Fields of Blue Flax

by Sue Lawrence

  ‘He’s eating better,’ said Mags, ‘and he doesn’t seem as, well, depressed as he has been for the past six months.’

  ‘Auntie Peggy’s good for him, makes him laugh,’ said Jack. Charlie came back in and sat down.

  ‘Do you want more tea, Uncle Charlie?’ asked Jack.

  Charlie sat down, leant over the table and cupped his hand to his ear. ‘What? Speak up.’

  ‘More tea?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, pushing his cup across the table.

  The piano music started up again, another tune, different in style, louder.

  Mags smiled. ‘That’s a Chopin piece now. It’s like an Usher Hall concert in here today, isn’t it?’ She topped up everyone’s tea then looked at the clock. ‘Your Dad should be here soon,’ she said to Jack and Anna, twiddling with an earring. ‘He’s doing a bit better now too. What do you both think?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad’s okay. He’s working silly hours at the practice but I think that’s good for him, keeps him focused.’ Jack reached out towards the scones. ‘Okay if I have another one, Auntie Mags?’

  She laughed. ‘Of course, Jack, so good to see you tuck in. I love feeding people with a good appetite.’

  ‘I know, sickening isn’t it. He eats like a horse and still manages to be the skinniest person in town.’ Anna shook her head as she looked at her brother, reaching over to poke him in the ribs. He ignored her and reached for the butter.

  There was a moment of silence from the dining room. Then there was the sound of a key turning in the front door lock.

  ‘We’re in here!’ Mags shouted as Lottie came rushing in. She gave her cousins and Uncle Charlie hugs then sat down at the table as the piano began again.

  ‘Why’s Dad giving us a concert?’ She pointed towards the dining room.

  ‘He said he’d entertain us till Gerry arrives, then he’ll stop and get the beer out.’ Mags smiled at Lottie. ‘He still can’t play that Chopin piece anything like as well as you can, darling, but he’s trying.’

  Anna picked her bag up and looked at her phone. ‘That’s a text from Dad,’ she said. ‘He’s running a bit late.’

  Anna dumped her bag back on the floor and looked at Mags. ‘He was going to tell you the latest news, but why don’t we just do that before he comes, so he doesn’t have to tell you himself and get all maudlin again.’

  Mags leant her head to one side and swallowed. ‘What news?’

  ‘He heard from the policeman in Newcastle. That man who caused our accident eventually showed up at the court and finally pleaded guilty, so he got a fine of £180 and six points off his licence.’

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Mags, incredulous.

  ‘I know. Not much, is it.’ Jack said.

  ‘Still,’ said Mags. ‘Chris would’ve been pleased – at least he was found guilty. Though he kept trying to claim it wasn’t his fault, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. There was too much evidence against him though – photos, witness statements and everything. Anyway, it’s good it’s all over now.’ Jack leant back against his chair. ‘It’s a bit like when we heard the final outcome of Mum’s case last week, then we all had closure.’

  The piano music stopped. Jack looked over at Charlie who was staring out of the window, humming. He leant in towards Mags. ‘Auntie Mags, did Dad tell you about the results of the hearing?’

  Mags shook her head and looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were white, they were clamped together so tightly on her lap.

  ‘They said Mum must have somehow forgotten the road had changed from dual to single carriageway.’ Jack scratched his head. ‘It was so unlike her, she was a good driver, but they blamed it on the stress she’d been suffering since our accident. We never knew she’d been on medication from the doctor for it. Did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Jack carried on. ‘So it looks like she’d taken more Prozac than she was meant to that morning and that must have affected her concentration.’

  Jack looked up. ‘Hi, Uncle Doug.’

  Doug came into the kitchen, beaming. ‘So where’s the applause? Not every day you get a Chopin concerto during your tea break!’

  Anna and Jack clapped politely and Charlie, after looking at them in confusion, joined in with a couple of claps.

  Lottie looked up at her father. ‘You need to work on the pedal more in that mazurka, Dad, makes it livelier. And watch the grace notes, you’re making them too long.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss!’ Doug said, joining them at the table. Charlie stretched out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Charlie Duncan.’

  Doug shook it. ‘Nice to meet you too, Charlie.’ He glanced at Anna and Jack, who exchanged anxious looks.

  Mags said, her voice flat, ‘Jack was just saying how good it is now there’s closure on Chris’s accident.’

  Doug sat down beside Mags. Lottie glanced at her parents who were both silent. She nodded. ‘The main thing is that it’s over now and you can all try to move on, rebuild your lives and all that.’ She looked over at Anna and Jack. ‘I mean, we’re six months on now and you guys are doing brilliantly.’ She leant over to give Lottie a hug and reached over to squeeze Jack’s shoulder.

  Doug looked up at the clock. ‘Five o’clock. Is it too early for a beer? Your Dad should be here soon, Jack. Want to join me?’

  ‘Cheers, Uncle Doug,’ said Jack. ‘I’d love one.’

  An hour later, Mags looked over the table at Uncle Charlie, whose rheumy eyes were bloodshot. He took out a large handkerchief and blew his nose.

  ‘Hope you’re not getting Mum’s cold, Uncle Charlie.’

  He shook his head and smiled. ‘No, I never get too near her!’ He pushed the handkerchief back deep into his pocket. He looked worn out.

  ‘Doug,’ said Mags. ‘Are you okay to drive Uncle Charlie home?’

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ he said, putting down his beer. ‘I’ve only had one and a bit. Do you want me to take you home now, Charlie?’ he asked, raising his voice as he always did when speaking to him.

  ‘Thank you, I’d better get home and see how my mother is.’

  Mags and Doug glanced at each other.

  ‘You mean your sister Peggy, Uncle Charlie.’ Mags smiled and looked closely at him. He seemed confused for a moment then shook his head. ‘Yes, that’s it, my big sister, she keeps me right.’

  ‘I’ll get your coat,’ said Mags. ‘Kids, come and say bye to Grandpa.’

  Charlie was silent all the way to Leith as Doug chatted to him about the weather and football. The old man simply nodded now and then and looked out the window. When they arrived at Peggy’s house, Charlie sat forward and stretched out his bony arm to rest his hand on Doug’s forearm. He looked straight ahead and said, ‘I saw you that day.’

  ‘What day, Charlie?’

  ‘That day in the woods, long ago. I saw you and Chris go into the cottage.’

  Doug leant in towards him. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Charlie. Now let’s get you inside.’ He leaned across to release his seatbelt.

  ‘You do know, Doug. But don’t worry, I know what happened. She couldn’t accept that you loved Mags from the start.’ He paused, his mouth open, still staring through the windscreen. ‘Chris always loved you.’

  Doug sat back in his seat and looked straight ahead. He breathed out slowly then whispered, ‘But how could you have possibly been in the woods that day, Charlie?’

  ‘It was a funeral, my great Auntie Mary’s in Brechin. Chris came with me, Janet wasn’t well that day so had to stay at home. Chris motored up in her own car as she said she had things to do after. She thought I’d left the funeral tea before her but I didn’t. I saw her car turn off the main road, the one from Aberdeen to Dundee.’ He screwed up his eyes.

  Doug stared at him.

  ‘I parked my car behind hers up on the verge, at the woods. I saw the other car but had no idea whose it was till I saw you arrive at the wedding rehearsal the following week. In the same red c
ar.

  ‘My Fiat 127,’ Doug nodded.

  Charlie got out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

  ‘Did she know you were there?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘No one knew, why would I tell anyone? The week before her wedding!’ He shuffled in his seat and muttered, ‘You’d do anything for your child, anything. So, my thinking was, if I told no one, I’d never have to lie.’

  He settled his head back against the head rest and his body became rigid. ‘A guard – that’s what I’ve been, guarding her secret all these years.’ He shut his eyes tight and grimaced as if in pain. ‘Secrets are dangerous, poisonous, they should remain buried.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m so sorry.’

  Charlie tucked away his handkerchief then turned to face Doug. ‘What for?’ Charlie looked around him, disoriented. ‘Why are you sorry?’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Doug. ‘Let’s get you inside to see Peggy.’

  ‘Yes, and my father will be home soon, so I mustn’t be late. Mother was getting herring for the tea.’

  Doug opened his door and ran round to let Charlie out.

  He took his arm and walked him along the path. ‘Are you all right now, Charlie?’

  Charlie looked at Doug as if they had just been introduced. ‘Grand. Thank you very much for the lift, young man. Give my regards to the family.’

  Doug helped him over the step as Peggy opened the door and let her brother pass.

  Doug gave her a kiss. ‘How’s your cold?’

  ‘Oh, fine. It’s my knees though, they’re giving me even more grief.’

  She watched her brother hang his coat on a hook then trudge along the corridor. ‘How was he?’

  ‘Okay, though he wandered a bit latterly. Seems to think he was coming back to his old home in Dundee with his mother and father.’

  She shook her head and sniffed. ‘He seems to be living in the past. Firmly lodged in the 1930s, with occasional outings to the forties and fifties.’

  ‘And the eighties today too.’ Doug looked at his watch. ‘I’d better get back. Gerry was running late, but he’ll be at the house now. Bye, Peggy.’

  He looked back to the house before he got into his car. Standing at the window was Charlie, now with his dark cardigan on. His willowy, lean body was stooped. Doug waved but the old man didn’t see him.

  He was looking directly up at the oak tree in the garden. Doug glanced at the high branches to see some crows thrash about, wings flapping, the noise of their squawks jarring.

  That evening, Mags and Doug lounged together on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, glasses of red wine in their hands. She planted a kiss on Doug’s nose. He smiled. ‘I’m a lucky man.’

  ‘No, I’m a lucky woman. I’ll never forget what I did, I can’t, I’ve ruined a family, people I love. And I can’t justify anything, except that, well, she was the one who betrayed me all those years ago.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But the fact that you were there, Doug, willing to take the blame, to go to prison for me… I’ll never forget that.’

  ‘Thank God Gerry never told the kids about the dope in her blood. He said the conclusion from the final report was that it was all just a tragic accident caused by a serious miscalculation of the road. He thinks it was all a mistake, she’d never consider smoking dope.’

  ‘But the whole cannabis thing was out of the equation ages ago, wasn’t it?’ Mags bit her lip.

  ‘Yes, they said her recklessness was exacerbated by taking extra Prozac that morning.’

  ‘I know, but I still don’t really get how they didn’t charge you for the cannabis thing?’

  ‘Because in the end it was such a small amount in her system. And overdosing on a prescription drug like Prozac would have had a much bigger impact on her concentration. Besides, supplying someone with such a small amount of pot isn’t enough to prove manslaughter. Not unless you forced them to take it and then drive or something.’

  He stroked his wife’s hair. ‘It’s all over, Mags. Gerry and the kids are doing well; they’re trying to make the best of things. And you and I are getting back on track.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, downing her wine. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  He lifted the bottle and topped up their glasses. ‘What were you showing Lotts earlier, by the way, before she left for her lesson?’

  ‘It was a Victorian journal I got from Uncle Charlie ages ago. I’ve been going through it slowly it for months now but wanted Lotts to read it too, since it was written by her great-great-great grandmother Charlotte Whyte, Elizabeth Barrie’s mother. It’s such a coincidence they have the same name as they were – are – both brilliant pianists.’

  Mags snuggled down beside Doug. ‘Now, there was someone else who had the love of a good man. And he was also willing to take the blame for something he never did.’ She sighed. ‘Didn’t work out happily for him though.

  She put down her glass and turned to Doug. ‘Mum and Uncle Charlie said that Elizabeth Barrie never smiled. She was the one Uncle Charlie reckoned was cursed. He told us we should never have started researching her.’ She paused and frowned.

  ‘I don’t think I would have smiled either if I’d had her life. So tragic. She must have guessed who her mother was, but it was only when she was given her mother’s journal after her father, the Minister, died that it was confirmed. Elizabeth’s first child, my Great-Auntie Annie, was just a baby at the time. Anyway, it was only then that Elizabeth Barrie found out her real story. It’s hardly surprising she never smiled much after that.’

  Lottie pushed the door of her flat shut behind her and dumped her coat on the chair. She went into the tiny kitchen and flicked on the kettle then went to the piano, opened the lid, then shut it again. No, she didn’t need to practise tonight; she was going to be lazy and just read instead.

  She took out the box with the old journal in it, untied the ribbons and had a quick look inside. What beautiful calligraphy; why was her own handwriting not more stylish? She flipped through a few pages then closed it and folded the faded ribbons on top. She was keen to read it, if only for her mum’s sake, but not before she had finished the book she was reading; she was so near the end.

  Lottie made herself a mug of green tea and settled into the armchair, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

  Half an hour later, she shut the book and put it on the table. What an amazing story, she thought, everything seemed so perfect on the outside, a glittering veneer of respectability. Yet gradually the decay and poison from the past, hidden secrets, came to the surface, ending in death and murder.

  Secrets are dangerous, she thought. She was so relieved that Jack knew nothing about who his real father was, and would never have to know anything; why should he? And her parents’ relationship was on the mend, thank God. They were slowly getting back to where they’d been before.

  The past was the past and should be forgotten. And as she mulled this over, she remembered some words she had just been reading and picked up the book. She opened it at its final page.

  ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’

  Lottie placed The Great Gatsby on the table, picked up her great-great-great-grandmother’s journal and began to read.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  The Journal of Charlotte Whyte Addendum, written on the 26th of March 1871

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  I write this letter to you while ill with the influenza. I do not think I shall recover as there are others in the village who have succumbed and I have a strong sense I shall be next. So I have asked Cookie to give this to you on the death of my father, Charles Whyte. The reason I do not wish you to read it while he is still alive will be evident to you as you read my journal. I have written this diary every day since I was a girl, about the same age you are now – eleven years old.

  Some of the early entries will be amusing, or perhaps even a little tedious, for you to read. When I helped Grieve pick the peas in the garden for examp
le, as you used to love doing. And you also loved to pod them – indeed, I can still picture you sitting there on the high stool in the kitchen, your beautiful dark eyes intent upon each pod as you split them open. I remember your chubby little feet all grubby from the soil and Cookie swinging you up to sit on the draining board at the big stone sink as she scrubbed them clean.

  And then there was the time when Mother made me an Easter bonnet herself, and the fresh flowers she had picked from the garden still had insects in them and they crawled down my neck during the sermon. Easter reminded me also of that first time in the church I set eyes on you again, the first time since you were a baby. You were four years old. I will never forget your deep brown eyes, little rosebud lips and mass of tight, lustrous curls.

  But it is the entries from the age of fourteen that will perhaps shock you when you read what I had to endure, at the hands of my father. It is something that has made me so ashamed all these years. But what could I do? Mother was an invalid, and often abed, frail and sickly, and he knew I could not speak to her about it. And even if she had enjoyed good health, I am not convinced I would have wanted to trouble her with such horrors.

  Whenever his wrath was provoked, and this was not infrequent, he would take it out on me. For the first few years it was only physical. Sometimes I was so bruised that I had to refuse my bath, for fear that Cookie saw me when she came to bring me my towel. She knew nothing, but I would entrust her with my life, which is why I know she will somehow ensure this journal will be placed in your hands some day.

  Then, as you will read, one late afternoon in May 1859, it became more than the hits and slaps. And that was simply so awful, I cannot begin to describe to you and I shall not. I have merely alluded to it in the journal, it is impossible for me to express on paper. But throughout that terrible time, when I discovered I was expecting you, there was one constant in my life. As well as Cookie, the companionship of David Barrie was a blessing. I used to teach him in the little cottage in the woods I took you to once. Do you remember, you climbed up into the tree house that afternoon we had gone to hunt for fairy mushrooms? Well, it was he who made that little tree house up in the branches of the oak tree, with such skill and attention to detail.