The Confirmation

by L G Dickson

  ‘I mean, really. Some people have nowhere to live and I’m crying about moving to a house with too many rooms.’ She slapped both knees and stood up. ‘Get a grip, Kirst. James is right, you know – sometimes we lose sight of the big picture.’

  Annie just stared at her. ‘No, we’re not getting all political again. Anyway, it’s important – where you live, I mean. Big or small. In the town. In the country. A home gives you security and then later, when you’ve been somewhere a long time, well, it’s just part of you – I think.’

  Kirsty and Virginia smiled at Annie. They knew exactly what she meant. The three friends left the bedroom and went back to join the men in the lounge.

  CHAPTER 14

  In the course of the next two years James did indeed join the little publishing outfit, aptly named ‘Evergreen’ and had completed the first draft of his book on land reform. He had absolutely loved the process of writing, engrossed in research that was often historical in nature and which sent him off to spend hours in secondhand bookshops – all on the pretext of work. The fact that their bookshelves were now heaving with political biographies and accounts of epic explorations across the globe gave lie to that assertion. He was also enjoying being involved in managing the business and was prodding them to branch out into other areas. As a result, Jack Chalmers had become a firm friend and was a regular visitor to Dean Terrace.

  They were sitting round the dinner table one Friday night, replete after a seafood bonanza cooked up by James. He had raided Armstrong’s, the fishmongers, and Annie and Jack had been treated to scallops with creamed leeks, langoustine in a lemon and butter sauce and then John Dory, seasoned with cumin and paprika, fried off and served with a simple salad.

  ‘Michelin star stuff this, darling.’ Annie reached out to take James’s hand in hers. He smiled back at her.

  Jack had finished off the John Dory but returned to the langoustine shell, trying to prise out any last vestiges of sweet meat that might have escaped his first foray. His lips glistened with a sheen of lemon butter and he carefully licked them from time to time to ensure his elegantly shaped beard remained untainted. Annie thought he had the look of an American frontiersman about him. Impressive thick moustache curling up at the ends and a long grey wavy mane that swept back from his face and tumbled down almost to his shoulders. Well, maybe frontiersman crossed with Raffles, for Jack Chalmers was a bit of a dandy. He liked his velvet jackets, patterned waistcoats and brightly coloured trousers did Jack, which of course had him pegged, in Annie’s eyes, as a model New Town resident.

  When James had described the man as ‘really interesting’ it had been no exaggeration; if anything it was tending towards understatement. He had travelled the world and met a ton of interesting people – the Dalai Lama and Gracie Fields among them. It was that kind of insight, more than anything, that intrigued Annie. The circles you would have to move in to cross such diverse characters. She had once been introduced to Stanley Baxter at a book event somewhere on the Royal Mile. That was fifteen years ago and that’s how rock and roll her life had been.

  After their meal, they had retired through to the lounge and were all sitting nursing chunky glasses of Edradour. Jack was swirling his golden liquid round and round as if the heavenly elixir was about to serve up some ancient secret from its hidden depths.

  ‘Been trying to persuade your man to stand for Parliament.’ He’d stopped swirling now and held the glass against his yellow brocade waistcoat, nestling it into his heavy stomach.

  ‘Really? To do what?’ Annie was shocked. James hadn’t uttered a word. He looked across at her with a slightly embarrassed smile.

  ‘Well, to be a member of the Scottish Parliament, of course. We’ve just been talking about it, that’s all. Of course it’s something I would talk through with you, darling – Jack just mentioned it, that’s all.’ James nodded across to the increasingly uncomfortable Mr Chalmers. ‘The Party’s looking for people to stand. It’s a whole new electoral system, Annie – the Greens should have a chance.’

  ‘But what about the job? I thought you were making a proper go of that?’

  ‘What? Like I haven’t made a go of anything else I’ve done?’ She was annoying him. She knew it but she couldn’t help it.

  Jack obviously sensed the tension. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before knocking back some of the whisky. ‘Sorry, Annie, I didn’t mean to suggest he’d leave Evergreen. Oh no, didn’t mean that at all. It’s just he’s got a good head on his shoulders, you know, bright lad. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested anything.’ He was starting to bluster.

  The bright lad, Annie thought to herself, was nearly fifty-two.

  ‘It’s just that he hasn’t mentioned it at all, not at all.’ She was staring wide-eyed at Jack and avoiding all eye contact with James.

  ‘Well, there really wasn’t anything to mention, darling. Jack just spoke to me about it today.’ James took a slug of his whisky and then got up when he heard the cat at the kitchen door. There was a cat flap but when Ludovic knew someone was at home he steadfastly refused to use it and waited for whichever serf was available to answer his call. They’d been doing it for years and neither cat nor its humans were going to change behaviours now.

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Upset things a bit there, haven’t I?’

  Annie smiled across at him. ‘No, it’s fine. I just don’t always know what’s going on in his head.’ But Jack did. She was very aware that although he was only fifteen years older than James, Jack was turning into a bit of a surrogate father. How could he need a father figure in his life at his age? Was she not enough of a sounding board, confidante? She put her own misgivings to one side and turned her attention back to their guest.

  ‘Another whisky, Jack? Let’s hear a bit more about it when he comes back in from the kitchen.’

  And so it came to pass that Annie’s Saturday morning routine of run round the park, home, breakfast, shower and shopping in Stockbridge all now had to be planned around attempting to avoid a small stall in the main street manned by James, Gordon and Virginia. They stood handing out leaflets while wearing oversized bright green rosettes. James the candidate, Gordon the election agent and Virginia – well, Annie wasn’t sure what Virginia’s role was. This particular morning Annie had grabbed her coffee from Costa while on her ‘cool down’ walk and crossed the road. She stood right at the end of a small cobbled lane and peered round the corner at her friends. The display of neon-green circles reminded her of the gantry above a Formula One starting grid. Cars revved under the circular red lights changing to green to signal a rush towards success and glory. There was little evidence of success and glory here. Stockbridge residents were certainly rushing, for the most part right past her earnest little trio. At one point it looked like Virginia had managed to engage someone in serious political discourse until Annie noticed that she was selling an assortment of knitted items at the end of the stall. Annie smiled – that was Virginia’s place in the scheme of things. The sale of knitted tea cosies would bolster campaign funds, no end. She noticed James trying to break into the conversation but his attempts were being rebuffed and she surmised that Virginia was either discussing knitting patterns or the cost of wool with the little white-haired woman who had deigned to stop. Politics would have to wait.

  Later in the afternoon, after another clandestine venture negotiating the back streets to the shops, Annie sat down to do some work before James got home. She was concluding the buy-out of Ogilvie’s and preparing for press announcements and launch events. Ludovic sat at the window looking out to the garden. Must be getting old, thought Annie; this much paper would normally have signalled playtime. As her mind drifted and she followed the cat’s gaze, Annie suddenly heard the key in the door. She absorbed the familiar sound of his footsteps and tuneless whistling until she turned towards the lounge door and watched him amble into the room. He walked right up to her, sa
ying nothing, bag of shopping in one hand, brushing past her cheek with the other and slipping his fingers through her hair. Holding the side of her face he bent down to kiss her. He smelt of stone, trees and tweed. She grabbed the sleeve of his well-worn jacket and kissed him back – breathing him in. She pushed him back slightly so she could stand up and started to unbuckle his trousers.

  James moved his hand down to hers. ‘Think we’ve got a guest arriving any time soon, darling. Let’s keep this till later.’ He kissed her forehead and took his shopping through to the kitchen.

  You bloody started it, thought Annie.

  She followed behind him and watched him unpack olives, heaven-scented bread and three large Portobello mushrooms.

  ‘What am I smelling?’

  ‘I think it’s the rosemary from the bread.’

  ‘Mmm, lovely. Will we have some now?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll put some coffee on.’ He kept his back to her as he opened up the cupboard in front of him and reached for the cafetière. ‘Annie?’

  Ominous, she thought. ‘Yes?’

  ‘How do you feel about moving house? Out to the west, Cramond perhaps or south, Fairmilehead, that sort of area.’ Now he was getting cups down from the shelf above. China was clanking as loudly as his words. ‘Just think it would be nice to have somewhere a little bigger, detached even, with a proper garden.’

  Annie stood dumbstruck, gripped by a sudden feeling of panic. Proper garden? The garden was fine. It had taken her years to get it just right. Well, to be honest it had taken Gordon years to get it just right. She didn’t need a different garden, a bigger garden, a garden planted out in a place she didn’t really know.

  He turned, looking puzzled at the lack of response.

  Annie suddenly found her voice. ‘Cramond? Fairmilehead?’

  ‘Just suggestions, darling.’ He looked shocked, unprepared for the verbal barrage that was about to hit him.

  ‘They’re miles away from anything. I mean Fairmilehead is halfway to the Scottish Border for God’s sake – might as well move to Cumbria. And I know I love Cramond and all that, but I never gave any hint that I might want to live there. It’s under the bloody flight path for a start. Did I give you that impression? I mean if I did, well, it’s all been a huge mistake, I can assure you. Did I? Did I give you that impression?’

  She decided to stop for fear she was starting to sound like a lunatic. Both were perfectly pleasant parts of the city but they weren’t for her. And really he should have known that.

  ‘Oh, Annie.’ His features relaxed and she could feel the familiar warmth of his smile pulling her in as he stepped towards her, arms outstretched. She hid herself in the crook of his neck, slightly embarrassed at her sudden outburst. His words were muffled but she heard them all the same.

  ‘Of course, darling. I’m sorry. I should have known how important this place is to you. How important home is to you. Just forget I said anything.’

  Her heart rate returned to normal and she felt able to resume making coffee and buttering herb bread.

  James quickly changed the subject and started to talk about preparing the evening meal. Annie’s head was still rattling but she joined in – something about marinades. Chicken – rested and soaking up chili, mint, garlic, lemon, olive oil. Rested. Yes, it was important to feel rested.

  ‘You know, Virginia just uses that stall to chat to the world and his wife about anything other than politics. Honestly, she was waffling on about knitting patterns today. I know she means well and she’s trying to fill the coffers but I’m not sure it’s really helping the campaign.’ He was pulling packets of chicken breast from the fridge now.

  Another complete change of subject. Good. They were now two subject areas further away from moving house. She could return to the moment and fully engage with the conversation. Virginia, politics and knitting – couldn’t be easier.

  ‘Well, you know, darling, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. She could speak to anyone, with authority, on renewables – you know that. But she also knows it’s not the most scintillating topic for most folk. Gin knows how to make people feel comfortable. She might not have launched right in there on climate change but the people she did speak to will remember that they spoke to a lovely lady who helped them out with their knitting queries – and I’ll bet she still managed to give them some campaign info. Might be more of a vote winner than you think.’

  ‘Ha, yes. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Imagine what a formidable team we’d be if you joined up as well.’

  ‘Right, that’s enough of that.’ Annie dragged him off to the lounge to drink coffee and eat bread before their dinner guest arrived. The moving house conversation was well and truly over.

  Bang on seven, the doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ James shouted. Annie was filling bowls with olives and crisps.

  She heard the men’s voices in the hall as she rushed through, all the while wiping her hands on the dishtowel. ‘Ah, there you are.’

  ‘Here I am, ma soeur.’ Hugo walked over to his sister and hugged her, lifting her off her feet.

  ‘Oh my. I think you’re taller every time I see you. Don’t you, James? Don’t you think he’s getting taller?’ She could see James wink at her brother out the corner of her eye as she was dropped back down to the floor.

  ‘Yes, an inch a week I reckon.’

  ‘Right, that’s enough. Come and tell me how you’re getting on at uni.’

  She slipped her arm through Hugo’s and marched him into the lounge. As they sat round drinking the champagne James had bought to mark Hugo’s arrival in Edinburgh, she couldn’t help but study his features, watch every mannerism, listen for the inflections in his voice. He sat forward, leaning his arms on his knees and clasping his hands. His crisp white shirt accentuated the dark sheen of his hair and the olive smoothness of his skin. They might be brother and sister but Annie felt he belonged somewhere on the Mediterranean, in a fishing boat perhaps with the sun beating down on his head. But he wasn’t and she was glad. He was in Edinburgh, poring over books in stuffy lecture rooms in cold concrete towers.

  ‘It’s good. There is a lot of reading to get through but I am fine with that.’

  ‘And halls? Are you settling in okay there? Are you managing with the cooking and the laundry? Do they have washing machines?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s all good.’ He smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry. You sound just like my mother, Annie.’ And as he smiled

  she recognised traces of her father. The smile that encouraged, the smile that calmed, the smile that reassured.

  ‘Oh dear, sorry, Hugo. How is your mother?’

  ‘She’s fine. She misses me, I know, but we have to grow up and move on. Both of us I think – with our lives.’ His smile disappeared.

  Céline had travelled over with Hugo when he arrived for freshers’ week. Annie had thought she looked terribly gaunt and painfully thin. Her whole life had been devoted to this boy and the parting was clearly going to be a struggle. The night before Céline was due to go back the four of them had gone for a meal to the little French bistro along the road. Céline nervously pushed food round and round her plate, eating very little.

  ‘Well, Annie. It is over to you now. You must take care of my boy now.’

  Hugo looked across the table at his mother, his coal dark eyes blazing.

  ‘Maman, non.’

  Annie was shocked at the sharpness of his rebuke and she could see that James was too. She had known it wasn’t going to be easy but suddenly the pleasant little dinner felt incredibly uncomfortable. Was it her fault? Should she have not been so encouraging to Hugo?

  Céline’s mouth began to quiver and Hugo’s fierce gaze suddenly softened. He hung his head, reached out and took his mother’s hand.

  ‘Je m’excuse, Maman. Je m�
�excuse.’

  Céline had lifted her hand, lifted her head and stroked her son’s cheek. Now it was her turn to look fierce. Fiercely proud. ‘Mon chéri.’

  Now here they were in Dean Terrace on a warm Saturday night. Annie, James and Hugo were tucking into a meal of stuffed mushrooms, chicken, salad and bread all washed down with Sancerre and Evian. They laughed at Hugo’s tales of freshers’ week and at his stumbling attempts to understand the more nuanced features of the Edinburgh dialect. They roared with laughter when he described an encounter with one of the university’s canteen staff. The concerned woman had served Hugo more than his fair share of pasta as, in her words, he needed ‘fattening up’. She explained that he would need to hurry along before her supervisor came back – someone she described as having ‘a face that was aye oan the edge o’ a battle’. Hugo had required an immediate translation from a fellow student standing in the queue behind him and the expression had clearly now turned into a bit of a party piece for him. He screwed up his face and repeated the guttural Scots phrase in a warm French accent, which had the effect of making all of its harshness dissipate completely. He sounded both ridiculous and hilarious.

  As the evening flew by, Annie considered what good company he was. He had her father’s engaging qualities but there was more. He had a confidence about him. She wasn’t sure where that came from – Presbyterian Scots didn’t like to exude too much of the stuff. Must be Céline, she thought as she watched him talk politics with James. She has brought him up to be a confident young man who has no qualms about stepping beyond his own borders and finding his way in the world. I hope she knows what a good job she’s done, Annie thought to herself.

  ‘I was thinking.’ Hugo’s demeanour suddenly turned serious. ‘Could I work for you, James? On the campaign, I mean? I think it could be good for my studies but perhaps also just for me. The Green Party in Switzerland is starting to make a mark – lots of factions but they are coming together now and starting to make some gains. I think I might be interested in joining them, maybe working for them when I go back.’