“This looks amazing,” Carl’s father said, looking down at his medallions of beef in a Marsala sauce, with parsnip mash. They’d started with smoked salmon and they were finishing with home-made chocolate tortes. Whilst Flora had helped Carl, Lucy had lounged in the sitting room, not lifting a finger. She came through every so often, re-filled her wine glass and returned to the sitting room. Carl sighed. He supposed it was his penance for her being here. She didn’t do these things easily. Maybe he should cut her some slack, but she could at least help a bit. Everyone else was mucking in.
After dinner, the mints came out, then the cheese and port and Trivial Pursuit. Flora put the kids to bed around ten and then the adults really relaxed, sharing stories with each other. Even when they were at their parents’ house it wasn’t quite the same ambience. They were invariably coming from or going somewhere and only had a couple of hours, except at Christmas. Being on holiday was different, special. Carl relaxed fully into the evening and reached for another bottle of wine.
Chapter Forty One
Birdsong woke Carl next morning. That and the sun pouring in through the vast bedroom window. Straining to see the clock, he saw it was seven thirty. If they were going to go up the mountain, they’d best get a move on, as they needed to be back before five, to start making the birthday dinner. He nudged Lucy, “Luce, it’s half seven. You coming on this walk?”
“Uh,” Lucy was sleepy. “Yes, s’pose.”
“Get up then, c’mon.”
Carl washed quickly. No point showering since they were going hill-walking. He’d have a good scrub later. He roused those siblings who’d expressed an interest in hill-walking and after a few gulps of tea and some hastily prepared toast, they set off. At least it was a good day, not overly warm, Carl thought, but then it was still early.
“I think we can do it in about six hours,” Grant said.
“C’mon,” Fraser said. “The sooner we start, the sooner we get back.
Buchaille Etive Beag’s Stob Coire Raineach stood at nine hundred and twenty five metres. It was a gruelling walk. The strong sun beat down on them for most of the day. Fortunately Izzy had thought to bring sunscreen with her. They were all glad of it, as they didn’t want to be in their father’s birthday photographs looking like pillar boxes.
“Yay. I’ve done a Munro,” Izzy whooped, dancing druid-like around the cairn. Carl passed sandwiches around, whilst Grant poured some soup out of the vacuum flask and Lucy distributed chocolate.
“This is the life,” Fraser said, as his eyes took in Rannoch Moor and the Aonach Eagach.
“Yup,” Robert agreed. “Look at that view. It’s incredible.”
“We’d best head down,” Grant said. Reluctantly the others agreed. When you were up here, Carl thought, you lost all sense of time.
“Happy birthday to you, happy seventieth birthday to you, happy seventieth birthday, dear Daddy,” they all hammed it up, grinning at each other, “happy birthday to you, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray.”
“Now Dad, we figured seventy candles, might bring about a heart attack with the effort of trying to blow them all out,” Flora smiled at her father, “so we thought seven would be sufficient.”
Her father looked at her and then each of his children and the other assembled family members. Drawing breath into his lungs, he promptly exhaled and blew out all of the candles in one go, with a little help from Florence and her cousins.
“Don’t write me off just yet,” their father warned, as he moved back to allow Flora to cut the cake, the kids jumping up and down beside him.
“Me next,” cried Angus.
Cake consumed, they retired to the sitting room with their coffee and liqueurs. Flora and Izzy had gone to a lot of effort to ensure it was a memorable experience, not just for their father, but the whole family. Whilst Izzy had been mountain climbing with her brothers, Flora and Jackie had been decorating the room, with balloons and banners and photographs of all the family.
“We have a surprise for you, Dad.” Flora announced.
“I’m all out of surprises. That was a lovely dinner, Carl,” his father patted his arm affectionately. “That Beef Wellington has to go on your menu. It was delicious.”
“Thanks Dad,” Carl was chuffed. Even as a professional chef of many years standing, a comment like that, from his father still meant the world to him.
“So, what’s this surprise then?” their father asked.
Lucy was busy rigging up a laptop to the plasma screen. Carl pressed the remote control and the first image flashed across the screen. Carl’s commentary commenced.
“This is Dad, aged six months,” a grainy black and white photo of a chubby, pale baby, with a large gummy smile.
“Dad, this is you, at two years,” as a picture of a baby with a chocolate covered babygro came into view.
“Dad starting school.” A little boy appeared with knobbly knees, a grey school cap and a dark wool jersey with the pre-requisite short trousers.
“Dad winning his first game of football at St Machan’s, aged seven.” The slides continued and Carl saw a few tears glistening in their father’s eyes, as he re-visited his past.
When Carl had introduced the last slide, of them all together the day before, their father wiped his eyes and said, “Where did you get all those photos? There are some I haven’t seen for years and others I’ve never seen.”
“Well, we did some digging,” Flora put her arm around her dad, “and we trawled the local newspapers’ archives.”
“Thank you. I’ll treasure this forever.”
His children smiled at him.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Flora said. “Presents.”
“Me first,” Florence said.
“OK, on you go, hen.”
Her grandfather tore off the wrapping paper, whilst Florence told him that this present was from her and her cousins. Initially her grandpa was bemused, as he wasn’t quite sure what it was. “It’s a digital photo frame, Grandpa. Look.” Florence switched on the device and instantly, pictures of his grandchildren flooded the screen. Carl saw his father was about to really get emotional, so to save him the embarrassment, he handed him his gift next.
“Thanks, son,” his father said to him in gratitude. “That’s a lovely gift, boys and girls. Grandpa will put that in his living room, so he can see you all the time.”
“It’s from myself and Lucy,” Carl clarified.
“Oh son, that’s lovely. It’s awfully expensive looking though,” he chided.
“Oh, it wasn’t too dear, Dad and you’re only seventy once,” Carl hoped his father would live until his next big celebration.
The present giving continued. The last one opened, their father said, “I’d like to be seventy next year again. Look at all these gifts. You’ve all been very generous. Thank you again for organising this trip. It means a lot to me and your mum,” he eyed his wife lovingly, who smiled.
The celebrations continued, champagne flowed, truffles were eaten and as the evening progressed, they moved on to whisky. After a few more Bunnahabhains than was advisable, pleasantly sozzled, Carl headed for bed. He wasn’t the first to call it a night, nor the last, but he had to drive tomorrow and wanted to be fit for it. It was already three thirty. The kids were hounded off to bed at eleven and since then, the adults had deteriorated into having a singsong and the occasional impromptu dance. Throat sore from singing, Carl had decided it was time to call it a night. Lucy, however, remained. She was busy chatting with Jackie, so after a quick kiss on the head, he said he’d see her later. By that, he meant, in the morning, as he was quite sure once he hit the pillow, nothing would wake him.
*
“I’m so glad I’m home,” Carl slumped in the recliner.
“Yes, me too,” agreed Lucy. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Yes please and a bacon sarnie, if I’m not pushing my luck.”
Lucy stared at him. Carl never asked her to make anything, unless maybe he’d put new batt
eries in the smoke alarm. She figured she could handle rolls and bacon though. Feeling magnanimous, she said, “Sure.” Carl reeled from the shock. Bliss. He could just lie here and enjoy the rest of his Sunday.
“Here you go,” Lucy nudged Carl with a plate bearing two bacon rolls, liberally covered in brown sauce.
“Oh thanks Luce. You’re an angel.”
“No problem. Listen, I’m going to go over and see Elisa.”
“OK. I’m just going to veg here, maybe watch Top Gear.”
“Right, well, see you later,” she patted his chest and went to grab her coat from the coat-stand.
“Enjoy,” Carl said, before wolfing down his first bacon roll.
The next night, Lucy was at body combat and Carl was taking advantage of the peace and quiet to catch up on some paperwork.
“Hi,” Lucy called.
“Hi. How was your class?” Carl asked from his position under the ensuite sink, which had sprung a leak.
“Good thanks,” Lucy came into the bedroom.
“What’s up?” she stood in the doorway, suffused in a healthy glow, whilst Carl was covered in drips of water and dust.
“It’s leaking.”
“Not good. OK, I’ll leave you to get on with it. Do you want some wine?”
“I’m OK, thanks.”
“Right. Can I use the water downstairs?”
“Yes,” Carl grunted as he tightened the nut.
“Oh, I have a conference this weekend I forgot about.
“Oh, I thought we could have gone to Il Pescatore on Saturday,” Carl was marginally put out. “Never mind, it’ll keep.”
“Great.”
The Steadings was really taking shape. Six weeks to go. He couldn’t wait. Each room looked just right. The colour schemes worked. Each menu was finished and goods had been ordered. Only a few minor details remained and for a change he was ahead of schedule.
*
“I’ll see you late Sunday,” Lucy said to Carl.
“Have a great time,” Carl kissed her.
“It’s a conference, I’m not meant to enjoy myself,” she said.
“OK, well enjoy the food. They always feed you well at these things, don’t they?”
“Yes, I suppose,” Lucy agreed.
“Give me a call when you’re at the airport.”
“Will do,” she kissed him lingeringly on the mouth and was gone.
Carl intended to have a quiet weekend. He’d cook, have a few glasses of wine, listen to a bit of music, maybe cut the grass, but basically chill out. He wanted to read a bit more of his book too.
Carl lay on the couch, drinking Rioja and munching on crostini he’d made as a late night snack. He’d just put on Die Hard and plumped up two cushions behind him when the doorbell rang. Carl was alarmed to see two Strathclyde Police officers in front of him.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Carl Summers?” they verified.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“Can we come in, Sir?”
“Yes, of course. Is everything all right?
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident…”
Chapter Forty Two
Maria – LEO
Generous and warm-hearted. Protective of those close to them, especially children and those who are weak. Strong and surprisingly sensitive. Excellent organisational skills. Makes bold plans.
“David, stop pushing Amy!” Maria shouted at her son in frustration. David could be a right little devil, she thought. He was seeing how far he could push her. He’d been following his little sister around like a second skin all day, so much so that when three-year-old Amy turned around, her brother bumped into her. Maria could tell Amy was getting annoyed. It won’t be long before she’s pushing you around, she thought.
“Amy. Come here so I can put your jacket on. David, get Amy’s red hat for me please.”
Obediently her son fetched the requested item.
“You like red, don’t you, Amy?”
Her daughter, perched on her mother’s knee, said, “Don’t like yellow.”
“No, you don’t like yellow. What’s yellow the colour of?”
“The sun,” said David.
“That’s right, good boy. What else?”
“Mr Wilson’s car.”
“That’s right too.” Their neighbour had a yellow Micra.
“Big Bird yellow,” Amy cried.
“That’s right. Big Bird is in Sesame Street.”
“Mum,” David asked. “Is Sesame St near Isaac’s house?”
“No. It’s in America.”
Frowning in concentration, David asked, “Is that in England?”
“No. England is next to Scotland. America is across the big sea.” Technically it was an ocean, but Maria felt now was not the time for explanations. On reflection, perhaps she should have clarified matters, otherwise how would he ever learn? She was a firm believer in teaching coming from the home. As a single parent she felt this burden even more keenly. She’d never be accused of leaving teaching to the teachers. School certainly wasn’t what it was when she was a pupil but she was grateful for Amy’s nursery place. Coupled with David being in Primary One now, it gave her five mornings of sanity a week.
*
Although a single parent, Maria counted herself quite lucky. Their three bedroom house in the village of Kings River, near Glasgow, was five minutes walk from the nursery and primary school. Maria knew she had made the right decision moving here from the city, which could be rather lonely. David’s conception was the result of a lapse in judgment. His father had no intention of sticking around. Then, whilst pregnant, she’d met Stuart, who was warm, kind, funny, took the bins out, put the toilet seat down and even bought her flowers occasionally. Before David was born, he asked her to marry him. She said yes and they were married when her bump had subsided. Stuart was delighted when David came into the world, not caring that David wasn’t his natural son. He was Maria’s birthing partner and had tears in his eyes when he held his son for the first time. He’d always expected to be a father, just not yet.
The first few months were hard; sleepless nights, a crying baby, Maria trying to work part-time from home, yet still breastfeeding. All her energy had left her and Stuart was run ragged too. No more socialising with his mates at the pub. When he came home from working in his garage, he was no sooner across the threshold, than Maria put David into his arms. She was wrecked. She’d grab a twenty minute nap before dinner, whilst Stuart cooed at David. He blew raspberries on his tummy, tickled him and jumped up and down pretending to be a gorilla - anything to amuse him.
Six months after David was born, Maria discovered her period was late. She couldn’t be pregnant. She was still breastfeeding and they always used condoms. So Maria nipped into the chemist and bought herself a pregnancy testing kit. The test was positive. She made an appointment with her doctor, to have him confirm it, but she already knew. Did she already feel different, or was she imagining it? The doctor congratulated her. Maria asked Stuart to be home on time. She picked David up from her mother’s and ensured that their little family unit was intact for Stuart’s arrival.
Stuart was over the moon. Although he considered David to be his son, Maria knew what it would mean to him to have his own child. They didn’t tell anyone for the first twelve weeks, preferring to be cautious, but after that, you couldn’t hold Stuart back. It had been easy to hide the pregnancy initially, as no-one expected Maria to drink whilst she was breastfeeding David. Although their friends and families were taken aback at the two pregnancies so close together, they were happy for the couple. Stuart showered Maria and David with gifts, was even more affectionate than usual and talked about buying a house in the countryside. Their two bedroom flat in Shawlands was lovely, but impractical with two young children. They spent hours poring over schedules, whilst Stuart ticked off the criteria for the location. Since they wouldn’t be planning to move again any time soon, good schools were a must, as was decen
t public transport.
One day Stuart came home from work, bursting with excitement. He’d found the perfect place. Fifteen miles from Glasgow, a village of seven hundred people, with a shop, a pub, a village hall and a primary school. Maria agreed that it sounded good, but had he looked at houses for sale there? Could they afford it? Well, that was the catch. As everyone loved living there, it was rare for people to move. So, they waited.
A few weeks later, Stuart called Maria to ask her to check out a property, which had come up for sale.
“It’s within our price range.” Maria brought the website up. It was beautiful. Three bedrooms, large back garden, dining kitchen and a spacious, airy lounge. Maria, without hesitation said, “OK, make the appointment.”
The phone rang a few minutes later. “We can see it tonight at six thirty.”
Stuart had said he wouldn’t be late, so at quarter to six, Maria dialled his mobile. No answer. When six o’clock came, she called again. Still no answer. Damn, now they were going to be late. She’d kill Stuart. By quarter past six she was beginning to worry. At six thirty she drove over to his garage to see what the hold up was.
Driving at the speed limit, she made good time until she was slowed by heavy traffic ahead. “Bloody roadworks,” Maria scowled. But this time it wasn’t roadworks which was the problem. She saw the ambulance fly past her, blue lights flashing, drivers hurriedly pulling their cars up on the verge. As the siren faded, the traffic gradually started to move again.
“Thank God,” she thought in relief. But as she approached the crux of the hold up, she felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. Slamming on the brakes, she got out, oblivious to the car horns honking behind her. A scream tore from her throat. Stuart’s Volvo lay wrecked in front of her. The roof had been ripped off and there was virtually nothing left of the driver’s side. An articulated lorry lay awkwardly beside it, relatively unscathed. Maria could hear the policemen telling her to calm down, but she couldn’t stop sobbing and she barely managed to croak, ‘my husband’s car,’ before she collapsed.
Sign of the Times Page 24