Tandem

by Alex Morgan

  “That’s ancient.”

  “Careful, it’s my thirtieth birthday soon.” Tears pricked behind Paula’s eyes.

  “He was talking to your chest the whole time you were in there.”

  She swallowed hard and blew her nose. “No, he wasn’t.”

  Sanders squinted at her. “You don’t know him. He told Sandra he’d give her fifty quid if she had sex with him and a hundred if she brought a friend.”

  “That’s a very serious accusation. Did she really tell you Mr Renton said that? If it’s true, she needs to go to the police.”

  “No.” He picked at a loose thread on Bovis’s lead. “But I bet he’d like to.”

  “You can’t go around making up things like that about people.”

  “He deserves it.”

  “Is this to do with him spotting Sandra shoplifting?”

  “Mibby. What’s next on your list?”

  “I need vegetables.”

  “My mum goes to the Co-op because it’s cheap, but you’re a bit posh so you’d probably like it over there.” He pointed across the street to a shop with a huge chestnut tree outside. A sign running across the sunshine yellow frontage read, Linton’s Fruit, Vegetables, Groceries and Whole Foods.

  The pavement was stacked with crates of fruit and vegetables. A handwritten card propped up beside a sheaf of brown bags at the back of a box of aubergines read, ALL ORGANIC. SERVE YOURSELF.

  Paula began filling bags with apples, cherries, oranges, onions, an avocado and handfuls of dark green spinach.

  “What’s that goin’ to make?” Sanders asked.

  “I hadn’t thought.” She passed him a couple of bulging bags. “Make yourself useful and hold these.”

  “You might be overdoing it a bit on the vitamins.”

  “What do you think I should be eating then?”

  “Something with lots of sugar and calories and stuff. You’re pretty skinny even if you have got quite a big chest.”

  “How come everyone round here thinks it’s okay to make personal remarks?” she demanded. “The man in the chip shop said I needed fattening up.”

  “That’s Felice,” he said eagerly. “He’s married to my mum’s friend Kyoko.”

  “Right.” She picked up a cauliflower.

  “Chocolate cake would be good – to fatten you up. It was my twelfth birthday last week and I had an excellent chocolate cake.”

  “I doubt this place sells chocolate cake.”

  “It does but it’s not the real thing. It’s that carob crap.” He made a face and stuck his tongue out again.

  “I think I’m about done here.”

  Sanders tied Bovis’s lead to the railings and they went inside. Paula laid her bags on the counter while she chose a loaf of wholemeal bread and some other items from the shelves. A man in a navy and cream striped Breton top nodded to Sanders, and began weighing her purchases and noting figures on a scrap of paper. When he finished he said, “That’ll be £14.80.”

  Paula retrieved her purse from the pocket of her jeans, and took out a ten pound note and some coins.

  Before she could pay, Sanders said firmly, “She’s local. She’s staying downstairs at Betty McIntyre’s.”

  “In that case, welcome to Cra’frae,” the man said. “I’m Adrian Linton.”

  “Paula Tyndall.” She held out the money but Sanders pushed her hand out of the way.

  “Sanders!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

  “I said she’s local,” he repeated.

  “And it’s still £14.80.”

  “Aye right and I’m a penguin.” He turned and walked out.

  Adrian gave a sigh of exasperation but didn’t say anything. Paula handed over the money.

  “What was that all about?” she asked when she got outside.

  “He always adds 50p to visitors’ bills.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “It’s true. My Nan used to work there sometimes and he made her do it too.”

  Paula rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on and her hands were starting to tremble. “I need coffee.”

  “We could go to Nora’s Ark.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “Is that another of your inventions?”

  “No, it’s a café. Honest. It’s where Mum got my cake. It belongs to Nora, the lady you met on the beach. She’s my mum’s friend too.”

  “Okay, just point me in the right direction. You don’t need to come.”

  He beamed at her. “I don’t mind keepin’ you company.”

  She sighed. “All right, fine. I’ll treat you to a slice of cake if you promise to bugger off and leave me in peace as soon as you’ve eaten it.”

  “Deal.”

  The façade of Nora’s Ark was painted bright pink, and a wooden sign above the door showed a stick figure with a cat tucked under one arm and a rabbit under the other standing on the deck of a little boat.

  “That’s Nora,” Sanders said. “She likes animals.”

  “I gathered.”

  He tied Bovis to a metal ring under the window, which had an enamel dish of water beside it.

  Nora appeared from the kitchen as they were sitting down. “Morning, Sanders,” she said. “You’ve brought me a new customer.”

  He nodded at Paula. “This is my friend PT.”

  “Paula,” she corrected. “PT’s just a nickname. I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself the other day.”

  “It’s nice to see you again.” Nora took a pad and pen from her apron pocket. “What can I get you?”

  “Chocolate cake and a Tizer float, please,” Sanders said.

  Nora shook her head. “I don’t know why I bother asking.” She turned to Paula. “Sanders is a regular. He always has the same thing. What about you?”

  “A big pot of coffee and I suppose I’d better keep him company with the cake.”

  “It doesn’t have to be chocolate. I’ve got coffee and walnut, apple and cinnamon, banana loaf, millionaire’s shortbread and lemon meringue pie today.” She pointed to a row of clear plastic domes on the counter. “Go and see what you fancy.”

  Paula glanced at Sanders. He mouthed, “Chocolate.”

  “My nutritional adviser seems to think I should stick with chocolate.”

  “It’s my favourite too,” Nora said. “It’s the white chocolate icing with Smarties on top.”

  She brought over their order then went to serve a pair of elderly ladies who had come in.

  Paula tried a forkful of cake. “This really is good. Does Nora make it herself?”

  “Aye. She makes all the cakes and tray bakes,” Sanders replied through a mouthful of crumbs. “The millionaire’s shortbread’s my second favourite. That’s what I have if she’s run out of chocolate cake.”

  Paula took a sip of coffee. “What’s millionaire’s shortbread?”

  “Doh, it’s like shortbread with chocolate and toffee stuff.”

  “It would have to have chocolate. Is there anything else you like to eat?”

  Sanders thought about this. “Ice-cream, and my mum makes nice soup. Cock-a-leekie’s the best.”

  “That’s leek and something, isn’t it?”

  He raised his thick eyebrows. “It’s chicken ‘n’ leek. Don’t you know anything?”

  “Apparently not.”

  He picked up Paula’s Scotsman and began leafing through it.

  Nora came over. “What rubbish is he telling you?”

  Looking out from behind the paper, he crossed his eyes, opened his mouth as far as it would go and let his chocolaty tongue loll out in a passable impression of a village idiot.

  Nora ignored him. “Are you settling in all right?”

  Paula swallowed a mouthful of cake. “I am. I need to sort something out with a solicitor though. Is there one in the village?”

  “No, but there are a couple of firms along the coast in Westwick.”

  Sanders stuck his hand in the air. “Please, Miss, permission to sp
eak?”

  “What now?” Nora demanded.

  “You could try Rhind and Gibson in Edinburgh.” He put on a posh voice. “I hear they’re terribly well thought of.”

  “What on earth do you know about Edinburgh lawyers?” Nora asked.

  Sanders put the paper down and tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “I am not at liberty to divulge my sources.”

  Little Paula

  Paula sat opposite Caroline Gibson of Rhind and Gibson in her vast wood-panelled office. She had found the firm’s advert in The Scotsman moments after Sanders left Nora’s Ark.

  When the secretary had shown Paula in, a short, wide woman of about forty-five dressed in a navy trouser suit rose from a desk at the far end of the room and stepped forward to shake hands.

  Caroline indicated a pair of leather sofas in front of a marble fireplace. “Let’s sit here. It’s more comfy than the hard chairs at the desk.”

  An immense gold-framed mirror above the mantelpiece reflected a row of portraits of austere, whiskered gentlemen hanging on the opposite wall. “This is the most splendid office I’ve ever been in,” Paula remarked.

  “Every single building in the New Town was like this originally,” Caroline said. “The Georgians built this whole section of Edinburgh to represent the very height of classical order and elegance.”

  “Does Rhind and Gibson fill all of this one?”

  “It does. It was the original Mr Rhind’s home and this was the drawing room.” Caroline smiled. “One of the benefits of being senior partner is you get the swankiest office. I found it quite daunting at first with my predecessors watching over me, but after I gave them nicknames they didn’t seem quite so scary.”

  She pointed to the portrait nearest the door. “That’s Auld Wullie, William Rhind. He founded the firm in 1829. The old buzzard next to him is Crusty Chris – his son, Christopher Rhind – and next to him is Malky, Malcolm Gibson, who joined the partnership in 1878, and over there, on the other side of the door, are the Two Ronnies, Ronald Gibson senior and junior, Malky’s son and grandson.”

  “They still look terrifying to me,” Paula said. “I can’t imagine they’d approve of being given nicknames.”

  Caroline laughed. “They were probably birling in their graves anyway with a woman taking over as head of the firm, except maybe Ronnie junior. He was my grandfather and a really sweet old bloke.” She clasped her hands under her chin. “So, let’s get down to business. When you spoke on the phone to my assistant you said you’d just moved up to Craskferry from London?”

  “That’s right and I’d like some advice.”

  “Marion explained your situation to me, and I believe she told you, Miss Tyndall, that it may not be possible for us, or any law firm, to help you at this stage.”

  “She did, but I’d still like you to try,” Paula said firmly.

  Caroline nodded. “I think Marion also told you that you could have saved yourself a journey across the Forth and consulted a firm in Fife. It’s not that we want to turn away business, Miss Tyndall, but I have no doubt any lawyer would give you the same advice. A Fife firm would be cheaper too.” She waved her hand at the room. “They don’t have our overheads.”

  “Your assistant explained all that, but I wanted to make the trip to Edinburgh. I lived here when I was small and I’ve not been back for years. My dad’s an accountant with one of the City firms and he was sent up here to set up a new office. I spent my first three years of school at St Andrew’s in Morningside.”

  “My niece goes to St Andrew’s. It’s a good school.” Caroline picked up a pen and tapped it against her front teeth. “Well, if you’re certain, tell me the whole story and, while I must stress again that I don’t think it’s likely anything can be done, I will look into it.”

  “Well, as I explained, I have a legal obligation, but I don’t want to … I simply can’t …” Paula ran a hand through her hair. “I want to find a way out of it.”

  The clouds were all wrong.

  Glowing huge and heavy with sulphurous intent, they belonged in a different sky, one that matched their mood.

  Yet they were gliding towards her across the intense blue, purposeful, unstoppable, like a squadron of bombers on their way to annihilate an enemy village.

  She stood quite still, just watching, breath held high in her chest, as their giant frown unfurled across the sand.

  She was unsure how she had got there, uncertain what she had intended to do next. She knew one thing instinctively though: the threat they posed went far beyond ordinary rain. The slightest movement, the tiniest twitch of nerve or crackle of thought would attract their poisonous, burning, devastating attention.

  Paula assumed she was alone on the beach until she saw the girl.

  She was running along the edge of the sea in the direction of the cliffs, the sparkling foam nipping like a terrier at her pink plastic sandals, then retreating just as fast. She was eight or nine years old, and as she ran she threw her head back, laughing, drawing the warm air deep into her lungs, blind to the threat from the sky casting its shadow across her tanned skin.

  In her right hand, the girl held the string of a kite. It was the old-fashioned fabric kind, made up of alternating triangles of red and green, with a fluttering tail of yellow and blue bows. It dipped and wove in a breeze far more benevolent than the one carrying its evil burden so high above them.

  Paula felt a recognition she could not place.

  Suddenly, the girl stopped, turned round and began walking towards her. The design on the front of the pale blue cotton pinafore was as familiar as if Paula had seen it the day before. The skirt had a wide pocket embroidered to look like a row of flowerpots filled with pink and white blooms. It was bulging slightly. She smiled internally at the memory of what it contained: hundreds of tiny cowrie shells gleaned from the sand that morning. She could feel their weight and the way they ground damply against each other as she ran.

  The girl paused. Paula and her childhood self were standing not more than three metres apart.

  “Hello,” little Paula said.

  Paula willed herself to speak. She wanted to warn the girl of the horror lurking so close by, to step forward, put an arm around her fragile shoulders and lead her to safety, but she couldn’t.

  Fear had pushed speech and movement so far beyond her grasp she could not recover them.

  Little Paula waited a few seconds, then shrugged.

  She turned and ran back towards the water’s edge, skipping around the glossy piles of seaweed that dotted her path. A pair of seagulls circled above, calling raucously to each other, as she raised the arm holding the bobbing kite once more and resumed her journey to the cliffs.

  Adult Paula could only watch as she faded into the distance.

  Her cheek was pressed against the cool pane of a window and she could feel rough upholstery on the bare skin of her legs. She must have dozed off. She rubbed her eyes and focussed on the moving vista beyond the glass. Sea and shore. A row of houses, some trees, more sea. She was travelling along the coast on a train, but where was she going?

  A recording of a woman’s voice came to her rescue. “We will shortly be arriving in Westwick. Westwick next station stop.”

  She had been to Edinburgh to see the lawyer and this was where she caught the bus back to Craskferry. It wasn’t until she was on the platform that she began to think about the dream. Almost every night for more than a fortnight, it had come during her fitful hours of sleep. Then, after she arrived at Craskferry, nothing – until now. But this time it was different. It was the first time the girl, her childhood self, had turned and acknowledged her.

  Paula checked the timetable in the bus shelter outside the station. She had a few minutes to wait and a phone box sat on the other side of the road. She hurried across and dialled her parents’ number.

  Her mum’s voice was flat. “Barbara Tyndall.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Paula, thank God.” Relief lifted her tone.
“Are you all right?”

  “Getting by. How are you two? You sound wiped out.”

  Her mum ignored the question. “Where on earth are you? Every time I’ve called your mobile it’s been switched off. Ollie rang yesterday crazy with worry. He said you weren’t at the flat and you hadn’t answered his messages. He seemed to think you’d disappeared.”

  Paula let out a long breath. “I’m fine. I haven’t disappeared. My mobile’s knackered.”

  “But where are you?”

  “I’m in Craskferry.”

  “Craskferry! What in heaven’s name are you doing there?”

  “I needed to get away, to be somewhere that didn’t have any memories of, well, you know.”

  There was a short pause. “Are you really okay?”

  “Yes, I’m really okay. Look, if Ollie calls again, don’t tell him where I am. I can’t cope with him just now. Do you understand?”

  “I do, Paula, but you know he’s upset too. Promise me you’ll ring him.”

  “I will. I’ve got to go, my bus is coming. Give my love to Dad. Take care of yourselves. I’ll call again soon.”

  Paula made it back to the shelter just as the bus was pulling away. She waved frantically at the driver and he stopped and opened the door.

  “Hurry up then,” he grumbled. “I huvnie got all day.”

  She showed him her return ticket and threw herself into the nearest empty seat.

  “I thought all you young people had mobile phones,” said a voice close by.

  “Pardon?” Paula turned to the woman next to her. It was Mrs McIntyre. Just her luck – a twenty-minute journey stuck making small talk.

  “I said I thought you all had mobile phones.”

  “I don’t.”

  Mrs McIntyre adjusted the weight of the wicker shopping basket in her lap. “Well, you cannae rely on call boxes to keep in touch with the world. There cannae be more than a handful still working in all o’ Fife.”

  “I don’t really need to keep in touch at the moment.”

  “You needed to phone somebody just now.”

  “I was just catching up with my mum while I waited for the bus.”

  “And what if she needed to contact you?”

  Paula shrugged.