The Anvil

by Ken McClure

  Tansy thumped her hands against MacLean’s chest and said in mock anger, ‘Why do you have to be so damned understanding?’

  They both dissolved into laughter.

  Carrie had become used to the sound of laughter around the house and she liked it. It made her happy too. She liked MacLean. She particularly liked the way he didn’t talk down to her. He didn’t put on a different voice, pull silly faces and say stupid things like most grown-ups did. She could talk to him. She could ask him things and he would give her sensible answers. He wouldn’t begin by laughing at her questions and rubbing her head like Uncle George always did and he wouldn’t tickle her tummy incessantly like Aunty Jane.

  MacLean liked Carrie. Through her eyes he saw the canal again as he had in childhood. The canal ran from a basin in the heart of Edinburgh out to Falkirk, a small town some twenty miles to the west. It had ceased to be used commercially even before MacLean had been born and so had become an unofficial nature reserve outside the city limits. Nearer the city it was used by schools and the like for recreation purposes. Children were taught to canoe and earnest students would row in harmony while track-suited coaches cycled along the towpath yelling encouragement.

  On Saturday mornings MacLean and Carrie had a routine; they would go exploring. Armed with a glass jar and bamboo canes tipped with small nets, they would investigate the woodlands near the bungalow and the water margins of the canal and bring home nature’s secrets to Tansy. Tansy would welcome them home with hot chocolate and say, ‘Ooh’ and ‘Ah’ at appropriate intervals as Carrie, clad in her yellow raincoat and favourite red Wellingtons, lectured her from the middle of the kitchen floor.

  MacLean enjoyed Carrie’s lectures. He would lean on the corner of the door and admire the animated performance, made all the more endearing because of occasional childish malapropisms. He and Tansy would exchange glances and find some excuse to bring the proper word into the conversation without offending their instructor. It was clear that Carrie was growing in knowledge and confidence and it pleased them.

  The relationship between MacLean and Tansy was also growing. Scarcely a day would pass without one of them discovering some new strength or sensitivity in the other to deepen an already considerable affection. There was no question of blotting out the past. Tansy spoke openly of Keith and her life with him and MacLean spoke of Jutte and found doing so therapeutic. For both of them grief had mellowed into fond memories. Neither saw the other as a substitute

  It had been agreed from the outset that they should live as individuals so as not to create pressures which one or both of them might find difficult to cope with. MacLean had his own room. Tansy kept hers. This was not to say that they did not have a sex life. Feeling the way they did about each other, it was inevitable and all the more enjoyable because of the ‘illicit’ feel that room hopping had to it.

  Separate rooms were maintained for times when one or the other felt the need to be alone; they were sanctuaries which would not be invaded by the other without invite. In the beginning it was MacLean who felt the need to be alone. He suffered from recurring fears that what he was doing was wrong and that, in the end, he would bring tragedy to Tansy and Carrie. But as time went by and largely thanks to Tansy’s reassurances, these fears started to subside. Dan Morrison was taking over from Sean MacLean and his nightmare world. He was a labourer. It was hard work and the pay was nothing to speak of but inside his head, things were a whole lot better.

  SIX

  MacLean opened his eyes and remembered that it was Saturday, expedition day with Carrie. He wondered momentarily why she had not already woken him but then he saw on the bedside clock that it had just turned seven. A shaft of sunlight had found its way through a chink in the curtains and played on his face to wake him. He was relieved that the weather was fine because, although his expedition agreement with Carrie had a ‘whatever the weather’ clause written into it, he much preferred their outings when the weather was fair and it had rained on the last three occasions.

  Trying not to wake Tansy, he slid out of bed and replaced the covers on her shoulder. She moved slightly and he made a soothing sound to lull her. He sat for a moment just watching her sleep, thinking how peaceful she looked and how much she had come to mean to him. ‘I love you Mrs Nielsen,’ he whispered.

  MacLean went through to the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle to make coffee. He looked out of the window while he waited for it to boil and saw the yellow, spring sunshine highlight the reedy marshland at the back of the house. There was a slight breeze and the grass bent synchronously as if in response to some unseen conductor. White, cotton wool clouds drifted across the sky and prospects for the day seemed good.

  He was finishing his coffee when he was joined by Carrie, accompanied as ever by her Teddy bear. ‘It’s Saturday!’ she announced.

  ‘Ssh, you’ll wake Mummy,’ cautioned MacLean.

  Carrie hunched her shoulders and put her finger to her lips in an exaggerated pantomime of guilt. She started taking large silent steps round the room.

  MacLean smiled and asked if she wanted breakfast.

  ‘Yes please,’ she replied in a stage whisper.

  ‘All right Carrie, let’s not overdo it,’ said MacLean.

  Carrie sat down at the kitchen table while MacLean poured out her cereal and added milk from the fridge. Carrie swept up a few stray flakes from the table and popped them onto her mouth.

  ‘Do you think we’ll catch an octopus today?’ asked Carrie.

  ‘No,’ replied MacLean.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There aren’t any in the canal,’ said MacLean.

  ‘Oh,’ said Carrie but then seemed satisfied with the reply.

  When Carrie had finished eating MacLean sent her off to the bathroom to wash her face and hands and clean her teeth before dressing. He said that he would pay close attention to her ears when she returned. When she came back she was already wearing her raincoat and the inevitable red Wellingtons. MacLean made a play of inspecting her ears saying, ‘I could grow potatoes in there!’

  ‘No you could not!’ insisted Carrie. ‘I washed them.’

  MacLean conceded that maybe she had.

  ‘What are you two fighting about?’ came Tansy’s voice from the bedroom.

  MacLean and Tansy looked at each other guiltily. ‘Sorry,’ said MacLean. ‘We didn’t mean to wake you. Coffee?’

  ‘Please,’ replied Tansy sleepily.

  Carrie pranced into the bedroom with news of the day. MacLean followed shortly with a cup of coffee. Tansy propped herself up on one elbow to take it from him.

  ‘Can we go now, Uncle Dan?’ asked Carrie.

  ‘I think so,’ replied MacLean, his eyes asking Tansy if there was anything that should delay them.

  Tansy smiled and said, ‘Off you go then. Have a nice time.’

  Carrie planted a large, wet kiss on Tansy’s mouth and scurried out of the room.

  ‘See you later,’ said MacLean.

  MacLean carried the bamboo fishing poles while Carrie led the way. She parted the tall grass, which in many places was taller than she was and kept glancing behind her to reassure herself that she was not alone. MacLean remembered what it was like to be that height in long grass, flickering sunlight and the constant threat of claustrophobia, the smell of damp straw and the unpleasantly hard texture of the reeds as they brushed your face. Carrie gave a double skip to celebrate breaking out on to the clear ground of the towpath. She turned and smiled.

  They followed the line of the path until the high, grassy bank gave way to a cobblestone apron where Carrie could approach the water safely. She lay down on her stomach and wriggled up to the edge of the water to look down. MacLean squatted down on his haunches beside her, half looking at the water but more interested in Carrie’s facial expressions. She had an air of intense concentration about her; she wanted to know all there was to know about a world which for her was still very new and full of wonder.

  Carrie l
ooked up at MacLean but something else caught her attention and she looked past his left knee.

  ‘There’s that man again,’ she said, casually turning back to the water and lowering her jar into it.

  MacLean thought he’d misheard. He looked in the same direction as Carrie had but saw nothing. All the same, his spine was tingling with apprehension.

  ‘What man Carrie?’ he asked. He had to clear his throat. It had gone tight.

  ‘The man at the school railings.’

  ‘Tell me about him, Carrie,’ said MacLean, trying to sound casual.

  At first Carrie ignored the request. She was concentrating on enticing some creature into her jar.

  MacLean’s pulse was racing. He couldn’t wait. ‘Tell me about the man Carrie,’ he repeated. His voice was harder.

  Carrie caught the unusual nuance and it alarmed her. She turned to look at him uncertainly.

  ‘Did he speak to you Carrie?’

  ‘He asked about Daddy,’ said Carrie.

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said that Daddy was in heaven.’

  The childish reply made MacLean realise that he was frightening Carrie. She was looking at him very unsurely. He swept her up into his arms and hugged her and she responded by nestling contentedly on his shoulder.

  ‘What’s wrong Uncle Dan?’ she asked.

  ‘You mustn’t speak to strangers Carrie,’ said MacLean.

  ‘Sorry, Uncle Dan.’

  MacLean’s mind was full of nightmare possibilities. He tried to eliminate them by considering a more ordinary one. The man lived locally; he was picking up his own child from school and had simply asked Carrie where her daddy was. MacLean wasn’t convinced. He moved on to the darker ones. The man was some kind of weirdo who hung around school playgrounds. The third possibility loomed like a black cloud across the sun. It said that the man was from Lehman Steiner. They had found him.

  ‘Are you all right, Uncle Dan?’ Carrie asked.

  MacLean looked at her and tried to smile reassuringly. ‘What did this man look like Carrie?’ he asked.

  ‘Old.’

  Anything over eighteen, thought MacLean. ‘Can you tell me any more?’

  ‘He was a bit like Uncle George,’ said Carrie thoughtfully.

  ‘And what is Uncle George like?’

  ‘Important,’ said Carrie.

  ‘Important?’

  ‘Uncle George is in charge of pots of money. Mummy told me. He works in a bank.’

  The man was wearing a suit and a tie, thought MacLean. That did not automatically make him one of Leavey’s ‘professionals’ but it certainly didn’t rule it out.

  MacLean felt as if his limbs were weighed down with lead as he walked along the towpath behind Carrie. He couldn’t concentrate on anything the child was saying. Self-recrimination played a major role. He had foolishly allowed himself to start believing that a new life was possible and now he was going to have to pay for such stupidity. The merest suspicion that he had been found by Lehman Steiner meant that he would have to leave Tansy and Carrie immediately. They would be in great danger if he stayed and they had come to mean so much to him. Idiot! He should have known better.

  Carrie stopped to look down into the water again and MacLean watched her. This would be their last expedition together. The dreams he had begun to nurture about being around to see her grow up had turned to nothing. The love he had come to feel for Tansy was just a cruel quirk of fate, one last twist of the knife. He would have to be on his way and soon.

  Carrie knew that something was wrong. She didn’t know what but that was usually the way with grown-ups, she had found. They went quiet and didn’t seem to hear what you said. MacLean had not been involving himself in her discoveries like he usually did. He had not even bothered to look at what she had in the jar and he kept looking at his watch.

  Carrie felt uneasy. She wanted to cry but didn’t because she didn’t know what for. She didn’t protest when MacLean said that it was time to turn back but she didn’t run on ahead as usual. She stayed beside MacLean and took his hand, looking up at his face from time to time, hoping to find a smile of reassurance. MacLean was aware of the warmth of Carrie’s hand in his. He wanted the moment to last. He was filled with sadness and anger.

  Tansy turned round from the sink where she had been peeling potatoes and prepared herself to meet Carrie’s verbal onslaught but it didn’t materialise. Carrie smiled but said nothing as she put her jar down on the kitchen table. Tansy looked to MacLean for answers but found only darkness there. The water from her wet hands dripped on the floor as she waited for him to say something.

  MacLean asked Carrie to put the fishing nets away in the garden hut and she complied without saying anything. As soon as she went outside MacLean told Tansy about the man on the canal bank. Tansy searched for innocent explanations but MacLean’s face told her that he feared the worst. ‘I must go,’ he said, ‘You and Carrie could be in great danger.’

  Tansy’s eyes were shining with frustration as she tried to find an argument, ‘You can’t just disappear from our lives,’ she said. ‘There must be another way. You don’t know for sure that this man is who you think he is.’

  Carrie returned and caused the conversation to stop. Tansy held MacLean’s eyes in a silent plea. Carrie joined in the silence and Tansy turned to her and asked her to put away her raincoat and Wellingtons. Carrie did as she was bid, again without saying anything.

  ‘Aren’t we worth fighting for MacLean?’ said Tansy.

  MacLean looked troubled. ‘That’s not the point,’ he began but Tansy interrupted him, ‘That is exactly the point! You should at least find out who this man is before you ride off into the sunset like some self-sacrificing martyr. Don’t we matter to you?’

  ‘Of course you do,’ snapped MacLean, needled by what Tansy said.

  ‘Then find this man! Find out who and what he is. Even if he turns out to be one of your “professionals” you are a match for him; you said so yourself. Fight MacLean! Don’t just run away! Fight for us!’

  MacLean was wavering. Tansy had got through to him. ‘But the danger to you and Carrie… ‘ he protested.

  ‘We’ll take the chance if you will. We mean a lot to each other, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘An awful lot,’ said MacLean.

  ‘Good,’ said Tansy, eyes still shining with emotion. ‘Where do we begin?’

  All vestige of suicidal complacency left MacLean. Tansy and Carrie wanted him as much as he wanted them. He would find this man and find out just who the hell he was and if he should turn out to be from Lehman Steiner… God help him.

  Tansy had expected MacLean to go out and start looking but instead, he played a waiting game. If the man was who he feared he was there was no doubt that he would come to him. He would bide his time.

  The loft of the bungalow had been converted into two rooms. One, Carrie’s bedroom had a dormer window. MacLean decided that this would be the best place to keep vigil from. He moved the bed over to the window and positioned it so he could lie along it and keep watch on the garden. If anyone was interested in the bungalow and its occupants they would have to approach from that side. He steeled himself to lie there until dark if necessary.

  In the event MacLean had been keeping watch for just over two hours when he saw a movement in the trees. He felt his muscles tense but didn’t move in case he altered some reflection in the window which would alert the intruder. The top half of a man appeared from behind one of the conifers outside the garden fence. MacLean made mental notes. He was around five ten with dark hair, a swarthy complexion and was wearing a dark business suit. He had come from the right side of the tree, holding back the branches with his left hand; he was possibly left-handed.

  There was no need to ask Carrie to confirm that this was the man she had seen at school. The mere fact that he had come to the house told MacLean that his worst fears were being realised. Lehman Steiner had found him. He remained perfectly still until the
man had moved back into the undergrowth then he moved quickly. He had the initiative; he mustn’t lose it.

  MacLean ran downstairs and gripped Tansy lightly by the shoulders. He told her to keep Carrie inside, lock the door behind him and do nothing until he had returned. He checked the gun and put it back in his inside pocket. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He didn’t say anything more to Tansy nor she to him. Tansy closed the door behind him and locked it. She rested her forehead on it for a moment, breathing unevenly because of fear, until she became aware of Carrie looking up at her. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘Come help me in the kitchen.’

  MacLean ran swiftly to the bottom of the garden and vaulted the fence. He dropped to his knees and listened, holding his breath so that he would not miss anything. He heard movement somewhere ahead of him and guessed at twenty metres. Good! If he had heard nothing there would have been a different game to play, a game, which said that the opposition was waiting to see if he was being followed. There was no reason to believe that the man would have any reason to suspect this but MacLean considered every possibility. The stakes were very high. The comforting snap of twigs up ahead told him that he was still holding all the aces in this encounter.

  The man was heading for the towpath. MacLean thought ahead to where he would confront him. He decided on the far side of the first stone bridge. He would circle round and wait for him to emerge on the other side. He headed off at an angle to ensure that he reached the bridge first. He did and pressed himself up against the cold stone to wait and listen.

  He heard muted footsteps on the earth of the towpath and waited for the change in sound when the man moved on to the cobbles under the bridge. The change came and MacLean tensed himself. As the man emerged from under the bridge MacLean shot out his hand and gripped him by the neck. He swung him round hard and slammed him against the weeping stonework before twisting his left arm up his back and applying all his weight to keeping him immobile while he searched him. He found the gun in a shoulder holster under his right armpit. He had been right; the man was left-handed.