And then, of course, bringing Josh had been the best thing that he could have done. With every day that passed, Dan realized how little he had known about his son before. Josh was certainly not the useless layabout that Jackie had accused him of being. Over the weeks that he had been in the factory, he had proved himself to be a hard worker, determined to do the job well, if not better than anyone else in the packing room. And that was not Dan’s own judgment of the boy’s capabilities. That was Patrick’s.
Dan also loved having his company in the cottage. Josh turned out to be surprisingly house-proud, something that Dan found most odd, remembering only too well the orderless upheaval of his son’s bedroom in London, and his enthusiasm for their home diminished any small feeling of sparseness and discomfort that Dan might have secretly harboured about the place. On those evenings when Dan arrived back at the cottage earlier than usual and Josh was working overtime in the factory, he missed having him around. He loved their new man-to-man relationship, feet up in front of the television, beer in hand, watching a football match or a film that Dan had picked up at the local video store on the way home. He therefore felt a momentary pang of resentment, before giving instant and laddish congratulations, when Josh broke the news to him that, on some occasions, the reason for his delayed return had been due to Maria José, the young Spanish girl in the factory, with whom he had either been going for a drink in the Nevisview Inn or seeing a film at the local cinema.
Besides this unexpected but pleasing revelation, there were other hidden depths to Josh’s character that took Dan completely by surprise. After his success with the cottage lawn, which he had managed to transform to a deep and healthy shade of green following nightly floodings with buckets of water, Josh had become quite passionate about gardening, so much so that when all was in order, and when work and Maria José allowed, he turned his attentions to the much greater challenge of restoring the Trenchards’ garden to some degree of horticultural sanity. It was because of this and because Dan and Katie had eventually managed to cut a deal with Patrick, being that he could continue going on the early morning jaunts to Mallaig as long as he carried out his office work at home, that the two Porters began to spend most of their weekends at Auchnacerie. It was not long, therefore, before they were considered a welcome extension to the family. Josh took on the role of hero and surrogate elder brother to Max, the two of them heading off up into the hills together on mountain bikes, with the dogs keeping pace, where they would tackle long and, to all accounts, dangerously harebrained journeys of exploration. Dan, meanwhile, found that he could combine his work with Patrick with taking over the weekend cooking duties from Katie, and having become used to the hit-and-miss technique of cooking on a traditional heat-storage stove, he was pleasantly surprised at the way his culinary concoctions were devoured with relish, even by the children. Thereafter, not only was he given the title of resident chef to the “Auchnacerie House Hotel,” he also became known to one and all as “Dan the Man,” thanks to a short and quite erudite poem written by Sooty.
There was a man called Dan
Who sat in a frying pan
It gave him a brown suntan
Poor old Dan
Katie told Dan later that the problems encountered by Sooty over the meter of the last line had resulted in much sighing and pencil chewing at the kitchen table, until quite suddenly, inspiration had struck.
It gave him a brown suntan
Poor old Dan the Man
There had been little improvement, however, in Dan’s popularity on the home front. Communication with Jackie had been nonexistent, even though Josh had found a place next to a lone, windswept silver birch a hundred yards straight up the hill from the back of the cottage where three blips of reception could be achieved on a mobile phone. Every night, Dan would walk the dogs up to the tree and call the house in Clapham. Sometimes he spoke to Battersea Gran, with whom he had long and informative conversations; sometimes it was Millie or Nina, both of whom displayed little interest at hearing their father’s voice at the other end of the line. But he never got to speak to Jackie. He had tried to call her at work, but she was never there, the first week being out at business meetings and the second week in Paris. He left voicemail messages on her mobile that she never answered, although she did eventually reply to a text. It read only Taking Josh with you was a clever move.
The message upset him greatly. He hadn’t realized until then that there was this measure of vindictiveness about their relationship. Okay, they had had their disagreements and arguments, but that kind of statement was more in tune with a couple getting a divorce and wrangling over the custody of their children. He sent her another text saying that it had been Josh’s decision to come with him, that Josh was now working in a good job and making good money, and that she would be extremely proud of him, because he certainly was. Dan decided to leave it at that, hoping that she would now be satisfied that there had been no scheming rationale behind the move to take Josh.
Thereafter, he did continue to call her every second night, but it was always Battersea Gran, Millie, or Nina who answered the telephone. Then, one evening, as he picked his way down the hill in the dark, following the winding sheep track through the heather, it dawned on him that, in all their years of marriage, he had never gone so long without speaking to his wife.
18
Dan had no idea that the Seascape refrigerated van was parked at the back of the Trenchards’ house. He had become used to measuring his steps in the darkness of the early morning—up the road, into the courtyard, and across to the back door—but on this occasion, it was only a sixth sense that stopped him from slamming his face into the rear door of the vehicle. He skirted around it and entered the house. Katie was standing by the Rayburn, her mouth stretched open in a long, shuddering yawn.
“Everything all right?” Dan asked, sensing that there was something amiss.
Katie pushed the heels of her hands deep into the sockets of her eyes. “Not really, no. Patrick had an appalling night. He was sleeping downstairs and got up to go to the loo, and then fell over. I couldn’t move him and he couldn’t move himself, so I had to put a mattress on the bathroom floor and roll him onto it.”
“Is he still there?”
“No, Pete arrived about half an hour ago with the van and he carried him back to his bed before heading back to the factory in Patrick’s car.”
Dan had no doubt that Pete Jackson would be able to manage such a Herculean task. The factory manager at Seascape was built like an ox and had an awesome reputation in the heavy events at Highland Games throughout Scotland.
“What time did this happen?”
“About three o’clock.”
“You should have got hold of me. I would have come straight over.”
Katie lifted the lid of the Rayburn and put on the kettle. “I did try. I left a message on your mobile.”
“Hell, I’m sorry about that. The wretched thing doesn’t work in the cottage. We have to yomp up the hill to get a line.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“And I don’t suppose you could have left him for a minute and come over in the car.”
Katie shook her head. “No. For all Patrick’s bluster and bravado, he is absolutely terrified of what’s happening to him. As I was putting the duvet over him, he grabbed hold of my hand, and he wouldn’t let go.”
“Do you mean you spent the whole night with him in the bathroom?”
“I hadn’t much option. It was bloody cold and extremely uncomfortable as well. I must remember to put a rug down on those tiles in case it happens again.”
“You must be feeling exhausted.”
Katie poured boiling water into two cups of instant coffee and gave one to Dan. “You get used to it. Most nights, there’s something going on. Not usually as bad as that, though.”
“What happens now, then?”
“Well, much against Patrick’s wishes, I’ve told him to stay in bed and I’ve called the docto
r. He’s on his way out from Fort William.”
Dan took his coffee over to the table and sat down on the window seat. “In that case, why don’t you let me deal with the children today? I can easily drop them off at school and pick them up later. That’ll give you time to catch up on some sleep.”
Katie shook her head, using the opportunity to dispel some of the fatigue from her brain. “No, I’ll be fine. Anyway, I’m afraid that you’ve got your work cut out for the day.”
“Oh?”
Katie came over and sat down opposite him. “Patrick wants you to take the refrigerated van down to Oban. There was a lorry scheduled to pick up this morning’s catch, but it’s been redirected over to the East Coast.” She dug into the pockets of her Vagabonds and brought out a piece of paper. “That’s the mobile number of Ronnie Macaskill, our buyer in Oban. Give him a call when you arrive there and he’ll arrange a meeting place with you down at the harbour.”
Dan scratched the side of his face and laughed. “Right. So which way is Oban?”
“Pete has written out directions for you and left them on the passenger seat in the van,” Katie replied. “He says that it should take you no more than two hours at this time of the morning. It’s only about sixty miles.”
“And then I head straight back to the factory?”
“Yes, as quickly as you can. There’s a shipment meant to be going out tonight to Mercabarna and there’s a shortfall in the order, so Pete wants you back as soon as possible.”
Dan drained his coffee. “Well, I’d better be going then.” He rinsed out his cup under the tap and placed it on the draining board. “Listen, if you want anything, give me a call on the mobile. I’ll bring Patrick’s car back from the factory, so I could easily pick up Max and Sooty on the way home.”
Katie nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. I’ll let you know. It really depends on what the doctor says.”
“Okay.” He waggled a finger at her. “You just take it easy, do you hear? You’ve got backup now.”
Dan made Oban in exactly two hours. He reckoned that he would be able to do it in less time on the way back to Fort William because it had taken him a good half hour to get used to the van’s hefty gearbox and more than an hour to judge the width of the vehicle on the tight-bending road that wound its way down the eastern side of Loch Linnhe. He telephoned Ronnie Macaskill when he was three miles from Oban, stopping off to make the call at the entrance to the Dunstaffnage Yacht Marina.
The harbour was not difficult to find. As he drove down the hill into Oban, he could see the boats clustered together beyond the buildings that lined the promenade, above them protruding the distinctive red and black funnel of a Caledonian MacBrayne ferry. He followed the mainstream of traffic and found himself quite unexpectedly driving out onto the pier.
The Cormorant Café was an insubstantial pale blue clapboard edifice resting on a pile of railway sleepers and tucked in protectively against the harbour wall. There was a gap of about two feet between the ground and the door, and therefore an upturned fish box had become a permanent fixture in front of the café to act as a step. Dan entered the establishment and looked around for his contact, and immediately saw a slightly built man wearing a pair of brown corduroy jeans, a dark blue donkey jacket, and a wise look on his agreeable face rise to his feet at the far end of the café. He picked up a notebook and mobile phone from the table and walked towards him with easy strides.
“Mr. Porter, I believe,” he said in a slow, deliberate voice, holding out a hand.
“Dan,” he replied, shaking the hand.
“Good to meet you, Dan. I’m Ronnie Macaskill.” He flicked a thumb towards the counter. “Are you wanting to get yourself a cup of coffee?”
“No, I won’t bother. I’ve got to get this load back to the factory as quickly as I can.”
Ronnie nodded slowly. “So Pete told me this morning. We do, however, have a slight complication.”
Dan frowned at the man. “Being?”
“Being that I have four boxes of clonkers on their way up from Campbeltown and Pete Jackson wants you to take those back with you as well. The lorry is heading on to Glasgow, so I’m going to be meeting him in Lochgilphead in about three quarters of an hour.”
“That’s going to make me pretty tight for time.”
“Aye, I realize that, so I’m thinking that it would be best if we met up again outside of the town so that you can get away up the road as quickly as possible. Now, would you be knowing any landmarks around here?”
Dan scratched at the back of his head. “Not really. Oh, except that yacht marina about three miles north from here.”
“Dunstaffnage. That would do just grand. If you get yourself there in about an hour and a quarter, I’ll see if I can drive like the wind and get to you as soon as I can.”
“Right. So where do I get loaded up here?”
Ronnie pushed open the door of the café. “I’ll show you.” He stepped down onto the fish box and Dan made to follow him, but the man turned around quickly and pushed Dan back into the café, closing the door behind him.
“Oh, damn the world!” he muttered, as he walked over to the window and peered out at the side. “What the hell is he doing down here again?”
“What’s the matter?” Dan asked.
Ronnie beckoned him over. “Have a look here.” He moved out of the way to give Dan his space. “You see that red BMW there?”
Dan saw the distinctive badge above the grill of the car, its nose just visible at the far side of the Seascape van. As he watched, a hugely overweight man with a head like a turnip and dressed in a billowing blue serge overcoat appeared from the back of the van and walked slowly along its side, casting a furtive glance into the cab as he passed by.
“Is that the owner of the car?” Dan asked.
Ronnie stepped forward and glanced out the window. “Aye, that’s Maxwell Borthwick, our self-styled Robin Hood of the Highlands.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He’s all for taking from the rich and giving to the poor, excepting that he’s got his wires a wee bit crossed over what he’s trying to achieve.”
“Which is?”
Ronnie twisted his mouth into a wry smile. “To put it in a nutshell, he would be a happy man if he were to be given credit for ridding this land of all those who spoke with anything other than a Scots accent.”
Dan grimaced. “In other words, he wouldn’t be very pleased to meet me.”
“Oh, he’d like to meet you all right. He knows all about you, but I’m thinking that we won’t give him the pleasure. He’s a dangerous man, that Maxwell Borthwick. Like all quasi politicians, he has friends in all the wrong places, and his number one enemy just happens to be Patrick Trenchard.”
“How did that come about?”
“Patrick had a head-to-head with him once during a political discussion on the local radio station and he succeeded in leaving the man spluttering for answers. Unfortunately for Maxwell, the programme was heard by a journalist who wrote a scathing report on the man’s inability for debate. It was printed in most of the national newspapers the following day. Now, Maxwell is the type of man who doesn’t take kindly to being made to look a fool. He’d certainly like to get his pound of flesh off Patrick.” Ronnie pulled back from the window. “Right, that’s him away now. I don’t know where he’s headed off to, but hopefully, it will give you time to get loaded up and away out of here before he finds out that it was you who was driving the van.” He opened the door of the café and jumped down to the ground without using the step. “I’d better be getting myself off to Lochgilphead.” He pointed to a large shed two hundred yards away at the town end of the quay. “If you take the van round the back of that shed there and ask for Tommy, he’ll get you loaded up. He’s expecting you. And take care going in through the gate. It’s awful narrow.”
“Right, and I’ll see you at Dun”—his mind went blank—“at the yacht marina in about an hour and a quarter.”
There were two other lorries waiting to be loaded when Dan arrived at the shed. He negotiated the tight entrance gate with care, pulled the van into the line, and then went off in search of Tommy. He was informed by one of the lorry drivers that it was Tommy himself who was negotiating the restricted loading space at speed on a forklift truck. When he caught sight of Dan and the Seascape logo on the side of the van, he held up his hands, fingers outspread, to indicate that he was going to be no longer than ten minutes.
In typical West Coast fashion, it was three quarters of an hour before the second lorry was finished being loaded. Dan pulled the van hard against the wall of the loading area to allow the lorry to reverse out past him, and then drove into the shed.
“Sorry about that,” Tommy said as he jumped off his forklift and started to manhandle the prawn boxes off the pallet and into the back of the van. “You’ll be Dan Porter then.”
“That’s right,” Dan replied, pulling on a pair of leather gloves that he had found in the cab’s cubbyhole. He went to pick up three boxes from the pallet, realized that he wasn’t going to manage them, and settled for two.
“And how’s Patrick keeping?” Tommy asked as he collected his next load.
“Not so good, I’m afraid. He had a bad night last night.”
Tommy rested his hands on top of the boxes. “It’s a real bastard, that kind of thing happening to a man like Patrick. He’s such an active man.” He heaved up the boxes and walked around to the back of the van. “He’s awful well liked in these parts, you know,” he called out.
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