She had thought of an excellent cover story in case Christopher asked where she had been, although he usually preferred not to know. That was one of several things she liked very much about him.
Suddenly Amaryllis could hardly wait for the plane to land so that she could see him at the arrivals gate, looking just that little bit anxious but ready to smile when he saw her. She wondered if his hairline had receded any further since she last saw him - but it had only been a couple of weeks, of course. Her other expeditions had lasted longer and had been more complex. She probably wouldn't notice any difference either in Christopher or in Pitkirtly itself.
She grabbed her rucksack from the overhead locker and wormed her way to the front of the queue to get off the plane. She always travelled light: she didn't believe in wasting time waiting for the hold baggage to be unloaded. In any case, in many of the places she had been during her former life the terrain was too rough for a massive suitcase and the welcome too uncertain. Having to make a quick getaway was always on the cards.
She stalked through passport control and customs, more or less daring anyone to stop her. She did have a momentary qualm when she saw a policeman waiting with the two customs officials, but it was almost as if they deliberately looked the other way when she came along. There was a man in a dark suit who was almost certainly a policeman too, but he didn't accost her or indicate in any way that she was likely to be arrested and extradited to the USA to account for her recent activities. She was such small fry that it was highly unlikely, and in any case any attempt to arrest her would have been made in secret in view of her past occupation and present status. So there was no need to go to Plan B, and that was just as well. Plan B involved a lot of dodging behind baggage trolleys and purloining people's uniforms. Although she had slept for a while on the overnight flight from Newark, she was still too tired to do any of that physical stuff.
Emerging at the international arrivals gate, she glanced quickly round to try and spot Christopher. She wasn't immediately alarmed when she didn't see him: he was quite shy and retiring, and would definitely have stationed himself at the back of any kind of throng.
'Hello, dear!' said Jemima Stevenson, suddenly popping up almost in front of her. 'I nearly missed you - I was doing the People's Friend crossword. There's quite a tricky clue here - look.'
She waved the magazine under Amaryllis's nose.
Amaryllis glanced down. 'Vampire,' she said, and started to look round again.
'Vampire - let me see, does it fit?'
'Where's Christopher?'
'Oh, he's gone away.'
'Gone away? Where? Is it another of these damn-fool management courses?'
'No, a holiday,' said Jemima. She took Amaryllis by the arm and started guiding her towards an exit. 'This way. David's brought his car.'
'What kind of holiday?'
'Well, it's a sort of walking and camping holiday, I think. Not the kind of thing Christopher would do usually, but he said she was very insistent.'
'She?'
Amaryllis didn't like being the one to ask silly questions. That was Christopher's role. It was just that she was slightly taken aback that he had apparently gone on holiday with a woman. Was she an old flame of his? A new acquaintance? Somebody's mother?'
'Yes, she got in touch with him again last week. Said her therapist had suggested they needed to bond with each other - to come to terms with the past and move on - you know, all that nonsense. The past's better left where it is. I should know.'
'But Jemima - who is she? Who is this woman?'
'Didn't I say? It's Caroline - who else would it be?'
Amaryllis gave a long sigh. 'Caroline. Of course.'
'I'm not sure it's wise. The two of them going off together. What if they stir up things from the past and set her off again?'
'I expect her therapist has thought of that,' said Amaryllis, as much to reassure herself as to set Jemima Stevenson's mind at rest. 'Christopher's old enough to look after himself, anyway.'
But she couldn't help wondering about it during the drive home in Dave's pick-up truck, now with added bumps and scrapes to the bodywork - he had ignored a Fiat Panda once too often. She wasn't sure that camping was the best idea either; the last time the brother and sister had lived together had been in a proper house and even then they had reached the point where Caroline tried to kill herself and Christopher had almost been arrested. Picturing the two of them in a tent, perhaps in the rain, she shuddered. But as long as there was no alcohol available perhaps it would be all right.
It was to keep her mind off these thoughts that she decided to break with tradition and do a tour of the town in daylight for once, instead of waiting until dark. It would be something to do while she waited for jet-lag to catch up with her too. Amaryllis was starting to notice jet-lag more as she got older, after imagining herself immune to it for the first forty years or so. She plodded up the road from her apartment towards the shops. It wouldn't be long before she needed a walking-stick at this rate - or a zimmer frame.
As ill-luck would have it, the first person she bumped into in the High Street was Jock McLean, complete with pessimistic outlook and unbounded cynicism about his fellow-beings.
'Do you know anything about Christopher and Caroline going off in a tent together?' she asked him, conscious that the words had somehow turned into an old-fashioned children's book title as she framed them.
'Hmph! It'll end in tears,' was Jock's contribution to the sum of human knowledge.
'But where have they gone?'
'He said something about the coastal path,' said Jock grudgingly, pausing to light his pipe.
'The Fife coastal path?'
'I assume so. I hope they've taken their wellies.'
Amaryllis glanced at the sky which was completely blue as far as the eye could see. 'I don't know - it's quite a nice day for it.'
'They're planning to walk the whole thing,' said Jock in a voice of doom.
'How long will that take?'
'About a week. There's rain forecast.'
'There's always rain forecast!' said Amaryllis, feeling she had to challenge at least some aspect of the unrelenting gloom. 'It's Scotland. It's July!'
'Heavy rain,' said Jock. 'One weatherman even said torrential rain.'
'Maybe it won't be that bad.'
'It'll be worse!' said Jock.
'When did they leave?'
'Yesterday. They've probably killed each other by now.'
'Hmm,' said Amaryllis, already bored with the argument. She knew Jock did it on purpose anyway.
They came to the old café where she had once had a difficult conversation with someone's grandmother. It wasn't a café any more.
'What the hell's the Happiness Club?' she said, peering at the poster in the window. For some reason the print got smaller and smaller towards the end. She wondered if she needed glasses. That was all she needed, another sign of galloping old age!
'It's one of those marriage bureaux,' said Jock.
'I don't think they call them that any more. Look, it talks about social activities. Adventure weekends - bingo - tea dances. Why don't you give it a try?'
Jock started to laugh, a wheezy exercise that made him sound like a rusty old steam engine. As it turned into a coughing fit, she patted him gently on the back.
'Can you really see me,' he spluttered, 'setting foot in something called the Happiness Club?'
She looked at him sternly. 'You shouldn't let the name put you off. You might enjoy it.'
'You daft wee lassie, I've spent my whole retirement so far avoiding tea-dances and bingo, especially if they're meant for old people.'
'There'd be people of all ages at this,' said Amaryllis. 'Look - free speed-dating to start it off.'
'What's that when it's at home?'
'I think it's a bit like musical chairs,' she said. 'You move on when the music stops. Or something.'
'It'll be something, all right.'
'I might give it a
try,' said Amaryllis vaguely.
He gave her a look. 'You've got no need of a social life.'
'Everybody needs a social life. What do you think our gatherings at the Queen of Scots are?'
'Well, they're not tea-dances, that's for sure,' he said. He shook his head vigorously. 'What do they want to start stirring up that kind of thing for? In Pitkirtly?'
Someone opened the café door.
'Come on, let's get out of here,' said Jock. They moved along hastily before they had to speak to the man who came out.
'He looks like a right villain,' said Jock in what he seemed to think was an undertone.
'I expect he's only the shop-fitter,' said Amaryllis.
She had made up her mind to investigate the Happiness Club further, as she did with anything new or unusual on her patch. Finding a 'perfect partner' didn't come into it. She already knew there was no chance of that.
Chapter 3 Two in a Tent Together
Christopher hoped there wouldn't be too much hugging. He braced himself for a welcome hug as he saw Caroline hurrying along the platform towards him like some character from 'The Railway Children'. She looked rounder and jollier than he remembered. It was a couple of months since he had last seen her.
She reached him and flung her arms round him enthusiastically. He staggered back, bumping into a courting couple who had been exchanging kisses outside the exit doors ever since he had arrived at the station. The young man swore at Christopher at some length but not very imaginatively. If this was the swearing factor or something similar, Christopher thought, he would definitely have been voted off by now.
'… slept in a tent since we were wee,' Caroline was saying. 'Remember we had that tent up in the garden for a while and then the first night we slept in it I got scared and we had to go into the house instead?'
Recollections of a boringly normal childhood. Christopher didn't actually remember that particular incident, but he smiled and nodded. Already he had the familiar urge to placate Caroline. He must try and fight it. Amaryllis wouldn't approve. Although there wouldn't be any point in trying to placate Amaryllis by trying not to placate Caroline, would there?
Memories of a much worse kind were starting to flood back into his head. He had to fight these, at least. They certainly wouldn't be helpful if he were building bridges or mending fences with his sister.
Still clutching at his arms, she stared earnestly up into his face.
'Are you sure you remember it? You're not just saying that, are you? It's just that the therapist said I sometimes don't remember things properly. He thinks I sometimes make things up - to fill in the gaps.'
'Like a cd player,' Christopher suggested.
It took five minutes to explain that throwaway phrase. He resolved not to say anything else that could in any way be misinterpreted. He must remember that after all the drugs and different types of therapy Caroline wasn't quite the same person as she had been. He sincerely hoped not, anyway.
'How are Faisal and Marina?' he asked, gently detaching her hands and leaning down to pick up his backpack.
'They're fine!' said Caroline. A flicker of suspicion crossed her face. 'Why shouldn't they be?'
'No reason,' Christopher assured her. 'I was just asking. Has Faisal decided what to do with himself? When he leaves school?'
'He wants to be an archaeologist,' said Caroline proudly. She fell into step beside him as they left the station. 'Which way are we going?'
'I thought we'd head straight down to the coastal path and get on with it,' said Christopher. 'Have you brought everything you need?'
He eyed the large beach bag with the giant sunflower stuck on the side. It didn't look like serious walking gear - unlike his own colossal backpack, which held a tent, two sleeping bags and assorted equipment which he suspected would start to weigh more heavily as he walked along.
'I don't need anything much,' said Caroline vaguely, swinging the bag as she walked.
He wasn't sure if she was wearing the right clothes either, but he knew better than to make any comment. He just hoped she had a folding mac in the bag for when the torrential downpours started. It was bright enough at the moment but it was only a matter of time before traditional Scottish summer weather set in. But of course they could always give up if they couldn't stand it any longer.
'I really want to do this,' said Caroline, out of sync with his thoughts as always. 'The therapist says it's going to do me a lot of good planning a project and carrying it through to the end.'
Ha! Christopher knew who had planned this project, and it wasn't his sister. He had the maps of Fife and the details of every campsite from here to St Andrews in his pocket to prove it.
'So where are the kids?' he said, to take his mind of this unproductive train of thought.
'Oh, they've gone away on a narrow-boat with some friends. In the south,' she added, waving a hand in the direction of the Forth Bridge.
'That's interesting,' said Christopher. 'What canal are they on?'
'Oh, you know me, I can't take in details,' said Caroline. She looked up at him as they walked down towards North Queensferry harbour. 'How are you anyway, Christopher? You never talk about yourself. The therapist says I should make you open out a bit more. Find out what you're really thinking.'
Heaven forbid, thought Christopher, and became even more determined to keep his mind a closed book. He couldn't think of anything worse than people rampaging around in his mind as if it were a library or a supermarket. It would probably never be the same again.
'I'm fine,' he said.
'You do want to come on this trip with me, don't you?'
'It's fine. I mean, I've always wanted to walk the coastal path,' he lied. 'And it's good to spend some time with you, too.'
She smiled. Surely she didn't believe him?
'Good,' she said. 'I want to have a lot more conversations like this. The therapist says it's important for me to come to terms with my childhood. Otherwise I'll never be able to move on.'
Christopher racked his brains for anything that had been remarkable about their shared childhood. As far as he was concerned, it had been completely normal. No domineering parents; no traumas in the school playground; no interfering grannies in the next street. There had been a lot more sunshine then, he thought vaguely. And they had spent a lot of time wandering about outdoors, clambering around the beach, falling in water and ruining their shoes. He didn't remember much more than that. He couldn't work out what Caroline thought she had to come to terms with. Her adult life had been a lot more unsettling.
'How much further is it?' she enquired just as they reached the start of the path.
'Don't you mean are we there yet?' he said, smiling with all the tolerance he could muster.
'Sorry - I'm just not used to walking. Somebody told me this was quite a good walk for beginners.'
'Hmm,' said Christopher. He glanced down at her shoes. They looked a bit flimsy, but perhaps she had imagined a summer walk along the coast would be light going. He decided not to break the news about the Rope Walk at Elie until much later. Possibly not until they were actually in the middle of it.
'I thought we might get as far as Inverkeithing by the end of the afternoon,' he added. 'It's not that far.'
'More than two miles?'
'Maybe. But we'll need to make about twelve miles a day to get the whole coastal path done.'
'Twelve miles a day?' she squeaked.
He stopped in his tracks. The backpack weighed him down so much that stopping felt luxuriously easy compared to the effort of walking on.
'You haven't thought this through, Caroline, have you?'
He felt bad about saying it so early on in their joint venture, but on the other hand, he was sure Amaryllis would have encouraged him to say it. On the other hand again, Amaryllis would never have viewed this mad jaunt with anything but healthy suspicion in the first place. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hasty about getting away while she was still in America - if she was indeed
in America. He had been suspicious about that from the start. He wasn't even sure she would get a visa for America after doing some of the things she had done.
Caroline gazed at him like a hurt spaniel. But with lighter-coloured eyes.
'I planned it as well as I could,' she said. Her voice had a break in it. 'But I expect you could have done it better. You always did do everything better than me.'
'Don't be silly,' he said. 'Of course I didn't.'
Having said that, he couldn't conjure up an example of her doing anything better than him. But his memory might be deceiving him. Surely she had once been able to cook better than he could - it was just that she was never satisfied with her own cooking and tended to hurl it around the room instead of eating it the way most people did with their culinary mistakes.
'Well, if we can't get as far as Inverkeithing we can always try some other way,' he said at last. 'It doesn't matter - we’re not in a race, are we? We can just as easily come to terms with the past and - um - bond with each other at a slower speed.'
She was coming towards him again - yes, it was another hug. Christopher didn't know if he would be able to cope with all this hugging.
'You're so nice to me, Christopher. After all that's happened, too,' she murmured, clinging to him with a grip that threatened to topple him over, since he was already stooped under the weight of the backpack.
'It's fine,' he said.
A large black and white dog ran towards them. In his efforts to get out of its way Christopher did indeed topple over, landing on the grass verge by the path with the backpack on top of him. Caroline helped him up as the dog's owner walked past, giving them a stern look.
'What was that for?' said Caroline, glaring after the woman.
'Sssh, it's all right - I should think she thought her dog had hurt itself running into us.'
Christopher brushed himself down and they set off again. After a while they found themselves walking downhill. He was automatically suspicious of this, since it meant they would have to drag themselves back uphill sooner or later. They walked along the back of a rocky beach where pretty little waves rippled ashore. The sun, which had popped out for a moment, went behind a cloud. They didn't speak to each other for a while. It was restful, and he began to relax. Maybe it had been a good idea to have a short holiday with his sister after all. The fresh air and exercise wouldn't do him any harm, anyway.
4 Death at the Happiness Club Page 2