him off balance.
He turned away, closing his eyes. Remembering his parents, how they’d interacted with each other. On her good days, there was no one who could match Gordon McGhie in his mother’s eyes. Once she had left that house – this house – all she cared about was his father. More even than him, her own child, Ranald realised with a lurch and a grip of disappointment.
And his father shared that love. He would have made any bargain to keep her. Life without her would have been an inconsolable ruin. He would have opened a vein for her, of that Ranald was certain.
But, knowing all of that, she had beaten him to that final, irrevocable blow.
With a half-walk and a half-run Ranald made his way down to the Cross, wearing only his shirt, hunkered against the rain and the cold. He stood at the intersection under the watchful eye of the war memorial and watched the traffic flow as the lights changed. People. People in cars. This was life. Real life. People doing things in the here and now. Actions that were not debatable. This was visible. Verifiable.
How he envied each and every one of them. What he would give to be able to just do the simple things, engage in life, without this unceasing, accusing monologue going on in his head. Everyone else knew what they were doing, where they were going and why it mattered.
At the traffic lights, on automatic, he reached out to press the button that would make it switch to pedestrian mode. As he lifted his hand up he saw that his right wrist had a huge slash across it and his hand was coated in thick blood. Part of him shrank back in horror, another part wondered if it really should have the consistency of treacle. He held his left hand out to see a similar wound and a spouting of blood.
Had he managed to kill himself? Was he dead?
Would anyone care?
The lights changed. People walked past him to cross the road, but he stood there, unable to move, studying his hands.
He looked up and away, blinking, heart a furious bluster in his chest. No, this can’t be happening. Then he looked back down to see his skin was an unblemished healthy pink.
Distracted, and without realising he had sent the command to his brain, he stepped out into the road.
The van swerved. The horn blared. A hand with finger extended and a loud voice shot out of the window: ‘Wanker. Watch where you’re going.’
Ranald staggered back onto the kerb, his hand to his heart, adrenaline sparking all over his body. He forced a breath.
‘Ranald?’ He heard. A female voice. ‘My God. What are you doing?’
It was Liz, her face long and pale with shock. ‘Did you just deliberately step—’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he interrupted her. ‘I was just in a wee dwam.’
‘I’ve been in plenty of daydreams, Ranald, but I’ve never stepped in front of a van. Good job he managed to swerve out of your way or you’d be spread all over the road.’
Ranald looked down the street. The van was long gone and he felt a crush of disappointment that the van driver had been paying attention. Then all of this would have been over. No more of this constant distracting chatter in his head. And how could that not be a good thing? He would be doing everyone a favour. No more Ranald McGhie to worry about.
‘You’re soaking,’ she said, touching his shoulder. ‘You sure you’re okay?’
Ranald tried to smile. ‘Not got your man’s tea to make tonight?’
He walked away, judging the traffic with more care this time, and crossed the road safely. He didn’t bother to check whether Liz was following him, but thought that his rudeness must have scared her off. Which was just fine by him.
By the time he arrived at the café, however, he wanted to go back and apologise to Liz. There had been no need to have a go at her. She was just trying to be a friend. Before he pushed open the door he paused and looked back down the road. Liz was nowhere to be seen.
He walked inside and took a seat.
‘Usual?’ the waitress shouted over.
‘Please,’ he replied, then sat back in his chair and looked around the room. It was busy this morning and everyone was staring at him. Probably thinking, there’s another of the Fitzpatricks losing their shit. To hell with them. He adjusted the wet material of his shirt, pulling it away from his shoulders.
There was a familiar face at one of the window seats. Suzy looked up as if aware of his attention. Without acknowledging him she went back to her book.
Somebody else he’d pissed off.
His coffee was delivered. He nodded his thanks and took a sip. An old man on the table across from him was reading a newspaper. One of the sections lay on the edge of the table, as if it was no longer needed.
‘Mind if I…’ Ranald pointed at the paper.
‘Aye, nae worries,’ the old man said.
Ranald picked up the paper, but found he couldn’t focus on reading. He kept seeing the photograph. His mother. A woman who had a twisted relationship with her brother, if even a little of what Marcus had told him was true. The woman who ran away, only to bring her shadows with her and destroy everything she loved.
The girl with her hand on Alexander’s shoulder. The aching smile on her face. Who was she? Her clothing suggested that she was a maid or servant of some sort. Who got a photo taken with the staff?
His grandmother looked decidedly unhappy, but that seemed to be her default position. In every single image he’d seen of her she looked like her teeth were coated in lemon juice.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. Suzy was preparing to leave. He got to his feet and walked over, unsure of what was motivating him to do so. Just a second ago he was mentally cursing at everyone in the room.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I just want to apologise for the other day.’
She looked at him. Expression blank.
‘I was being a dick.’
‘Yes, you were.’
‘You were being kind and I was a total arse.’
‘Yup. A dick and an arse.’
‘Just wanted to say sorry.’ He gave her a small smile, then turned and walked back to his seat.
As he sat, he realised she had followed him over. She stood, looking down at him, holding her books in front of her with both hands.
‘And I’m sorry if I touched a nerve,’ she said. ‘You’re new to the area. Must seem like everyone is staring at you, trying to work you out.’
‘Och, I don’t mind that, to be honest. People will be people.’
‘You should put that on a t-shirt.’ She grinned. ‘Preferably one that’s dry.’ She nodded at his chest. ‘Not bring an umbrella?’
‘It’s only rain.’ He gestured at her books. ‘What is it this time?’
She brandished the top one. It was large and looked like an educational text. ‘Just something for uni.’ She made an unhappy face. ‘I’ve got some resits, but studying in the house all day makes me feel claustrophobic. So, I have a wee change of scenery every now and then.’
She made as if to move away. Ranald stood up.
‘You said your mum knew my mum?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you think she’d be happy to talk to me a
bout her?’ He scratched his head and looked at the floor. ‘I’ve … never met anyone who knew her during that part of her life.’
Suzy’s face was a study in empathy. She reached out and lightly touched his forearm. ‘Of course.’ She thought for a moment. ‘She’s at home this afternoon. I’ll text her and tell her I’m bringing the arsehole I met the other day for a blether.’
Ranald managed a smile. ‘Deserved that.’
Suzy rested her bag and books on the table, took out her phone and thumbed out a text. When she’d finished she nodded towards the door. ‘C’mon,’ she said.
Ranald followed her out, feeling anxious what he might learn about his mother. Who was she before all of that? Before her innocence spoiled. Before her mind turned. He was back in the room with Marcus and listening to the accusations spew from his cousin’s mouth.
What kind of people did he share his genes with?
Suzy and her parents lived in a modest bungalow just a few minutes’ drive from the café. Ranald was afraid that when he sat in the car that there might be some awkwardness, but they managed to keep up a polite run of conversation until she pulled into the drive.
They were met at the door by a woman who was an older, shorter-haired version of Suzy. Tight, blue jeans and a pale-blue, short cardigan. Button nose. Plump lower lip. This was where Suzy got her good looks from, then.
‘Hi there,’ she held out her hand. ‘You’ll be Ranald. I’m Eve.’ They shook hands. ‘C’mon through to the kitchen.’ She turned and, walking down a short corridor said, ‘…that’s where all the interesting stuff happens in our house.’
The corridor was filled with the light coming in through the glass front door and the walls were painted cream and displayed lots of family photographs, mainly of Suzy at various stages of her life.
Walking just behind Ranald, Suzy spoke as if she could read his glances.
‘Man, they make me cringe every time I bring someone home.’
Ranald found himself wondering how many of these ‘someones’ were men and noted a stab of envy. He shut it down. He didn’t deserve someone as nice as she was.
In the kitchen they sat around a small table on which sat a tray containing three mugs, a large teapot in a knitted cosy, a small jug of milk, a sugar bowl and a plate of sliced cake. It took Ranald straight back to his mother’s kitchen and summer afternoons when neighbours would pop in for ‘a wee blether’. Back then he hadn’t been too bothered about the chat or the tea, but the slices of cake and the biscuits were a strong attraction.
‘Haven’t seen one of these in ages,’ Ranald gave a weak smile, pointing at the piece of knitting enclosing the teapot. ‘I thought people were too into their coffee to bother with tea these days.’
‘Can’t beat a nice cup of tea,’ said Eve. She glanced at Suzy, pride evident in her smile. ‘It’s how we put the world back to rights. Shall I be mother?’
‘You’re the one with the credentials,’ Suzy smiled back.
Ranald felt himself relaxing into the warm, accepting atmosphere generated by the two women, and registered a note of sadness drift into his mind, like a scent in the breeze; it had been so long since he had been included in such a mood. To disguise his emotion he reached for a slice of Madeira, and bit into the soft cake.
‘Haven’t tasted this for years,’ he said mid-chew. ‘Mum used to buy it every New Year.’
‘It’s like Brussels sprouts,’ said Suzy. ‘Why do most people only bring them out at Christmas?’
‘Cos we can’t stomach them any other time of year?’ said Ranald.
‘Sprouts are good for you, young man,’ said Eve. ‘Make your hair and nails shiny.’
‘Mum, I don’t think Ranald is all that bothered about shiny nails.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Ranald, and held his right hand out as if for an inspection. And wondered at his capacity for hiding his true state of mind with a little dredged up humour.
They each picked up their drinks and sipped in a companionable silence.
‘So, Helena Fitzpatrick was your mum?’ asked Eve, just as Ranald bit into another slice of cake.
He heard Helena and for a moment forgot that was his mother. ‘Yeah,’ he collected himself and swallowed. ‘You’re about the only person I’ve ever met, outside of family, who knew her from that time in her life.’
‘Can’t say that I knew her all that well, to be honest. We had a friend in common. A girl who lived next door to me when I was a teenager was in her class.’
‘What do you remember of her?’ Ranald asked, trying not to look too interested in the answer. But of course, he was fascinated. When his mother was alive, she was just a normal person. She was Mum. And now he was realising that there was, of course, more to her. Much more, if Marcus was to be believed. Helen McGhie hadn’t just appeared fully formed in that position. She’d had a life before him.
Eve paused, a flicker of memory lighting her eyes. ‘I was a little bit in love with Helena FitzGerald. What style she had. What grace. All of us girls were incredibly jealous. Her brother, though – William – he was another story altogether. He liked to be seen as a bit of an eccentric, you know? Seemed to revel in the family’s … strange … history.’ Eve sipped her tea carefully. ‘He was long finished with the academy when I arrived, but his legend seemed to follow Helena about.’
Ranald’s heart gave a lurch when he heard William’s name. ‘I know next to nothing about my family, Eve,’ he said, trying to control his tone. ‘I’ve met my cousin Marcus, and his sister, Rebecca.’
‘They’ll be William’s kids.’ Eve stared into space. ‘He died when Marcus and Rebecca were in their early twenties. From what I heard, they got too much money too soon and kind of went off the rails.’
‘Really? Marcus is a bit arrogant, but other than that he seems to be fairly level-headed.’
‘Well, bear in mind all this is based on small-town gossip. And to be fair, it was a few years back. I dare say Marcus has had plenty of time to have done some maturing.’
‘Must be nice to find you have this other family,’ said Suzy. ‘After being on your own.’
‘I only just met Rebecca, and I couldn’t make head nor tail of her. But Marcus?’ Ranald made a face. ‘Bit of a dick.’ He toyed with the idea of telling them about Marcus’s demand that he sell the house, but decided to keep that to himself for the moment. ‘You said something about the family’s “strange” history…’ He tailed off, hoping Eve would pick up the thread.
‘You don’t want to listen to that, son – it’s just rumours and talk.’
But there was something in the way she spoke – a strange light in her eyes, a twist in the corner of her mouth – that made Ranald think she believed there was much more to it than that.
‘I won’t pay it much attention,’ said Ranald. ‘But it would be kind of helpful to know what I’m dealing with.’
‘Well, there were the usual high jinks when Marcus and Rebecca were younger.’ She turned to Suzy and smiled. ‘Close your ears, young woman.’ Back to Ranald. ‘Drugs and sex parties, that kind of thing.’ Then she added in a lower tone, as if afraid she might be overheard. ‘Rebecca was a bit of a wild child. Far worse than Marcus apparently.’
‘What about William? Did you mean he tried to live up to the family’s … eccentricities? Do you know about those?’
‘Not really. I heard my mother talking to one of her pals about Alexander Fitzpatrick making someone pregnant when he wasn’t married. I’m not sure who the woman was, or what happened. She clammed up as soon as I walked in the room.’
‘That was nothing to do with my mum, though?’
‘No. But perhaps the pregnancy situation with Alexander was why her mother gave her such a hard time?’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?’ She smiled. ‘All of us girls admired Helena. She turned her back on all that wealth for love. It was like something out of a novel … but it was just down the road.’ She laughed. ‘Listen to me. I’
m talking rubbish. Don’t pay me any attention, son.’
Turned her back on all that wealth for love? Did she really love him, or was Dad just some convenient patsy? Was he her chance to get away from a perverse relationship? He was doubting his own memories now.
They talked for another ten or fifteen minutes on more general topics, which was a relief to Ranald. Having come here to find out about his mother he realised that the more he discovered, the less he wanted to know. He’d hoped that Eve would say something that would cancel out Marcus’s accusations, instead, subtle as her words were, they served only to add confirmation.
Ranald looked out of the window, to see that the rain had stopped.
‘Best be off,’ he said, standing up. ‘Thanks for the chat and the tea.’
‘You’re welcome, son,’ said Eve. ‘I enjoyed talking about those times.’
‘Want a lift back up to the Cross?’ asked Suzy.
‘Thanks,’ said Ranald. ‘I need the walk.’ As he spoke he wondered if there was more to the offer, but Suzy’s open, guileless face suggested she was just being kind. ‘You’ve got studying to be getting on with, anyway.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ She made a face.
‘Yeah,’ said Eve with a mock expression of reproach. ‘My Suzy having a resit. Who’d have thought that would happen?’
‘Don’t start, Mum.’
‘What?’ she asked, assuming an innocent expression.
‘My cue to leave,’ said Ranald and he felt a pang of envy at their closeness. ‘Never get between a parent and child talking about exams.’ He thanked the women for their time and walked with Suzy to the front door.
As he stepped outside, he felt worried that he might have offended her by refusing her offer of a lift.
‘You like movies?’ he asked on the doorstep.
‘Yeah.’
‘There’s a great TV room in the house. Why don’t you come up some time and have a look through the selection. See what you fancy…’ His voice tailed off as he worried that now he’d overstepped the mark. He ducked his head as if getting ready to take the blow of her rejection.
House of Spines Page 19