by Sue Lawrence
Anna put down her mug. ‘Dad, I’ll see you later. I’ve got my mobile if you need anything.’
She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I still can’t get used to you being clean-shaven, Dad. Mum would have loved it.’
He rubbed his fingers over his chin. ‘Loved the lack of beard, yes…’
‘Jack’s going to get out your suit and black tie and see if you need a shirt ironed when he’s back from the gym. Okay?’
But Gerry didn’t reply. He was still staring out the window.
Lottie put her arm around her cousin’s shoulders as they walked along the path to Charlie’s house. Lottie reached for the buzzer then stopped, her hand in mid-air.
‘Anna, this is going to be so difficult, both Gran and Uncle Charlie are in a terrible state, they just can’t keep it together. I hate seeing old folk cry. God, you must be feeling a million times worse though.’ She gave her cousin a tight hug.
Anna nodded. ‘I’ve been crying myself to sleep every night.’ She pulled out a tissue. ‘Poor Grandpa. It’s so wrong isn’t it, to lose a child. It kind of ruins the whole natural sequence of things. I mean, remember how mum was when we had our accident.’ She blew her nose then rammed the tissue into her pocket. ‘Okay, let’s go in.’
Lottie pressed the bell a couple of times, turned the doorknob and walked in, shouting, ‘We’re here!’
They walked into the hall and felt the stifling heat hit them.
‘God it’s boiling in here,’ Anna said, opening the door to the lounge.
Charlie sat in his armchair, head bent low, bony shoulders pointing through his cashmere sweater. He turned when he saw them and tears filled his eyes.
Auntie Peggy pushed herself up off the sofa and hobbled over to hug them both, one after the other. She sighed deeply, wiped her eyes and gestured to the sofa. ‘Sit down girls, I’ve got the coffee tray all ready.’ She toddled across the room towards the kitchen and as she passed her brother, she stroked his hollow cheek. He brushed her hand away and said to the girls, ‘Come and tell me your news. How are you both?’
‘Fine, Grandpa,’ said Anna, taking his gnarled hand. ‘Well, not really but that’s just what we say, don’t we. How about you?’ She looked into his watery eyes, the brown cornea now ringed with grey.
He squeezed her hand back and whispered, ‘Not great, Anna. Love of my life, gone. It’s not right, not the right order of things.’ He shook his head.
Lottie began to snivel then stood up. ‘I’m going to help Gran with the coffee.’
Charlie leaned in to Anna and whispered. ‘It’s that great-grandmother of theirs. It’s her fault. She had a secret you know. I told them, your mum and Mags, not to carry on researching her history but they wanted to, your mum especially.’
‘That’s nothing to do with anything, Grandpa,’ said Anna, stroking his hand, the skin thin as parchment.
‘I think she had a curse, that’s why no one could find a birth certificate or anything. It all came from her, all the bad things – your accident, and then this, I’m sure of it.’ He turned to look directly into Anna’s blue eyes. ‘Don’t you girls start looking into her past now. I want all that information they collected destroyed. In fact, you mustn’t look into any of the family’s past, do you hear?’
Anna frowned. ‘Okay, Grandpa,’ she said, as Lottie came into the room bearing a tray of mugs. She stood up and went into the kitchen where Peggy was tipping a packet of rich tea biscuits onto a plate.
‘Auntie Peggy,’ she whispered, ‘Grandpa seems obsessed with the research thing Mum and Auntie Mags were doing on their great-grandmother. What’s that all about?’
They could hear Lottie talking loudly next door. ‘Here’s your coffee, Uncle Charlie. I’ll put it on the coaster for you.’
‘He’s been consumed by it, keeps telling me it was her fault, some curse. I’m worried his mind’s gone even more now.’ She let out a long breath then stretched out her hand to stroke Anna’s curls. ‘It’s a terrible business, it really is.’
She looked up from the plate of biscuits in her hand. ‘And where’s Doug? Do you know what’s happening there? I don’t like to ask Lottie, and Mags wont tell me.’
‘Sorry Auntie Peggy, way down my list of priorities.’
Peggy drew her great-niece to her ample chest in a hug. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, of course it is.’ They walked next door to join the others.
About ten minutes later, Lottie’s phone rang and she plucked it from her bag and looked at the screen. It was her dad. She ignored it. A couple of minutes later a text pinged in. She picked it up and read. It was Doug, asking if he could help with transport to the funeral, and pleading with her to meet him and talk.
Lottie waited till Peggy had finished telling them about who was coming to the funeral from the extended family then interrupted. ‘Sorry, Gran, that’s a text from Dad. He says can he take you and Uncle Charlie to the funeral? He can pick you up at 10.15. Mum’s got to help Gerry with things at the house so she can’t do it, I’d take you but my car’s only got two doors.’
‘Well, that’s a kind offer. Yes, please.’ Peggy picked up her mug from the mantelpiece then said, ‘Lottie, he’s not living at home at the moment is he, sweetheart?’
‘No, he’s not.’ Lottie started to tap on her phone. ‘Right I’ll just reply to him just now, Auntie Peggy.’
Her text back to Doug read, ‘Fine for lift. What is there to talk about?’
‘Want to tell you what happened twenty-three years ago. Please?’
Anna picked up her mug and finished her coffee then typed in ‘Okay. My flat, 8 o’clock.’
Chapter Forty-three
June 1859
Charlotte tipped back her head and burst out laughing.
‘David Barrie, I swear I have not laughed so much, ever.’ She shook her head. ‘You make teaching the written word a joy. Truly.’
David smiled back at her and gazed into her grey eyes. ‘Miss Charlotte, I have to tell ye, I havenae laughed sae much in ages either.’ He pointed to the book opened on the table in front of them. ‘I ken ye said As You Like It is a comedy but it’s the way they speak too, is it no’?’
‘Absolutely, David, but I did not realise that until you read the words out loud to me.’ She straightened her back and tried to suppress a grin. ‘Methinks you are at home in the Forest of Arden, young knave!’
‘No’ sae young, Miss Charlotte. You could almost be my daughter!’
She frowned. ‘Oh, I do not think so, David, I was eighteen years old on my birthday two weeks ago.’
‘Aye, well that makes me twenty years older than you – it would be easy to be a faither at twenty!’
The smile left her face and she put her hand on the book to close it. ‘You have not the character of a father. What I mean is, you have no qualities of the one I know as you are neither stern nor distant nor… bullying. And I so enjoy our time together, you make me laugh. There is no laughter in the manse.’
‘To be honest, Miss Charlotte, there’s few laughs in my ain home. The wife’s waited so long to hae a bairn and it just disnae happen.’
Charlotte looked concerned. ‘I am so sorry, David, that must cause such grief for you both.’
‘Even mair since Agnes and Billy next door just got married last year and they’re having twins any day now.’
Charlotte looked into his kind eyes and he looked away towards the window and the early spring sunshine.
‘But in my home at Corrie, when I was a bairn, my Dad was aye one for a joke, he’d have us laughing a’ the time.’
‘That must have been a wonderful childhood,’ Charlotte said, patting his arm.
She began to pack the books and paper into her satchel. ‘Well, I must be going. I said to Cookie I would be out for an hour and would return before my father gets back from visiting the parishioners in Oathlaw.’ She threaded the leather strap through the catch and put the satchel on her lap. ‘It is my belief however, that he goes there primarily to partake of Lady Munro’s fi
ne claret.’
David opened his eyes wide. She noticed his shocked look and smiled. ‘You are a good man, David. And one I believe to be straightforward and honest. My father is more, shall we say, complex.’
David said nothing, but pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet when she stood up from hers.
‘Let us meet in another four weeks, on the last Friday of the month as usual?’
‘Aye that’d be grand, Miss. I’ll gie ye half an hour or so now before I gang home in case anyone sees ye coming out frae the woods.’
‘From the Forest of Arden, David!’ she said, laughing. She tied on her bonnet, picked up her satchel and went to the door.
‘Next time we shall look at A Midsummer Night’s Dream – now there is a truly enchanted forest!’ She nodded farewell to him and stepped outside, pulling her shawl tight round her shoulders. The wind was getting up, and the branches on the hazel trees were beginning to sway gently to and fro.
She came out of the woods and crossed the road, checking there was no one around to see her, then started along the road towards Tannadice village. She walked past the little cottages, each one with smoke billowing out of its chimney. She had only been once in one of those cottages, when she went out with Cookie one day to visit an old lady, taking her some ramson soup. Cookie had said it was good for her ailment, whatever it was, but then Cookie said soup was good for all ills.
Charlotte had been shocked at how grimy and shabby the cottage was. There were no rugs on the floor, just bare stone. She shivered as she remembered how cold it had been. The pan hanging on the swee over the fire was black and the cups Cookie insisted they take tea from were chipped and filthy. How could they live in such hovels?
As she passed the Barrie cottage, she tried to imagine David living in such squalor. He was an intelligent man, humble yet bright. Was there no way to improve his lot? If she could help him with his reading and writing, could he perhaps obtain a better job? Though she had had no idea until today that he was thirty-eight, he looked much younger. Perhaps he was too old for anything new.
She had been attracted to him for some time; she used to surreptitiously watch him come through the church door, remove his cap then usher his wife into a pew. She had noticed his deep-set eyes and strong features. And his height: he towered over his dumpling wife. Though the poor thing was unable to conceive, that must be a terrible burden.
Charlotte opened the manse gate and walked up the path, praying that her father was not yet home. She pulled the door quietly behind her then crept along the corridor towards the kitchen. Cookie was sitting at the kitchen table, writing.
‘Is he back?’ Charlotte asked.
‘No’ yet,’ she said looking up at the clock. ‘Shouldnae be long though. I’d better get the tea tray ready.’
Charlotte ambled towards the table, removing her shawl. ‘What are you writing? It does not resemble your usual lists and menus.’ She peered over the older woman’s shoulder.
Cookie quickly shut the book.
‘It’s my journal, Miss Charlotte.’ She took a long ribbon and tied it round the covers of the diary. She stood up and put it in the drawer of the kitchen dresser.
‘Should one not keep a journal somewhere secret?’ Charlotte asked, watching her shut the dresser drawer.
‘It’s only there while I mak’ the tea, then it’ll gang back to its secret place. But to be honest, Miss Charlotte, there’s nothing I need to hide frae anyone.’
‘Who can tell, Cookie? Certainly not I.’ She tucked a loose strand of hair into her bun then smiled. ‘I too keep a journal, but mine is under lock and key! I shall be in the drawing room presently. Shall I take Mother her tincture first?’
‘Aye, if you dae that please, Miss, I’ll get everything ready on the tray.’
There was a loud noise from the hall as the front door opened. They both flinched and looked round. They stood still, listening to footsteps, heavy at first then fading.
Cookie walked quickly over to the coat hooks and took down her apron. ‘That’s him home now,’ Charlotte said, shivering. She tiptoed towards the door, pulled her shawl tightly round her and sped up the stairs.
Chapter Forty-four
2014
Lottie answered the door to find her father standing there, hair uncombed, stubble on his chin. He smiled broadly, his dimples prominent, when he saw his daughter.
He moved to hug her but she turned away. ‘Go on into the lounge, Dad. Beer or red wine?’
‘Whatever you’re having, Lotts.’
He wandered through to the small living room and went to the piano in the corner, peering down at the sheets on the music stand. Taking his glasses from his jacket pocket, he sat down and began to play.
‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you!’ Lottie said, bringing in a tray. He looked round, his hands hovering above the keys. ‘Lotts, this is one of those Ravel pieces you did at your final concert, isn’t it? It’s fabulous. I’m rubbish at it though. Will you play it?’
She shook her head.
‘Please, darling?’
‘Later, maybe. Tell me what you’re here to say.’
Doug shut the piano lid and went to sit beside Lottie on the sofa. He took a glass of red wine from the tray and lifted it up. ‘Cheers!’
‘I don’t think there’s much to be cheery about, Dad. It’s Auntie Chris’s funeral tomorrow.’
‘I am not feeling cheerful. Believe me, the past few weeks have been a nightmare.’
Lottie took a gulp of her wine and sat back, looking at him steadily, trying not to let her emotions show. ‘So, Mum says you’ve been staying at Bill’s since you left home?’
‘Sleeping on his sofa, not the most comfortable of beds, I have to say.’
Doug sighed. ‘Lotts, I want to tell you what happened in 1989. She – Chris, I mean – had asked to meet up. It was only a week before her wedding to Gerry and she said she wanted to chat to me about my best man’s speech. I presumed she wanted to check there was nothing dodgy in it, you’ve heard how her mother’s side were very straight-laced, wee frees from somewhere up north. Anyway, I was up in Aberdeen helping my mum clear out the stuff from Dad’s surgery – it was pretty soon after he died – and Chris had been in Forfar or Brechin or somewhere near there.’
He took a sip of his wine and glanced at Lottie, whose expression was inscrutable.
‘So we decided to meet at the cottage, the place in the woods we took you to a couple of times when you were wee, just a toddler. There used to be an amazing little tree house in the garden, but that was already gone when you were there, ruined in that great storm.’
‘Why did you meet there?’
‘I was on my way down from Aberdeen and it’s five minutes off the main road back to Edinburgh and she said she was only ten minutes away. She was the one who suggested the cottage.’
He frowned then continued, ‘She was waiting for me when I arrived. We went inside and I got out my notes for the speech that I’d started to cobble together. We talked a bit about the wedding. She’d been really disappointed when Mum couldn’t be her bridesmaid. You knew she had post-natal depression after having you, didn’t you?’
Lottie nodded.
‘Well, it was really bad and in those days they didn’t have the range of medication they have nowadays. So it left Chris having to ask someone else to be bridesmaid – Lesley someone or other, an old school friend she wasn’t even that friendly with. Chris was pretty pissed off that Mum pulled out at the last minute, but she just wasn’t up to it.’
‘Right, but where are you going with this?’
‘Just listen, please. We talked about the speech. I kept telling her it was none of her business – I was the best man. But she was very… controlling.’ Doug sat up straight and wiggled his neck around.
‘Your neck still bad?’
He nodded then continued. ‘After, I dunno, twenty minutes or so she moved the conversation onto Mum, though she didn’t seem very sympathetic
. I don’t think she really believed in post-natal depression. I think she thought it was some wacky, selfish psychological illness, and that Mum ought to just snap out of it. She really didn’t have a clue. It was as if she thought Mum was inventing an excuse not to go to the wedding.’
Doug frowned. ‘Mum was really bad, you know. She could hardly get out of bed. Peggy – Granny – had to look after you while I was at work. I’d been sleeping in the spare room for about a month, with you in the cot beside me. Lotts, Mum was in a really bad place.’
He turned sideways and caught a glimpse of his daughter’s face, still unreadable.
‘So, back at the cottage.’ Doug paused to scratch his lank hair. ‘Chris began to, well, come on to me. At first I thought she was just messing around. I thought it was funny.’
He took a gulp of his wine and topped up his glass from the bottle on the tray. ‘So, you know how they say any woman can seduce any man, well, I’m ashamed to say, the inevitable happened. I’ve regretted the whole thing ever since.’
He looked at his daughter, dark eyes imploring. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Lotts. She wanted to seduce me. I reckon it was like a power thing. Of course I could have resisted, but I didn’t.’ He paused. ‘Of course I share the blame, but I didn’t instigate it.’ He sighed. ‘That sounds so pathetic, doesn’t it?’
‘But why did she want to sleep with you a week before her own wedding?’
‘She said she had always loved me, fancied me – God, this is embarrassing – way before I got together with Mum. I’d chatted to her at some of the parties we all went to, but she was always in a different crowd of friends, never with Mum and her cool gang. She said she’d been wildly jealous when Mum and I got married and, though she was over that, she still wanted to sleep with me just once, because after she was married that could never happen. So, since I was, well, pretty vulnerable, what with Mum’s health and…’
‘And no sex for ages?’ Lottie spat out the words.
Doug looked towards the ceiling. ‘Yes, yes, you’re right. Call me weak and feeble, but yes, that’s right. I’m not trying to excuse what I did.’