365

by James Robertson

  Still smitten with Flora despite her teasing, Edward follows her to the game where Scotland thrash England 76–3. In the ensuing triumphant pub crawl, which lasts several weeks, Edward recognises the dreadful consequences of overindulgence in folksong, and that his new associates are doomed to fail in the modern world. Fergus and some of his friends get into a fight with some Britain’s Got Talent fans. Fergus is arrested, found guilty of being culturally at odds with the mainstream, and beheaded. Flora goes off to France to be a drug addict and Edward knuckles down to some hard study.

  Edward is reconciled with Rose, who gains a first-class degree. After graduation they marry. Rose goes on to have a glittering career with Ernst & Young, and produces three sensible children, while Edward manages the Perthshire estate that in time they will inherit.

  Haymarket was a bestseller on publication but its language has dated and the plot is now considered rather far-fetched.

  8 July

  A Lion at Wimbledon

  A row has broken out over accusations that, following Andy Murray’s victory in the Wimbledon men’s singles final, the First Minister of Scotland released a lion onto Centre Court.

  Spectators who seconds earlier had been cheering Murray’s success were horrified to see a fully grown male lion run onto the grass and lie down. Fortunately the animal seemed to be in good humour and not hungry. Murray was on the roof of the commentary box at the time, but this had nothing to do with the appearance of the lion, as he had climbed there to receive congratulations from his coaching team and members of his family. Line judges, ball boys and ball girls and the defeated Novak Djokovic rapidly retired from the court, however, while Mr Lahyani, the umpire, wisely stayed put in his high chair.

  A quick-thinking groundsman, armed only with a garden fork and a length of tennis net, approached the lion from the rear and threw the net over it. Thus ensnared, the king of beasts was deemed to be of no immediate threat to the public, and indeed it fell asleep in the sunshine. The awards ceremony proceeded, and photographs were taken of the players standing next to the lion with their trophies.

  A Scottish Government spokeswoman said: ‘The lion rampant is one of Scotland’s national symbols. It is hardly surprising that a lion should be present on such a great occasion for Scottish sport.’ Pressed on whether the First Minister had smuggled the animal into Wimbledon she declined to engage in what she described as ‘speculation’.

  One eyewitness claimed that earlier he had observed the First Minister’s wife carrying a ‘bulging’ sports bag into the royal box, and that the same bag appeared to be empty after the incident.

  Wild animals are not permitted within the grounds of the All England Tennis Club, an official confirmed. Whoever was responsible had shown a gross disregard for public safety, he added.

  However, examination of the lion after it had been tranquillised revealed that it had no teeth, whether as a result of surgery or decay was not clear.

  Despite recent improvements Scotland has one of the worst oral-health records in Europe.

  9 July

  Memory

  ‘I have a problem. I keep forgetting things. Do you think I have a problem?’

  ‘No. What kind of things?’

  ‘Little things. Not the big things. I remember big things. I remember birthdays and people who have died and people who are still alive. I remember their names and their faces. I remember films and books. I remember my PIN numbers.’

  ‘Well, then …’

  ‘But sometimes I come into a room and I don’t remember why. I came into the room for a specific purpose and I don’t know what it was.’

  ‘We all do that.’

  ‘So I retrace my footsteps. I go out and come in again. Maybe I wanted a box of matches or to check a word in the dictionary, who knows? I don’t. It’s completely gone.’

  ‘That happens to everybody occasionally. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘But it’s more than occasional. And it’s not like I remember five minutes or even five hours later. I don’t ever remember. And if it’s happening to everybody, shouldn’t everybody be worried? What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing is going on. It’s normal, I promise you. It happens more as we age, that’s all. Listen, this is what some psychologist said about it. He, or maybe it was a she, he or she said, it’s not a problem forgetting where you parked your car if, when you find it, you remember parking it. It’s only a problem if, when you find it, you don’t know how it got there.’

  ‘But you might never find your car. You might have forgotten what it looks like.’

  ‘That would be a problem. I think the psychologist would consider that problematic.’

  ‘Who was this? I don’t know any psychologists. Was it Freud?’

  ‘No, it was someone on the radio. I’ve forgotten the name but, look, it doesn’t matter. I’m not worried.’

  ‘Maybe you should be. This man or woman on the radio tells you it’s not a problem if you can’t find your car, and you accept that? Were you driving or had you already parked?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t on the car radio. It was some other time.’

  ‘I think that’s a problem. Really, I do. If it was me, I’d be worried.’

  10 July

  Back

  ‘I just stepped outside for a little while,’ he said. ‘That’s all. From the look on your face …’

  ‘You were away for ages,’ she said. ‘I was worried.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘There were search parties out and everything.’

  He screwed his face up at her. Without his glasses he looked like a mole caught in sunlight.

  ‘Search parties? Never!’

  ‘How would you know? You weren’t out looking. You were the one being looked for.’

  He opened and closed his mouth a few times. ‘Why were they looking for me?’

  She stroked his arm, the one without the tubes attached. ‘Because I asked them to. I didn’t know if you’d be able to find your own way back.’

  ‘But I only went down to the beach,’ he said. ‘The same as always.’

  ‘That’s where you thought you were going,’ she said. ‘But you didn’t, not this time.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Yet there was some kind of understanding in his peering eyes, and he didn’t seem to be struggling with the fact that he was where he was, in a hospital bed, with her sitting beside him.

  ‘You didn’t get that far,’ she said.

  ‘To the beach? Sure I did. It was beautiful down there. The stars were out and the moon was pulling the waves up the beach and there was a breeze blowing off the top of them; not much but enough to make your eyes water a bit. I remember it distinctly.’

  ‘You only thought you were there. Your mind was playing tricks on you. You were somewhere else.’

  ‘I wasn’t there at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’ He fell silent, staring at the end of the bed as if there were waves breaking over it. She could have wept, watching the way he tried to absorb the news and almost did – yet could not quite grasp what it meant.

  ‘And where was I?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe later you’ll be able to tell me.’

  ‘Later?’ He tested the word suspiciously.

  The door opened and a doctor came in, smiling.

  ‘I know that face. From the beach.’

  She tried to catch the doctor’s eye, but wasn’t quick enough.

  ‘Beach?’ the doctor said.

  11 July

  Out

  It was beautiful down there. The stars were out and the moon was pulling the waves up the beach and there was a breeze blowing off the top of them; not much but enough to make your eyes water a bit. His glasses didn’t stop the cold air getting in at the corners and starting the tears. Occasionally he had to lift the glasses and have a wee wipe with the back of his hand.

  In the daytime people came with their dogs or their children or j
ust by themselves. In high summer the beach became almost crowded. But at night the place was his alone. The moon threw its light across the broad sweep of sand, and the waves kept throwing themselves away when the moon had finished with them. On the dark water out beyond the waves he thought he could see black shapes that might be gulls or ducks floating, but might just be black shapes. He walked closer to the sea but the shapes did not resolve themselves one way or the other.

  He thought, This is what you come to when all’s said and done. This is where you come, and you come alone.

  He’d just stepped out for a while. That’s what he liked to do.

  Sometimes he glimpsed – or ‘sensed’ was perhaps more accurate – something else on the water. He didn’t know what it was but he didn’t like it. It wasn’t even a thing. It was something above the water, like mist, or something that disturbed it, like a squall.

  When this happened it was time to go back. Being out was fine, but going back in was necessary.

  A question formed at the edge of his vision. Are you losing it?

  He wanted to take his shoes and socks off, roll up his trousers and paddle in the moonlight. But he was afraid if he did he would just keep walking, wading out towards that thing, whatever it was.

  This was another warning sign, having thoughts like that.

  He didn’t want to go. He liked being alone, on the beach. He liked being out.

  But he would have to, or they would come looking for him.

  12 July

  Have I Got It?

  It was the most difficult question he’d ever have to ask anyone, and it had to be her he asked. They’d known each other so long. He knew if he asked her he’d get a straight answer. She might hesitate, she might have to think about it, but she wouldn’t lie. If he could have asked someone else, there might still have been room for the comfort of a lie. But he couldn’t. It had to be her.

  It was difficult too because he didn’t know what the question was. Well, he did, but it could take so many forms. Do you think that … ? Would you agree that … ? Are there times when … ? It was like drafting a bloody referendum question. To get a straight answer you had to ask a straight – that is to say not a leading, misleading, biased or ambiguous – question.

  So he spent a lot of time composing it in his head. And kept being sidetracked by memories or other interruptions, like her coming in to see if he was all right.

  ‘Of course I’m all right,’ he said. ‘Have I moved since you asked me ten minutes ago?’

  ‘It was an hour ago,’ she said. ‘And you’ve been to the toilet and back.’

  That gave him pause for thought. He remembered a man he used to work beside who always said that. ‘That should give them pause for thought.’ He could see his face but the name was out of reach. Who was he talking about? The unions? The competition? A curmudgeonly old bugger he was anyway.

  Maybe he was one of those himself. She probably thought that, the way he sometimes snapped at her.

  Later he said, ‘Sit down, will you? I’ve got something important I want to ask you.’

  She sat. She waited. She bloody knows already, he thought.

  ‘Tell me the truth now,’ he said. ‘That’s all I want. The truth.’

  She nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Have I got it?’ he said.

  And now, at this moment, his mind failed him. He’d forgotten the bloody word. He’d had it only a minute ago.

  ‘Got what?’ she asked.

  ‘That thing.’ His fist thumped the arm of the chair. ‘That thing.’

  13 July

  Privatisation

  ‘There you go,’ Alex Mather said, on his return from the post office. ‘A leaflet detailing the things you can and can’t send in the Royal Mail. Mostly can’t.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jill Mather said, putting it with all the other leaflets in the basket on the dresser. ‘I thought the Royal Mail was being abolished?’

  ‘Privatised,’ Alex said. He poured himself coffee from the cafetière, put the mug in the microwave and blasted it for thirty seconds on full power. ‘Same thing. Surely nobody really believes this crap about maintaining the universal service?’

  ‘I only just made that.’

  ‘I like it hot, though.’

  ‘It is hot.’

  ‘Piping hot.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I mean, what business intent on making a profit would happily accept an obligation to deliver to the last house on Unst six days a week? Eh? Whoever takes over, the first thing they’ll do is lobby to get Saturday deliveries to Unst scrapped. Jeesus!’

  ‘I did warn you.’

  ‘Then they’ll want differential rates for all supposedly remote postcodes. Or a subsidy. Guess who’ll pay for that? It’ll be the railways all over again, I’m telling you.’

  ‘I’m not arguing, Alex,’ Jill said. ‘I agree with you.’

  ‘Speaking of “differential”, there was an MP on the radio earlier, did you hear him? “I beg to differentiate,” he said. Can you credit it? We’re ruled by morons, total morons.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You haven’t even looked at this.’ He took the leaflet from the basket, touching its shiny surface to his lips to cool them down.

  ‘I will. Later.’

  ‘ “You are not permitted to send waste, dirt, filth or refuse in the mail,” ’ Alex read. ‘Maybe we should start a campaign of civil disobedience. Post jiffy bags full of ordure to the idiots who came up with this privatisation idea.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I’m joking. I’m not going to descend to their level. What about the Queen? It’s hers really. Her head’s all over it. You’d think she’d object.’

  ‘Yes, why don’t you get her on board? Start at the top and work your way down.’

  Alex grinned at her with his burnt lips.

  ‘You’re a cheeky bitch, Mrs Mather,’ he said.

  ‘That’s why you married me,’ she said.

  14 July

  Jack and the Wizard

  ‘The clock’s broken,’ said Jack’s mother. ‘Take it tae Hugh the clockmaker tae get it mended. Here’s some money.’

  The clockmaker was also a wizard. He drew a chalk circle on the floor round Jack’s feet. ‘Just you stay in there, Jack,’ he says, ‘while I look at the clock.’ And he starts fiddling with the mechanism.

  Well, first of all he makes the hands go backwards, very fast. While Jack is watching this he feels like he’s shrinking, and then he looks down at his feet and he is shrinking, and when he cries out in terror his voice is like a wee laddie’s, and he begins to greet like a bairn and that’s because he’s become a bairn. Next, Hugh makes the hands go forward, and Jack grows back to how he was before, but then he feels his joints stiffening and sees his skin wrinkling, and when he cries out again it’s in a croaky old voice, and he’s so terrified that he loses his balance and staggers out of the chalk circle.

  ‘Now ye’ve done it,’ says Hugh. ‘If I canna fix this clock, ye’ll be stuck like that for ever.’

  He works away at the clock for ages. ‘Right,’ he says at last, ‘when I say “Jump!” you jump back intae the circle, and before ye land I’ll gie the balance a wee push and let’s hope it keeps tickin. Ready? Jump!’ So Jack jumps back into the circle, and the clock keeps ticking, and Hugh sets the hands to the right time and Jack is restored to his original self, to his great relief.

  ‘Och, that’s the best bit of fun I’ve had in ages,’ Hugh says. ‘Now, did ye bring ony money?’

  ‘Aye,’ says Jack, ‘but it was cruel, whit ye did, and I’m awa tae tell ma mither aboot it.’

  ‘Now,’ says Hugh, ‘dinna be sae hasty. Here’s a receipt for yer mither, but you keep the money and if you don’t tell her aboot it then nor will I.’

  So Jack took the clock home, with the receipt in one pocket and the money in another, amazed that even a wizard was feart of his mother.

  15 July

  Innocence
>
  She was of an age, his daughter, that made her susceptible to hysteria. Especially when among friends. They were twelve, she and her friends. Their collective ability to raise themselves to dizzy pitches of joy, hilarity, idolatry, rage, shock or fear was – a word never far from their lips – awesome. He was awed by it. Sometimes he saw her as transparent, a glass being with a swirl of chemical reactions surging through her. She was beginning to change, from innocent child to knowing woman: leaving him, in a way; coming towards him, in another. And in doing so she must go through this phase.

  But this afternoon she had not been with friends. She had been alone. She clutched breathlessly at the words. ‘There was a man.’ ‘What?’ he said. ‘There was a man, there was a man!’ she cried, beating at him with her palms because he was being too slow and stupid. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Slow down. Tell me again. What man?’

  There was a man in the woods. Where? Where she’d been walking. Where? Up at the end of the farm road, where it went right to the farm, left into the woods. What was she doing there? She wasn’t doing anything. Defensive. Accusatory.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s all right. I didn’t mean that. Tell me what man.’

  ‘He was in the trees.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘Just standing.’

  ‘Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Touch you?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Sweetheart, he was probably just out for a walk. Maybe he had a dog. Did he have a dog?’

  ‘No, he was just there. Why don’t you believe me?’

  All his worst dreams flooded in. All his fears. Her fears become his, irrational, fed by schlock movies and tabloid headlines. MONSTER. BEAST. ANIMAL. Those horror stories of girls attacked, abducted, murdered.