Fire in the Blood

by George McCartney

  Shocked and touched by the confession, Annie considered Jack’s explanation for a moment then tried to console him. ‘I’m so sorry. What you did was a wrong thing, but it was for the right reasons.’

  Feeling down and emotional, with the memories dredged up from two decades before still raw, Jack then drained his glass and stood up. ‘A wrong thing, for the right reasons … you’ve got a great title for a country song right there. Look, I’m beat Annie, I’m going to have an early night. See you in the morning in the dining room for breakfast. Eightish okay?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. But I’m going to make a couple of phone calls first, to confirm where we can stay for a couple of weeks and maybe try to borrow another car as well. What with all the crumpled rear end, the blistered paint and scorch marks, Senga’s way too easily recognised.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Sleep well Annie, we’re safe here.’

  Chapter 22

  Next morning Jack and Annie left the hotel and drove towards their new temporary base, located three miles from Sandhead village and fifteen miles from the dramatic lighthouse on the tip of the Mull of Galloway.

  After ninety minutes on the road and still staring straight ahead, wilfully ignoring the beautiful coastal scenery, Jack whined, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

  ‘Yes, it’s not far now, only about three or four miles. You’ll see it soon,’ replied Annie, patiently.

  After a further five minutes, he suddenly sat up and took an interest as they approached an impressive country house pile, set well back from the road, in beautiful parkland. ‘Annie, I’m impressed. This is really nice.’

  Annie smiled and said, ‘You’re right it is, but this isn’t where we’re staying. Ours is much nicer.’

  She then turned left off the coast road and drove slowly down a bumpy, unmade track towards their destination on the sea shore,

  Concerned that any last vestige of civilisation was being rapidly left far behind, Jack moaned, ‘Where the hell are we going Annie?’

  ‘Patience, you’ll see in a minute.’

  Shortly she pulled up beside a clapboard beach cabin, one of a group of six hidden away in the sand dunes. The cabin had peeling pale blue paint on the external walls and a small timber deck area adjacent, where a gas barbecue was located next to a picnic table, which had been artfully constructed from pieces of bleached driftwood.

  Back at her favourite place in the whole world, Annie spread her arms wide and asked, ‘So what do you think?’

  Jack, however, was not impressed. ‘Okay, I can see the fucking garden shed. Where’s the house?’

  Jumping out of the car, Annie kicked her boots off and skipped across the sand in her bare feet. ‘Don’t be silly, this is it. Isn’t it great? I came here every summer with my mum and dad, when I was a little girl.’

  Clearly not a happy camper, Jack mumped, ‘I’m sorry, I forgot to bring my bucket and spade. I’ll have to go home.’

  In estate agent mode, Annie simply ignored all of Jack’s complaints and offered him a guided tour of their new digs. ‘You can’t go back to Glasgow, unless you intend walking, so you might as well come in and I’ll show you around. It’s actually much bigger inside than it looks. It’s got two rooms, a cute little kitchen and a million dollar view of the sea.’

  Reluctantly Jack followed Annie inside the beach hut, looked around and said, ‘Call me mister picky, if you like, but I have to say, Annie, that a flimsy wooden shed wouldn’t have been my first choice for a place to hide out from a mad arsonist. And I’m sure that the guy who’s sitting outside the next hut along was in Deliverance. You know, the crazy looking one who was always sitting rocking on the porch, with the banjo and the eyes way too close together.’

  Staying calm and pragmatic, ignoring Jack’s hissy fit, Annie replied, ‘Oh, that’s just old Mr Jackson, he’s a retired headmaster and he doesn’t have a banjo as far as I know. The point is Burke will never find us here. Hardly anyone knows that this place exists, even some of the locals, but with my internet dongle and laptop we can still work from here, just like in a normal office. With modern technology, you don’t need to have a physical office anymore. It’s an unnecessary expense and it ties you down to one location. When you think about it, we could actually work anywhere in the country. We could call ourselves, I don’t know, the ‘Pop-Up Detectives’. What do you think?’

  Jack struggled to find any sensible reason to refute the logic of Annie’s argument and said, ‘I don’t know, I’ll need to think about that. But I was thinking, since I’m going to be stuck here for a few days, I might as well have a swim in the sea. But I didn’t have time to pack my Speedos.’

  ‘That’s good, because old Mrs Jackson next door has a bad heart. You’re on the couch, by the way, and I’ve got the bedroom.’

  Ten minutes later, having settled in, Annie was sitting with her MacBook open at the picnic table outside the cabin, shaking her head. ‘This is amazing.’

  Jack looked up from a deck chair and asked, ‘I didn’t realise that you could get internet access down here. What’s up?’

  ‘There’s actually no phone signal anywhere down near the beach, but Mr Jackson next door is a lot more tech-savvy than he looks. And since he spends most of the summer down here with his wife, he’s rigged up a 3G dongle, which is connected to a big antennae, up on his roof and that set-up does pick a good strong signal. He’s a real sweetie and, any time I’m down here on holiday, he lets me use his password so I can piggyback with my laptop or iPhone on his secure Wi-Fi network.’

  ‘Oh right, that’s clever,’ said Jack, none the wiser.

  ‘Anyway, I set up an email address for you last night, you know, so we can keep in touch with the police in Glasgow and contact clients, and you’ve got twenty-three new messages already.’

  Hopefully, Jack enquired, ‘Have there been any developments about finding Burke?’

  Annie hesitated, ‘Er, no … the emails seem to be mostly, like, you know, personal stuff for you.’

  ‘Go on then, tell me.’

  ‘Well, short version, three are about penis enlargement, another one’s about controlling your long standing premature ejaculation problem and there are even two emails requesting that you need to immediately send full details to allow access to your bank account.’

  Jack snorted and said, ‘Christ, it didn’t take my ex-wife long to track me down.’

  Laughing out loud Annie replied, ‘Maybe Mr Jackson’s Wi-Fi network isn’t so secure after all. But don’t worry about it, I can install some software that will filter out all the spam.’

  ‘I’m not worried. I love a bit of spam on a sandwich, with pickled onions and brown sauce. Fantastic.’

  Grimacing, Annie warned, ‘It’s a miracle you’ve lived so long, with some of the stuff you eat. Anyway, this spam can give my MacBook serious indigestion. So don’t go opening any emails that look a bit iffy, okay?’

  Chapter 23

  Next morning Annie was working on her laptop outside the cabin, sitting at the picnic table, when Jack appeared from inside the cabin, looking dishevelled and slightly anxious, hopping from one foot to the other. ‘Look Annie, I’ve found the thingy in the lean-to shed round the back for having a pee, but where does a man go if he wants to do something, ahem, a bit more substantial?’

  ‘Like a Brad?’ asked Annie.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A Brad Pitt. You know, a shit.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’

  Clearly enjoying the exiled city dweller’s discomfiture, Annie spelled it out, ‘It’s exactly the same place, boss. I know that it looks just like a simple hole in the ground, but it’s actually quite a sophisticated composting toilet. So what you do is sit down on the wooden throne, remembering of course to drop your trousers first, and then when you’re finished sprinkle a couple of handfuls of sawdust from the red bucket down into the chamber below, to cover your doings. I know it all sounds a bit mad, but it’s actually very clever and there’s no sme
ll at all.’

  ‘We’ll see about that, after I’ve christened it,’ said Jack. ‘But where’s the bog roll? Or do I need to scrape a couple of handfuls of seaweed off the rocks?’

  ‘Oh, I meant to tell you about that, it’s got to be special compostable toilet paper and we’ve only got one roll of it left. So, it’s on the ration until further notice. I’ll give you two sheets every morning and that’s it.’

  Five minutes later a much more relaxed Jack re-appeared and enquired, ‘Annie, sorry to be a pain again, but where can I plug in my George Foreman grill?’

  ‘Eh, that would be back in Glasgow, boss.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘There’s no mains electricity here. When I said this place is off the grid, that’s literally what I meant. There’s just a small solar panel up on the roof, which charges a couple of twelve volt batteries stored in a box round the back. So there’s enough juice to power a few LED lights inside the cabin and charge up a laptop, or a couple of mobile phones. But it’s all you need really.’

  ‘No it isn’t. What the hell am I going to do about breakfast? I’ll starve.’

  ‘No you won’t, I brought muesli and bananas and I can make some coffee and toast on the little propane gas hob.’

  ‘But that kind of healthy muck will just upset my stomach. Remember that I’m from Glasgow, Annie. If I don’t get some proper grease down my neck, first thing in the morning, I come out in spots.’

  ‘Oh, and boss …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Before you ask, the bath’s that way.’ Annie pointed towards the beach, ‘But the tide’s out at the moment and it goes out a long way here so, if you do want a proper wash, it’s probably best to wait till around lunchtime.’

  After gagging down the healthy option breakfast, Jack took a walk in the sunshine with Annie along a stretch of beautiful deserted beach, near the cabin. Halfway along the foreshore, Jack even removed his shoes and socks, which Annie took as a good sign, evidence that he was in a more relaxed, reflective mood.

  ‘Look, I know I’m not the easiest person to work with sometimes, Annie, but these last few days you’ve been great. Really patient and kind, putting up with all my moans and groans, because I’m way out of my comfort zone. When I think about it, almost all of the really nice people I’ve known in my life have been women, with one or two exceptions.’

  However, Annie was not entirely happy with the intended compliment. ‘I’m no saint, believe me, I have my moments like everybody else. And actually, I think the female compassion thing is a bit of an urban myth. Not all women are like that. Some of them have a really cruel streak.’

  With feeling Jack replied, ‘Tell me about it.’

  By way of illustration Annie then told Jack a joke. ‘Okay, Auntie Peg laughed her head off when she told me this one last week. Did you hear about the young disabled guy, sitting alone at the water’s edge on a beautiful beach just like this in his wheelchair, staring out at all the people enjoying themselves in the sea? Three women walking along the beach see him sitting there all alone and feel sorry for the poor boy, so they decide to try and cheer him up. The first one says, “Have you ever had a hug?” The boy looks up, shakes his head and says, “No.” She gives him a big hug and then walks away. The second woman then says to him, “Have you ever had a kiss?” The boy again sadly shakes his head and says, “No.” So she gives him a long passionate kiss and also walks away. The third woman then approaches, smiles seductively and bends to whisper in his ear, “Hey kid, you’re kind of cute for a spaz. Have you ever been fucked?” The young man smiles hopefully up at her and replies, “No” And she says, “Well you will be when the tide comes in,” and walks away.’

  Jack laughed and nodded, ‘Yeah, I was married to the third one.’

  As they continue their stroll along the shore, Annie explained her take on problematic relationships. ‘God, I’m no expert, but I think maybe women are just better than men at sharing their feelings. Communicating about the everyday things that really matter, you know. Like family, money, clothes, sex and chocolate. All the important stuff.’

  Yawning, Jack agreed, ‘Yeah, one of my ex-wife’s pet subjects was lecturing me about how we never talked about our true feelings.’

  Annie was puzzled and said, ‘Sorry?’

  Mimicking his ex-wife’s voice, Jack continued, ‘There were times when we were first married and, you know, lying in bed after a bit of rumpo, she would say things like, “You never ask me how I’m feeling, or what I would like to do.” Being a top notch detective, I suspect she was referring to the, er … foreplay department which, of course, was completely unknown territory for most Scottish men back then.’

  ‘You mean you never asked her?’ asked Annie, shaking her head in disbelief.

  ‘Not really. Usually at that point in the proceedings with the job well done, at least from my end of things, I’d farted and fallen asleep. That’s the way she tells it, anyway. And before you say anything, I admit it. Guilty as charged. I used to be a completely unreconstructed male chauvinist pig. But in my defence, I think most men were thirty odd years ago. Attitudes have changed a lot since then, mostly for the better.’

  Not convinced, Annie scoffed, ‘Well it’s no wonder she divorced you. And what do you mean you used to be an unreconstructed male chauvinist pig?’

  ‘Looking back, I think I really must have been a major disappointment to her. I remember another time when she asked me if there was anything I could do, you know, to last longer in bed. I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘But at least she was talking honestly about the issue, trying to find a solution before it became a major problem,’ said Annie, in agony aunt mode. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I switched the alarm clock off. Worked for me,’ said Jack with a grin.

  Chapter 24

  Later back at the beach hut Annie started grilling hamburgers for lunch on the gas barbecue, while Jack watched and chugged on the last can of beer. ‘Okay, Annie, I happily concede that you were right. If Burke is looking for us, he’ll never find us here. In fact, if you took me back up to the main road and spun me round a couple of times, with my eyes shut, I’m not sure that I could find my way back. So that’s all well and good, but tell me this … how do we solve the urgent cash flow problem while we’re stuck here?’

  ‘I’m on it. My Aunt Emma, who owns this place, is a partner with a law firm over in Dumfries. When I phoned her last night from the hotel, she told me that they might be able to shove some work our way, you know, to help cover our expenses and just keep things ticking over. I’ve got to phone her back shortly.’

  ‘But this is boonieville, Annie. All that happens here is varying degrees of fuck all.’

  Annie was defensive and said, ‘Well that’s where you’re completely wrong. Okay, obviously this isn’t Glasgow, the big city, but there’s a lot more crime goes on down here than you might think.’

  ‘Yeah, like what? Pissing in phone boxes and molesting sheep on a Friday night?’

  ‘Well there is still a fair bit of sheep worrying, granted, but not so much of the peeing in phone boxes anymore, you know, with everyone using mobiles. Anyway, if you look after the barbie I’ll go and phone Emma back, to see what’s happening.’

  Annie took the Mondeo back up to the main road to get back on the phone network and make the call, leaving Jack to attend to lunch. Ten minutes later she returned smiling. ‘Okay boss, it’s time for you to get back up in the saddle. We’ve got our first jobs. Do you want the good news first, or the not so good news?’

  ‘The good news,’ said Jack warily.

  Annie was clearly enjoying herself. ‘Well since you’re a big country music fan, this first job should be easy peasy.’

  ‘Great, what is it?’

  Smirking, Annie checked her notes from the phone call and announced with a smile, ‘Cattle rustling.’

  ‘Annie, please tell me you’re kidding,’ said Jack, grimacing.

  Annie affec
ted her best cowgirl accent and replied, ‘Nope partner, the bad guys done rode into town and then moseyed off with a herd of farmer Kemp’s steers.’

  ‘Who cares?’ snorted a singularly unimpressed Jack.

  ‘Well farmer Kemp for starters. They were worth £30,000.’

  Sarcastically Jack replied, ‘And this is the good news you’re telling me? So what’s the other job? Don’t tell me, I suppose somebody’s been poking the local sheriff’s horse.’

  ‘That’s quite a good guess, actually. Somebody’s been poking an ex-sheriff’s wife.’

  Grudgingly resigned to working out in the sticks, Jack then sighed and enquired about payment for the two jobs. ‘Okay then, how much?’

  With impeccable timing, Annie replied deadpan. ‘Twice a week apparently, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, when she’s supposed to be out jogging.’

  ‘Ah yes, very good Annie. I’ll rephrase my question, what’s our fee?’

  ‘Ah well, that’s the not so good news. This is the country, boss, and they’re quite keen on bartering for goods and services down here, so there’s no actual money as such for the rustling job.’