Fields of Blue Flax

by Sue Lawrence

  ‘No problem,’ she said, hanging up.

  Two days later, Mags went round to Gerry’s house with a casserole and an apple pie. She hadn’t wanted to invite them to her house as she hadn’t seen Doug since she threw him out and knew it would be awkward explaining his absence.

  When Mags rang the doorbell, a policewoman answered the door. She introduced herself as Police Constable Dall, the families’ liaison officer.

  ‘Where’s Uncle Doug?’ Jack asked. ‘Lottie says he’s away somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, he’ll be around soon, I imagine. Have you heard from him, Gerry?’

  Gerry was sitting at the kitchen table, looking out into the garden. ‘Need to get something done in the garden,’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘Chris always loved it neat and tidy, can’t let it go…’

  ‘Dad, Auntie Mags asked you a question.’

  Gerry turned round to look at Mags. ‘Doug, yes, he’s coming round later, can’t remember when. This afternoon maybe?’

  The policewoman put up her hand. ‘Gerry, I think you told me your friend would be here between four and five o’clock, and it’s ten to four now.’

  ‘Oh, I’d better be going,’ Mags said, starting for the door. She hugged Anna and Jack before she left. Gerry raised his hand to wave limply, but continued to stare out of the window.

  PC Dall followed Mags to the front door.

  ‘What time do you finish here today?’ asked Mags.

  ‘Very soon. Why?’

  ‘Would you have time to call round to my house, please? Here’s the address.’ She fished out of her basket a card with ‘Mags’s Cakes’ stamped on it.

  ‘Is this something to do with Mrs Wallace?’

  ‘Yes, maybe.’

  ‘I’ll be with you soon as I can.’

  Chapter Forty

  2014

  Lottie sat at the piano in Mags’s dining room. She had just finished playing Julia, one of her favourite Ludovico Einaudi pieces, when she heard the front door open. She knew it would be her mum returning from seeing Gerry.

  ‘In here, Mum!’ she shouted, shutting the piano lid.

  Mags came into the room, her eyes puffy, her hair greasy, wearing a crumpled long skirt. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

  ‘Your hair smells nice,’ she said, scratching her scalp. ‘I can’t even be bothered washing mine. I must look like a tramp.’

  Lottie gave her a hug.

  ‘Want me to play something?’

  ‘No, let’s go and have a glass of wine.’

  In the kitchen, Lottie sat down at the table while Mags brought over a bottle and two glasses.

  ‘Mum, I’ve been thinking.’

  Mags poured the wine and sat down. She looked at Lottie, who was anxiously biting her nails.

  ‘It’s about Auntie Chris. Well, do you wonder if, before she died, Dad told her that we had found out about everything? And do you think she might have…’ Lottie swallowed. ‘Well, do you think she might have killed herself?’

  ‘Suicide?’ Mags gasped. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Chris would never have been brave enough. No, I really don’t think she’d have contemplated suicide.’

  Lottie nodded. ‘Okay, just a thought. Because I still don’t see how this is possible. She was always so sensible, never reckless. So I wonder if he told her. He must have, don’t you think?’

  ‘I really don’t know what he told her.’

  ‘And where’s he been all this time? Has he at least seen the three of them?’

  ‘Gerry said he was expecting him this afternoon. I haven’t spoken to him, but I know he’s been at work every day, I checked with Frances at the practice.’

  The doorbell rang. Mags picked up her glass and took a gulp then stood up. ‘Lotts, if this is a policewoman, I need to speak to her in private.’

  Lottie shrugged and swirled the wine round in her glass. ‘It’s fine, I’m going to phone Anna, see if she wants to come round later. I can’t bear to go there, it’s all too horrible.’

  Mags opened the front door and ushered PC Dall into the dining room.

  ‘So what was it you wanted to see me about, Mrs Neville?’

  ‘Well,’ said Mags, tucking her hair behind her ears, ‘it’s rather delicate, but Gerry told me that cannabis had been found in Chris’s blood.’

  ‘That’s right. We’re still waiting on some test results but it seems there was a significant amount in her system. From what I’ve heard, it seems very out of character for Christine.’

  Mags nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Gerry told me that the two of you were best friends and, I understand, cousins as well?’

  ‘The thing is,’ Mags slid her gaze away from the policewoman and down onto the polished dining room table. ‘I’d like to show you something, if that’s all right. It’s easier.’ She looked up. ‘Can you come upstairs with me, please?’

  Mags led the way to the attic stairs. ‘Mind your head. The ceiling’s a bit low.’

  The attic was bathed in summer sun from the dormer window. Doug’s laptop was shut on his desk and beside it was a photo of Mags with a young Lottie, on the beach at Gairloch. They were both laughing, Mags holding Lottie’s hand. Mags wore a long white cheesecloth dress and her hair was up in a loose bun; Lottie had on red dungarees and her hair was in thick plaits that rested on her shoulders. In front of them was a sandcastle, a spade sticking out of the sand beside it.

  Mags pursed her lips, then the words began to rush out of her. ‘Like you, I’d been wondering about the cannabis thing, because it seemed so out of character.’ She opened a drawer in Doug’s desk. ‘But I remembered when I was tidying things out the other day and found something in the drawer. I put it back where it was, so I presume it’s still here.’

  She pulled the drawer fully out and lifted off the staples, pointing to the packet hidden underneath.

  PC Dall drew the little plastic bag out and opened it slightly, lifting it to her nose.

  ‘Any idea how long this has been here?’

  Mags twisted some loose strands of hair round her finger. ‘No. I only found it a few days ago when I was up here cleaning.’

  The policeman placed the packet inside a plastic evidence bag, sealing the top. ‘I’ll need to take this away.’ She looked at Mags. ‘Is your husband a cannabis user, Mrs Neville?’

  ‘He dabbled a bit in the past, in his student days, but he’s been a bit, well, on edge over the past few weeks so perhaps he’s taken it up again.’

  ‘And is there any way he might have supplied it to Mrs Wallace?’

  ‘They were good friends, who knows.’

  PC Dall nodded and said, ‘Is this his laptop?’

  ‘Yeah, I keep mine in the kitchen.’

  ‘We may need to take it away, but we’d need your permission.’

  Mags shrugged. ‘Help yourself.’ She stood back as PC Dall started to unplug it. As they walked down the stairs, she asked when Doug was due home.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mags. ‘He’s been away from home for a few days. But you’ve got his mobile number.’

  ‘We’ll need to ask him a few questions,’ said PC Dall. She shook Mags’s hand and left the house, Doug’s laptop held firmly underneath her arm.

  As the door shut, Lottie appeared at her mother’s side. ‘What’s going on, Mum?’

  ‘Nothing, darling.’

  ‘She had Dad’s laptop. Why did she take that? I mean, they do that kind of thing for paedos or terrorists. The whole Jack thing’s nothing to do with Auntie Chris’s death, Mum.’

  ‘I know, none of this was my decision. PC Dall just wants to check a few things out.’

  ‘You didn’t tell her about Jack?’

  ‘Of course not, darling. Why would I? Now let’s get back to that wine.’

  Chapter Forty-one

  October 1859

  David Barrie took out the key for the cottage and pushed it into the lock. He stepped inside, pulled open the curtains and uncl
ipped the window locks, flinging them wide open. It was an overcast day but warm for October and the cottage had not been used for a couple of weeks.

  He had brought a flask of water from home and had picked some brambles in the woods. He put them on a plate in the middle of the table then pulled a slim book from his pocket. He sat down at the table and began leafing through the pages while he waited for her to come.

  He was looking forward to telling her the news, but until then he tried to make sense of the words on the page in front of him. Why could he not read and write like everyone else? The dominie had told his parents that he had some strange problem with letters, it was so frustrating.

  But she kept telling him that he was not stupid, that he was intelligent, even. Something in the way she said it made him believe her. He wanted to do something to better himself. And she was so patient with him, unlike the dominie who had belted him in front of the class. He felt that, after all these years, he was finally making some sort of progress.

  He thought about the first day he had spoken to her, about eight months earlier. Of course he had known who she was, having admired her slim figure and lovely face smiling on Sundays in church. But it was only when he had been helping Billy with the new bench for the piano that he had spoken to her. She now played the music in church every week and had said the old bench was too low; with her height, she needed something higher.

  At first she had spoken only to Billy, thanking him for the new bench. She sat down on it and dangled her feet. ‘This is perfect,’ she said as she pressed her feet on the pedals. ‘Just the thing for my long legs.’

  Both men looked down at the stone floor and shuffled their feet.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Henderson. And, I do apologise, I have not been introduced to your assistant.’ She looked at David and beamed. He had the feeling she was admiring him and he felt himself redden. What a stupid thought; how could she, an educated lady, possibly appreciate anything about him, a lowly farm labourer.

  ‘It’s David Barrie, Miss. I live along the main street in the village.’

  ‘Like everyone else,’ she said, extending her hand and smiling. He took it to shake and noticed how soft her hand was, so unlike Margaret’s, calloused with hard work.

  ‘Can you play us something, Miss?’ David surprised himself by asking that, but she happily agreed. Soon Billy had to leave, but David lingered in the church, listening to her play some psalms. Once Billy had gone, she put the music book away and began to play another piece altogether. Her face beamed with pleasure as she tilted her head back and shut her eyes. He was gazing at her angelic face and her long neck when suddenly she stopped playing and opened her eyes. ‘That was Chopin, but apart from the first page, I don’t know it by heart.’

  She looked straight at him and he noticed how silvery grey her eyes were. ‘Mr Barrie, this is our little secret. The Minister would not be pleased if he knew I was playing something written by a papist composer in the church.’ She smiled at him, her face lovely, and he felt himself become hot all over. It was time to leave and he told her he must get back home.

  ‘Before you leave, Mr Barrie, might I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes, Miss, anything.’

  ‘Since you are so good with your hands,’ she said, rubbing one hand over the smooth wood of the bench, ‘tell me, have you ever made a little tree house? I have been reading a novel that features one and it intrigues me.’

  ‘A tree house, Miss? No, and tae be honest, it’s Billy who’s good at carpentry, I just lend him a wee hand. But I could gie it a try.’

  ‘That would be wonderful, Mr Barrie, thank you.’

  So he had started work on the tree house at the cottage. Margaret asked what he was making and when he told her, he added that it would of course be for her – and their bairns when in time they were blessed with them. That night she sulked the whole evening, brows knitting in silent wrath as she sat by the fire doing her darning. She never mentioned the tree house again.

  Once the tree house was finished, he invited Miss Charlotte to view it, and she declared how delighted she was. He told her she could go up there whenever she wanted and she said she would do so on summer afternoons with a book to get away from the manse. It seemed strange to him that she would want to leave such a fine house to read halfway up a tree, but, well, she was a lady; what did he know.

  She asked if, in return, there was anything she could help him with, as way of thanks, and he felt emboldened to ask if she could help with his reading and writing. With each lesson he enjoyed her company, and the sight of her beautiful face, more and more.

  There was a tap on the door and he jumped to his feet.

  There she stood, shoulders hunched, a scarf around her neck, her arms clutching a leather satchel.

  ‘Come away in, Miss Charlotte, I’ve been trying to read the book frae last time but I’m still finding it difficult.’

  She nodded as she sat down at the table, taking off her bonnet and laying it in front of her. She unknotted the scarf, put the satchel on the table and drew out two books, a jotter and some pencils. She sat back on her chair and sighed.

  ‘How are you, David?’

  He smiled and said, ‘Well, thank you, Miss Charlotte. I was just checking on the tree house earlier, I still need to touch up the paintwork, but it’s looking fine.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, looking down at the gnarled wooden table.

  ‘Are you feeling well, Miss Charlotte?’ Her skin, usually so bright and clear, had a grey pallor, and he noticed some pimples on her chin.

  She looked at him, grey eyes glistening. She popped a bramble into her mouth, swallowed then said, ‘I must confess, I am not, David. This is so difficult to relay as I know you and Mrs Barrie have waited such a long time to be blessed with a child and…’ She looked out the windows at the sight of a couple of sparrows alighting a branch outside.

  ‘Well, Miss Charlotte, I hae some news for ye, if I might be permitted to share it after you’ve finished?’

  ‘Tell me now, David, if it’s good news – for mine, sadly, is not.’

  ‘Miss Charlotte, ye ken how Margaret and me have waited so long for a bairn, we’ve been married now some ten years. Well, Margaret is expecting a baby, due next spring.’ He beamed and his dark eyes twinkled.

  Charlotte stretched out her hand and touched his arm. ‘David, I am so very pleased for you both, that must be welcome news indeed. Is your wife keeping well?’

  ‘Aye, no bad, she didnae hae any sickness or anything. Ma says it’ll be a boy.’

  Charlotte withdrew her arm and clasped her hands together in front of her. ‘Your child will be able to play in the tree house you built.’ She glanced out the window as the sparrows flew away. ‘But how coincidental to hear your news on a day such as today. I was going to tell you that I too am expecting a child. It will be born early in March.’

  She glanced over at him then looked down at the table again.

  David’s eyes widened, then he said, slowly. ‘Are you pleased, Miss Charlotte?’

  ‘Am I pleased? David, what a question. Am I pleased that I, daughter of the manse, am to produce an illegitimate child and will soon become the talk of the parish, the shame of the village? No, I am not pleased, not at all.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, of course you’re no’ pleased. What will ye dae?’

  She shrugged. ‘I do not yet know. I will have to leave the village for a few months, and then once the baby’s here… Well, I have no idea what will transpire.’

  She placed her arms out on the table in front of her and laid her head on them, turning her face away from him.

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘Only Cookie, and that is how it must be. I do not know where I shall go.’

  David reached out and touched her hair. ‘Maybe you could stay at Corrie. Ma’s aye saying she’s lonely there now my Dad’s gone.’

  Charlotte lifted her head up and looked at him. ‘That would be too much of an imposition, surely.�
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  ‘I dinnae think so, Miss Charlotte, I was going tae see Ma on Sunday, I could ask.’

  ‘There would need to be complete discretion, David. No one can find out.’

  ‘Aye, of course. Ma’s never been one to blether wi’ other wifies, she’ll no clype.’

  Charlotte raised her shoulders and sat upright, rubbing her hands. ‘Let me discuss this with Cookie but that might be a good option, David, thank you.’

  She opened the book on top of her pile. ‘And now shall we take a look at Saint Ronan’s Well?’

  ‘Aye, if you feel like it, Miss.’

  ‘In truth, I do not, David. Shall we practise some writing instead?’

  She took out a sheaf of papers and handed him her dip pen. ‘Why do you not write something for me? Start by practising your name, then try a few words, perhaps about the joy of hearing you are to become a father.’ She began to fill a little inkwell she had taken out of her bag from a bottle of ink, eyes downcast in concentration.

  ‘I’ll try, Miss.’ As she screwed the lid back on the bottle, he gazed at her in adoration.

  Chapter Forty-two

  2014

  Gerry and Anna stood side by side in the kitchen, mugs of coffee in their hands. They were looking out at the garden where two crows were squawking loudly in the apple tree. Eventually Anna said, ‘Remember Mum wanted our apple trees to be as big as Auntie Mags’s trees, Dad, but ours never got that tall. They never even have many apples, do they?’

  She turned to her father who stood, hands clasped tight round his mug, silent.

  Anna continued, ‘I’m going to see Grandpa today with Lottie. What is there to do?’

  Gerry looked round at his daughter, as if he had only just noticed her presence. ‘What?’

  ‘Grandpa. I’m going to see him later. Is there anything you need me to do before the funeral tomorrow?’

  Gerry returned his gaze to the window. ‘We must do something about the garden, it was your mother’s pride and joy. Can’t let it get out of order, she’d not have liked that.’