by Sue Lawrence
She had a couple of swigs of water from her bottle then picked up another large brownie and dug in her teeth. Was that a hint of mint in there? Or was it ginger? Another bite. No, maybe rosemary; but how could Mags get the flavour of rosemary without the coarseness of the leaves? These were so smooth and buttery. Mags really was a great cook. Compared to herself, she had to admit, her cousin was a genius in the kitchen.
Christine settled back into the seat and arranged her head into a comfortable position against the headrest. She felt quite sleepy, actually. It must be the stress of everything that had been happening. Today was a big day. Christine put on the radio but switched it off after a while – it was all too dull for such a beautiful day. The sun was out and white clouds dotted the sky like fluffy marshmallows. She smiled as she glanced at the fat lambs grazing beside their mothers in the fields to her left; to her right she saw a bird of prey, perhaps a kestrel, hover then swoop to the ground.
It was a glorious day. But soon she would come face to face with the man who had so nearly killed her two children, and this time there was no elderly mother or cute child to influence her feelings. But she felt surprisingly calm – pretty relaxed, in fact. Today would bring some closure. And once she’d seen Colin Clarkson get his punishment, that would be that. No more vengeance.
She leaned forward and checked her face in the mirror. She looked dreadful, she had aged. Even though she had carefully applied her eyeliner, her eyes looked tired. She couldn’t be bothered carrying on with this revenge thing, it was taking too much out of her – and making her a crabby old bitch.
Life was too short, she thought as she nestled back comfortably into her seat again. She bit another chunk of brownie, then rammed it all inelegantly into her mouth. Heavens, she’d never eaten two huge brownies for breakfast before.
She was starting to feel queasy, but still her left hand hovered over the basket. She jerked her hand away and said aloud, ‘No, you greedy old bag, two brownies are enough for breakfast.’
She was still feeling rather sleepy, when she needed to be alert and make good time down the road. She didn’t want to be late. She put her foot down hard on the accelerator. ‘Just get yourself to Gateshead!’
She swerved into the overtaking lane and drove past the little blue Golf in front. How slowly some people drive! She veered left again and found herself stuck behind a slow-moving lorry.
She strummed her fingers on the wheel and glanced at the clock. She needed to hurry. Down went the foot, pressing hard on the floor as she veered sharply to the right. She glanced down at the speedometer and chuckled: amazing how this clapped-out old banger could get from fifty to seventy so quickly! Maybe Mags was right, driving fast was a lot more fun! She was halfway past the lorry when it became clear this was no longer the dual carriageway and there were only two lanes. Another colossal lorry was hurtling towards her, head on.
Chapter Thirty-eight
29th February 1860
Lorna Barrie jolted awake to an unusual sound. Not quite a cry, not quite a wail, it was coming from downstairs. She sat up and threw the wide shawl she used as a bedspread around her. She lit the candle on the bedside table and went to the door.
‘Miss Charlotte?’ she shouted into the gloom. ‘Where are you?’
The reply was another groan. Lorna descended the stairs as fast as she could, thinking of the time three months previously, when Davie had persuaded his mother to take Charlotte in before she showed, so the parishioners need not know. She hadn’t realised how difficult it might be having a lady stay in her modest farm steading, just the two of them. Of course Charlotte was polite, grateful and well-mannered but their lives were so different. And Margaret, Davie’s wife, had not taken too kindly to the situation at all, which was hardly surprising.
In the kitchen a lamp was lit and Charlotte sat at the table leaning back against the chair, arms outstretched towards the table, white-knuckled fingers grasping the edge. She was panting heavily.
‘Oh, Miss Charlotte, the baby’s coming, you must get back up the stairs.’ The elderly woman pulled her shawl tight round her. ‘Why are you doon here?’
‘I was so thirsty and then suddenly I was wet and…’
‘Come now, my dear, let’s get you up yon stairs then I shall rouse young Johnnie to go and fetch Ma Craig.’ She put an arm round Charlotte’s back and guided her to the stairs, holding the candle aloft.
At the top of the stairs, Charlotte stooped and started panting again.
‘Now then, lass, it will all be fine,’ said Lorna, patting Charlotte’s back. She managed to get her along the corridor to her room and into bed. ‘Dinnae move frae here, I’ll be back presently to light the fire.’
Lorna Barrie, although only sixty, stooped like a much older woman. Because of her heart, she had always taken her time to do even the simplest of tasks. Before Davie’s birth, she had been perfectly healthy but he had been such a big baby, the delivery had nearly killed her. The howdie wife said she had never brought such a big bairn into the world.
She moved down the stairs as quickly as she could, with a grimace on her face. ‘Why’s it aye the middle o’ the night?’ she muttered.
She went into the kitchen and to the door where she thrust her feet into a pair of boots caked in dry mud, then opened the door into the chill air. She turned towards the stable and banged on the door.
‘Johnnie! Get up, Johnnie, I need ye to gang and fetch Ma Craig!’
She heard a sigh from inside, and the door creaked opened a little. ‘I’ll just get ma clathes on, Mrs Barrie.’
‘You better be quick, the bairn’s on its way.’ She turned to go back to the house then shouted over her shoulder, ‘If ye dinnae get a move on, it’ll be you helping me wi’ her upstairs!’
She was kicking off her boots at the kitchen door when she heard a door slam. Good, for once the lad was aware of the urgency. She started her weary ascent of the stairs. ‘I’m here, Miss Charlotte, dinnae fret. I’m on my way.’
A couple of hours later, there was a blazing fire in Charlotte’s room. Johnnie had been left to light the fire in the kitchen and his next job was to boil water.
‘Get that pan o’ water up the stairs, Johnnie Bell!’ Ma Craig bellowed out the door into the murk. ‘An’ bring up another lamp.’
There was a low moan from the bed as Charlotte’s contraction took hold. The two women held her arms down so she wouldn’t fall out of the narrow bed as she writhed in agony.
‘Mop her broo, Lorna,’ said Ma Craig.
Once Charlotte had stopped shifting about, she said, ‘Miss Charlotte, I’m gonnae hae a wee look doon there now as the pains are comin’ faster. Dinnae think it’ll be long.’ She turned to Lorna and told her to hold the lamp near.
She fumbled to remove the covers and Charlotte shouted, ‘I need to push, now!’
‘Wait, lass, wait till I say.’ Ma Craig gestured to Lorna to hold down her arms while she took the lamp to see better. ‘Where’s that lad wi’ the other lamp?’
A thump at the door announced his arrival. ‘Am leavin’ the pail and the lamp oot here,’ he bellowed. There was a scampering of footsteps heading downstairs.
Lorna opened the door and grabbed the lamp.
‘Now, Miss Charlotte, now it’s time to push.’
A long wail followed and the two women waited. Charlotte’s eyes were shut tight in agony.
An hour later, Charlotte lay in a freshly made bed, the baby in her arms, wrapped in a white sheet and woollen blanket. She gazed at the sleeping child and stroked her soft downy head. ‘Are babies always so peaceful when they are newly born, Mrs Craig?’
‘No’ always, Miss Charlotte, but this yin’s a big, healthy bairn, she’s nae need tae girn. Has she opened her eyes yet?’
‘Not fully, no, but her lashes have fluttered open and shut. She’s so beautiful.’ She looked at both women. ‘Thank you both very much. It’s the middle of the night, Mrs Barrie. You must be tired. But please would you fetch my p
urse from the dresser over there so I might pay Mrs Craig?’
Lorna stretched her neck and stood up slowly, rubbing her back.
‘That willnae be necessary, Miss Charlotte.’ Ma Craig shook her head.
Charlotte looked up from her baby. ‘But surely you must be paid for your work?’
‘It’s a’ been taken care of.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The kirk session’s dealing wi’ it, Miss Charlotte.’ Ma Craig stood up and picked up her bag. She turned to Lorna. ‘You’ll be a’ right here tonight?’
The other woman nodded.
‘I’ll be back here in the morn to check them both oot. I’ve tae check on Bessie Grant over by the smithy first thing but I’ll come on after that.’
Charlotte nodded at Ma Craig as she left. Lorna went with her to the top of the stairs and bellowed for Johnnie to see her home.
When Lorna returned to the room, she noticed a tear trickling down Charlotte’s cheek.
‘Are you well, Miss Charlotte?’
She nodded at Lorna then leant down to kiss the top of her baby’s downy head. ‘Even at my baby’s birth,’ she whispered, ‘he controls me.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
2014
Gerry took off his dental tunic and reached for his coat. He didn’t usually take much of a lunch break, but everything was ready for the afternoon so he planned to go over the road to the barber and have a quick haircut and a trim of his beard if possible. Chris was always moaning about it being bristly.
He walked along the corridor and, as he passed the reception area, saw two policemen talking to Patricia, the receptionist.
‘Gerry,’ she said, ‘these policemen want to see you.’ Patricia was frowning as she peered over her glasses at him.
One of the policemen moved towards him. ‘Is there anywhere quiet we can speak, Mr Wallace?’
‘You can come up to my surgery,’ Gerry said, glancing over at Patricia who was pursing her lips and frowning.
‘It’s not one of the kids, is it? Is one of them in trouble?’
‘No, Mr Wallace.’
The three men entered the surgery and Gerry switched on the light.
‘I’m Sergeant Bowman and this is Police Constable Singh.’
Gerry reached out his hand and said, ‘How can I help you?’
Sergeant Bowman coughed. ‘Mr Wallace, I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’
Gerry felt his stomach muscles tighten. ‘But you said the kids are fine.’
‘It’s your wife, Christine. She was involved in a road traffic accident on the A1 south of Berwick. She was airlifted to Newcastle Royal Victoria Infirmary but she was dead on arrival. They could do nothing for her. I’m sorry.’
Gerry stumbled, reaching for the dental chair to prop himself up. He shook his head. ‘It can’t be Chris, it can’t be.’
Sergeant Bowman took out his notebook and continued, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Wallace. We’ve checked her ID and we got your details from her phone.’ He went over to the sink and picked up a plastic cup which he filled with water. ‘We’re here to take you down to the hospital,’ he said, handing Gerry the cup. ‘And we’d like your permission for our colleagues to contact your two children. I believe they live in the Newcastle area?’
‘Yes, the kids.’ He nodded. ‘No, I should tell them, I’ll do it, I’ll phone them.’
Gerry looked away from the policemen, towards the window. He always told his patients the view was the best in the city, looking south to Edinburgh Castle, which today was resplendent against the blue sky, high clouds scudding east in the summer breeze.
‘Shall we go, Mr Wallace?’
Gerry nodded, stumbled to his feet and followed them downstairs. Patricia was waiting at the door of the reception. She put her hand to her mouth when she saw Gerry’s face. ‘Anything I can do, Gerry?’ she whispered.
Gerry continued walking, as if in a trance. He turned at the door and mumbled, ‘Cancel the patients.’
Gerry wanted to do the mortuary visit alone. It wasn’t fair to put the kids through that trauma, he decided. The nurse shut the door quietly behind him and he walked into the large room where she was laid out on a high bed in the middle. The only other furniture was three chairs alongside, incongruously low.
Her face was covered in bruises and cuts; he was grateful he had decided the kids should not see her. Despite the injuries, she looked calmer and more serene than he had seen her for a long time. Her thick hair was pulled off her face; it looked as if someone had just brushed it. A long navy woollen blanket covered her up to her chin. Gerry resisted the urge to pull it down; she hated the feel of wool on her face.
He went to touch her then retracted his hand quickly as if burnt. He remembered touching his father when he had died; he had hated it.
He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears streaming down his face. He had to keep himself in control, if only for the kids. He turned and shuffled towards the door where the nurse was waiting for him.
‘Sergeant Bell says the children are in the family room. Can I get you anything, pet?’
He shook his head and allowed her to lead him from the mortuary. Through the glass door to the family room, he could see Jack’s lanky figure folded up tight, as if in pain. His body was shaking with sobs. Anna sat rigid, staring straight ahead, face wet, eyes black with smudged mascara. She put her arm round her brother and patted his back. They both looked up as Gerry entered and Anna burst into tears, rushing to embrace him.
The following day, the three of them sat in the same family room in front of Sergeant Bell, who was ticking things off in his notebook.
‘So, that’s the rough timeplan outlined for you. We need to get the results of the post-mortem, then when that’s done we can release the body for the funeral.’
‘Do you have any idea what might have happened, Sergeant?’ Gerry asked, holding Anna’s hand tight.
‘According to the witness statements, it looks like she was overtaking a lorry and another lorry was coming straight at her on the other side. The dual carriageway had ended just a half mile or so before, so perhaps she had forgotten there was no overtaking lane.’
‘But Mum’s such a good driver, she was always so careful,’ Anna mumbled. ‘I just don’t get it.’
‘Why was she driving down the A1 anyway?’ Jack’s voice was quiet. ‘She wasn’t coming to see us.’
‘It was the trial at Gateshead,’ said Gerry. ‘She wanted to see that man get his sentence.’
Sergeant Bell coughed. ‘Do you two kids want to go grab a coffee? There’s something I’d like to discuss with your dad.’
Gerry was waiting for Anna to insist on staying but she stood up, and pulled on her brother’s arm. ‘Okay. Dad, we’ll bring one back for you.’
Once they had left the room, Sergeant Bell said, ‘Mr Wallace, this is rather a delicate matter.’ He paused and looked down at his notebook. ‘Though the post-mortem is still to be done, I have to tell you that, in the initial blood tests, there was a high level of cannabis in Christine’s system.’
Gerry leant forward. ‘Cannabis?’ He shook his head. ‘There must be some sort of mistake, my wife never took drugs. I mean, she hardly even drank…’
‘I’m sorry, there is no mistake, definitely cannabis.’
Gerry slumped back into his seat. ‘This makes no sense, none of it does.’ He looked up at the policeman. ‘So what does this mean?’
‘We’ll find out more from the post-mortem and take it from there. I’m sorry,’ Sergeant Bell said again.
Gerry had told the kids after the meeting with the policeman that he wanted to go and walk in the hospital gardens to make a couple of calls. They were going to get the train to Durham to pick up Jack’s things and collect the car, then Jack’s flatmate would drive them to Anna’s flat in Jesmond for her things.
Gerry pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped in Mags’ number. Though upset, she had been a great support, reacting
calmly and rationally to the news. She said she would take care of everything up in Edinburgh for now, much to Gerry’s relief.
‘How’s Charlie?’ he asked.
‘Not great, but that’s hardly surprising.’ Mags voice was a monotone. Gerry could hardly recognise her without the usual cheerful lilt. ‘Mum’s staying with him for now. How’re the kids?’
‘Not good at all.’
He could hear Mags breathing out loudly, but she said nothing.
‘I tried Doug’s phone but can’t get through to him. Any idea where he is?’
Mags cleared her throat. ‘No, I texted him yesterday so I’m sure he’ll phone you. What happens next?’
‘They’ve got to do a post-mortem so the body won’t be released for a few days. But actually there was something I wanted to ask you, Mags.’
‘Yes?’ Her voice was strained.
‘Well, the policeman told me earlier that – well, you won’t believe this, but it seems Chris had a high level of cannabis in her blood when she died. I just don’t understand.’
Silence.
‘Mags, are you still there?’
‘Yes, sorry. What?’
‘Cannabis found in her blood. I know how you and Chris had had that chat with Great Auntie Bella about sourcing her some hash before she died. Did you ever get it?’
‘No, we didn’t do anything about that crazy request. So, no leads there. Sorry.’
‘No. It just seems so out of character.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice faltered. ‘It does.’
‘Sorry. Forget this whole conversation, please, it’s as if you’re implicated somehow and you must be feeling as…’ He stopped, trying to regain his composure. ‘As bereft as I am.’
‘Yeah,’ whispered Mags.
‘Better go now. Thanks for looking after Charlie.’