In her dreams, Mannie would not have dared to expect the visitor who appears a few moments later. She leaps to her feet, her hands to her mouth, her eyes round with astonishment.
‘Cal!’
‘Hi.’
Callum McMaster stands framed in the doorway, lithe and sturdy, his bright, intelligent eyes surveying Mannie a little warily, but his expression friendly.
There’s a moment’s awkwardness, which Jonno breaks by explaining, ‘I asked Cal to come, Mannie. I hope you don’t mind. This is something I believe we all need to pull together on and Callum’s agreed to come and talk about it.’
‘Here, Cal.’ Jen gets up from her seat next to Mannie and offers the chair to Callum. ‘I’ll move to the bean bag.’
‘I can sit there,’ Cal says, smiling at her.
‘No, you’re all right.’ Jen slumps down comfortably before Cal can preempt her.
He kisses Mannie’s cheek. ‘Hello fat-face,’ he whispers.
Fat-face! He called her fat-face! He doesn’t totally hate her then!
‘Hello thunderthighs.’
It’s barely even a whisper, but he hears it and grins, then subsides on the chair beside her.
‘Okay, as I was saying,’ Alex resumes, ‘when Jonno told me about Brian being your uncle, and about your feelings for him, Mannie, it rang a bell. I read a story in a magazine recently about a couple who had an adopted son, who basically fell in love with his sister. He’d never met her before, because she’d been adopted too, and she’d been taken to Australia.’
‘Shit,’ Jen shakes her head. ‘He fell for his sister?’
‘Apparently, it’s a lot more common than you’d think. And as our families get more and more complicated, it seems to be getting more frequent, although it’s not often talked about.’
She looks round at each of them.
‘I believe that what has happened to Mannie is that she’s fallen a victim to something called Genetic Sexual Attraction.’
‘Sounds like chlamydia,’ Jen grimaces.
‘Thankfully not, but it is a medical condition. It’s quite widely recognised now. It can happen when you meet someone – a relation, I mean – when you’re grown up, someone you didn’t know when you were young. I’m not making this very clear.’
Jonno takes up the explanation. ‘Apparently even mothers and sons can get it and end up sleeping together, setting up home together even.’
Mannie squirms uneasily.
‘But it’s not always reciprocal,’ Alex chimes in. ‘It can be a one-sided obsession.’
Callum says slowly, ‘And you think that’s what Mannie’s got?’
‘Think about it, Cal. She’s getting along perfectly well with you, in fact, I’ve never seen her so happy with anyone.’ He grins. ‘And I’ve seen her with a few,’ he adds irrepressibly.
Mannie is indignant. ‘Shut up!’
‘Then suddenly, wham! Instead of a fit guy like you, she’s lusting after a pretty ordinary middle-aged man, balding, building up fat round the midriff, and married. Not exactly a likely quarry, is he? Not really a prospect for a girl like you, Mannie.’
Mannie says nothing. What is there to say? She can hardly deny it.
‘Mannie,’ Cal looks at her steadily, ‘Is it reciprocated? Is this guy as obsessed with you as you are with him?’
Christ, this is hard, Mannie thinks. ‘I don’t know. He seems to like me.’ What was it he said? God, you’re bloody irresistible, do you know that?
‘I hope for all our sakes that he isn’t, because if he is, it’s going to be very difficult to work on this. From what I understand, this thing’s really powerful.’ Jonno looks at Alex, then adds, ‘But from what I hear he’s a bit of a womaniser and my suspicion is he’s maybe been a bit flattered by Mannie’s interest in him.’
Mannie’s face is burning. She hides it in her hands. This is horrible, horrible, horrible. If the floor could open beneath her she’d happily fall through it, anything to get away from this analysis, this probing, these judgements.
‘Mannie.’ There’s a hand on her shoulder, gentle, but firm. ‘Look at me, Gutso.’
She presses her hands harder over her face and shakes her head. ‘I can’t,’ she groans, her voice muffled by her fingers.
‘Look at me.’
She moves one finger aside. Callum is looking at her with such sweet concern that she could weep.
‘We can work on this, Mannie. Come on. We’re all here to help.’ He prises her fingers away from her face and imprisons her hand in a firm clasp. He turns to Jonno. ‘This is all very well, Jonno, but where does it take us?’
‘Alex thinks I should talk to him.’
‘Does he know? That you’re his nephew?’
‘I don’t think so. Mum wanted to tell us first. Maybe when I tell him, he’ll back off. That’s my hope, anyway.’
‘This has put you in a really difficult place, hasn't it? There’s no way of knowing where it’ll end up.’
‘I could be out of a job.’
Mannie is roused out of bleakness. ‘I can’t allow that, Jonno. You mustn’t put your job at risk.’
‘I can’t see any other way. Anyway, unless we get this sorted, I’m not going to be able to work with him.’
‘Then you need to let me come with you.’
‘No, Mannie. I think it’s best if you keep away completely. I’m going to find out about counselling for you.’
‘Counselling! I’m not a psycho.’
‘Being able to talk this through with a trained counsellor might help. I dunno, it might flush it through your system or something.’
Jen says, ‘I know someone, Mannie. She’s really good, and if it’s not her thing, I’m sure she’d be able to recommend an expert.’
‘An expert in this genetic sexual attraction stuff?’ Mannie snorts. ‘Right, so they get loads of cases, do they?’
‘Try not to be bitter, Mannie.’
‘Oh Christ. Listen to yourselves. It’s so bloody easy for you, isn’t it? Let’s all sit around and decide what’s best for Mannie. Well it’s not that easy for me, so you can all piss off, do you hear me?’ She uncurls furiously and stands up. ‘Just fuck off, the lot of you!’
It’s fifteen strides to her bedroom door and she makes it in three seconds, slams the door behind her, flings herself onto the bed and pulls a pillow over her head.
She doesn’t expect company. They’ll be staring after her and saying, ‘My goodness, Mannie’s in a mood, isn’t she?’ before they sit round and discuss what they might do about it for a bit longer.
But it’s only a matter of seconds before she hears the door open, and shut again, and Callum sits down on the bed next to her.
‘Is Miss I’m-Not-A-Psycho Wallace going to come out and play?’
‘Fuck. Off.’
He’s laughing. ‘Come on, Mannie. I’m just relieved to see your spirit hasn’t left you completely. I thought you’d been possessed by a creepy love bug but I see the real Mannie’s still in there somewhere.’
‘I said leave it, can’t you?’
He stops laughing and after a few moments he says, his voice kinder, ‘It will pass, Mannie.’
She sits up, infuriated, the pillow clutched to her stomach. ‘And if it “passes”, what then, Callum? Will I be able to turn back the clock? Will you come back to me? Will you love me again? Or will I always be soiled goods?’
‘Never that, Mannie.’ He eases the pillow out of her grasp and drops it onto the floor. ‘Listen, if Alex and Jonno are correct, you’re a victim in all of this, not a perpetrator, but much as I think they’re right, I still can’t answer your questions.’
He draws a light finger down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. ‘My feelings have been knocked sideways by this too. I loved you, Mannie, and that love was kicked into touch. Okay, so I understand now that you couldn’t help it, but it’s not just a simple matter of clicking a switch and making everything better.’
The hurt that fil
ls Mannie is absolute. Nothing seems to function, not her breathing, not her movement, not her sight. The room is a blur, and she realises that her eyes have filled with tears and that she’s powerless to stop them. Another weakness, she thinks despairingly – then, hopelessly, I’ve lost everything.
A hand wipes the tears away, clumsily, and she realises that it’s shaking almost as much as she is.
‘I can’t make everything come right, Mannie. I suspect it may be some time before your world stops rocking on its axis and I’m not sure when the sun will shine again in mine. But I will promise you this: I’ll be here for you. If you need to talk, you can talk to me. If you want to scream, you can use my sweater to muffle the sound. If you need to cry, I’ll have a hankie ready, a whole boxful of hankies. I won’t abandon you, Mannie.
‘And one day – I don’t know. We’ll see. I think we have to take it one day at a time, don’t you?’
From Callum, it’s quite a speech. It’s all she can hope for and it’s more than he needs to give. Gratitude sweeps through her, and with it comes a faint ray of hope.
‘Thank you, Vicar,’ she says, and manages a smile.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The air on the island is sweet and balmy. It’s one of those June mornings when you know that spring is over and that the long, seductive days of summer are finally beginning. It can be a deceitful seduction, of course, in Scotland, on the west coast, on the island of Mull. The wind can change direction, pick up moisture, drop it with some vitriol on the lump of volcanic rock known as Ben More, drenching every moving being in its path as it moves on its malevolent way to the mainland.
Today glitters with promise and Susie, stoutly shod, is trudging up the long, rough path to the summit of the Ben with an odd sense of euphoria. It isn’t that peace has broken out in her mind, but perhaps hostilities have eased a little, a ceasefire has been called. In this place, in this weather, and putting all problems to the back of her mind, she’s able, for the space of a few hours, simply to exist.
She stops, breathless, and makes the view an excuse for the halt. It’s excuse enough. From her elevated position, the island is like a map spread at her feet. Below her, as blue as the skies above, lies Loch na Keal. A huge sea inlet, it rolls westwards, almost splitting the island in two.
At the mouth of the loch is the island of Ulva and its more famous infant companion, Staffa. Mendelssohn, drawn here, was inspired to compose his Hebridean Overture and so set the fashion for visitors to flock in their thousands to the dramatic cave.
Below her, to the west, is the grim remnant of the cottage at Gribun – just three low drystone walls surrounding a massive boulder. Susie shivers, remembering the story – a young couple were killed here on their honeymoon night when a storm loosened the boulder and it crashed down the mountain and demolished their home.
It’s an unforgiving landscape and an ancient one, the rocks among the oldest in the world. Forgetting the inherent dangers of the place, Susie laughs aloud because it’s indescribably magnificent, the most beguiling landscape in the world. It punctures self importance and puts you in your place. It’s unarguable: in the face of its scale and age and majesty, nothing else has significance.
And that’s what I need to remember.
‘Amazing, is it not?’
She turns. A young couple, descending the mountain unnoticed by her, have stopped to share the moment. ‘Stunning. Where are you from?’
‘We are from Germany,’ the girl says. ‘We are so loving your country.’
‘Thank you. I’m so glad you are getting the weather.’
‘We have the mountains near us too, bigger mountains than this, yes. But this is—’ the man halts. He can’t find the word he’s searching for and simply ends, ‘—very special, ja?’
‘Very special,’ Susie agrees. ‘But if I’m to get to the top I must press on.’
‘Not far,’ the girl beams. ‘Half of one hour, yes?’
‘Thank you. Enjoy your holiday,’ she calls after them, because they’re already bounding down the mountain with goat-like athleticism.
She pulls a face. What would she give for half their fitness?
You are what you are, Susie.
She ponders that thought as she trudges the last few hundred steps to the summit. Surely that’s one of the lessons she has to absorb: you are what you are – and you are who you are.
She puffs her way upwards, steeped in thought. It’s what she came here for, after all – to get some distance, to escape from the burden of political responsibility, to consider her past, present and future.
When she stumbled across to the studio, a mere thirty-eight hours ago, to find Archie’s notice firmly tacked onto the door, its capitals shouting their instruction ‘Strictly No Entry. Recording in Progress’, she refused to take the prohibition seriously. She had to talk to Archie, she was going to talk to her husband. She tapped on the door, then hammered on it, then pounded as hard as she could – but all to no avail. The soundproofing he had installed was too efficient and inside, no doubt, the band was giving it everything.
That was when she cracked.
Enough.
Every emotion she could name seemed to course round her body. Angry, hurt, and bewildered, she felt abandoned and distressed.
She cursed Mary and Robert MacPherson for their secrecy about the truth of her identity.
She blamed Archie for covering for them all these years.
She felt helpless in the face of her daughter’s anguish and concerned for her son’s position.
She’d met a new mother and hadn’t quite found it in her heart to either forgive her or love her and that made her angry.
And she already hated the brother she still hadn’t met for what he had done to Mannie.
To cap it all, her political career had nosedived. There was a journalist who seemed intent on destroying her reputation and her Party was forcing her to act against her beliefs.
She retraced her steps with burning fury across the courtyard to the kitchen. A least she could deal with the last thing. She pulled out some paper and a pen, sat down at her desk, and wrote.
Dear First Minister
I have given this a great deal of thought, and it is with much sadness and regret that I write to you to tender my resignation as an MSP. As you know ...
Now she can see the cairn that marks the summit, just yards away. She’s nearly at the top. One last effort – and here she is, queen of the world.
What a good idea this was. She has achieved something. She has climbed a Munro, all three thousand one hundred and sixty nine feet of it – nine hundred and sixty six metres.
And that, Mr First Minister, is worth all your votes of confidence and then some.
There were no stamps so she wasn’t able to post the letter. But the upside was she spotted the hotel voucher Mannie and Jonno gave to her and Archie for their wedding anniversary. Perfect. Why not? Just go. Archie won’t even miss you.
She threw a few things in the car and drove.
After a while Susie’s breath recovers and she allows herself to sit in the shelter of the small ring of stones and survey the view she has earned. Oban is a three-hour drive from Cairn Cottage, so she arrived in the middle of the night and parked the car in the queue for the Mull ferry. Boarding in the morning was easy. The magic started to work as soon as she stepped out of the car and onto the deck. The wind in her hair, the sun on her face, the sea blue and calm below them – and the island of her memories drawing closer and closer.
She called Archie soon after she landed, to put his mind at ease. ‘Listen Archie,’ she bawled down the phone, battling the wind around her, ‘it’s all too much. I’ve had to go away. You mustn’t worry about me, I’ll be back in a few days. Please tell the children and please don’t try to find me. I need this time on my own. Bye.’
She should call Karen and explain her absence – but not yet, an inner voice murmured. Archie will tell her. I need this time to myself. There a
re still things I need to think through.
On her second morning on Mull, she hears her father’s voice in her head when she wakes. She can almost see him, grey hair, grey trousers, grey sleeveless V-neck, dark, thin, featureless tie, and kind, gentle smile.
‘You can achieve anything you want, love. Never settle for doing less than your best.’
His mantras might have been clichéd, but they were her guiding principles all the days of her childhood.
‘Be the best you can be.’
She’s so firmly in her past that she opens her eyes gingerly, unsure of where she actually is. She knows she’s not in her childhood home, the pin neat, old-world, much cared-for terraced house in the small town of Helensburgh, nor is she in Cairn Cottage, the home she and Archie so lovingly created together. The room, when she sees it, comes as something of a surprise.
It’s neat and impersonal. Heavy drapes mask the light from the bay window, two small armchairs by a low coffee table add a touch of informality. For the rest, two sets of drawers topped by a teak slab resemble a dressing table and a flat screen television is anchored to the wall above it. To her left, a door, slightly ajar, opens to a tiled bathroom. A hotel?
She remembers: Mull. I’m in Mull. I’ve run away.
She almost laughs at that. Yesterday, on top of the mountain, everything seemed so simple but now, with the voices of her past echoing in her head, she understands that escape is not going to be easy. There are duties, responsibilities, loyalties and because it’s in her nature and her upbringing, she’ll have to do her best to answer to them all.
She draws back the curtains to reveal the sweeping panorama of Tobermory Bay, then retreats to bed.
My nature and my upbringing.
There’s the key. For weeks now she’s been beating herself up because she doesn’t feel an immediate affinity with Joyce Henderson. Then again, she thinks, why should I? I spent the whole of my young life with Mary and Robert MacPherson. It was Mary who changed my nappies and fed me when I was a baby. It was Mary who read me stories and cuddled me and taught me to cook. And it was my father – Robert, not Jimmy Scirocco – who instilled in me the values I’ve held dear all my life.
Loving Susie: The Heartlands series Page 26