Fields of Blue Flax (16 page)

‘Well, we’ve seen her father David Barrie’s grave in the Tannadice cemetery there. Is that it?’

Bella nodded. ‘Yes, that must be it.’ Bella drained her glass
and leaned in close to Mags and Christine. They could see the fine white whiskers round her wrinkled mouth.

‘Now, girls, I wonder if you could do something for me?’

‘Of course,’ they both said.

‘I’m eighty-eight years old and as you know, I like a dram and a cigarette. Life’s been good to me, even though Kenny’s not with me now to enjoy it.’

They nodded in sympathy.

‘But there are still some things I’d like to do before I join Kenny.’

‘Like a bucket list?’ Mags suggested.

‘Not really. I don’t plan on going bungee jumping in New Zealand or anything. No, what I want to do before I die is to try some dope.’ She looked at Mags. ‘Can you get me some, please?’

Mags’s mouth dropped open. Christine was staring at Bella, wide-eyed.

‘I’m not going to become an addict or anything, but I could never have tried with Kenny around, you know what a puritan he was! So just a wee go at some cannabis would be the business. And seeing you here, Mags, I just thought you’d be the one to get it for me.’

‘Well…’

‘Christine, Mags,’ called Peggy. ‘Charlie’s keen to get going before the traffic gets bad. Is that okay?’

‘Okay, Mum, just give us a couple of minutes,’ said Mags. She turned back to Bella. ‘Let me see what I can do and I’ll give you a ring. Can’t make any promises though.’

‘Thanks, dear.’ She smiled. ‘Life’s for living you know, girls. Make sure you fill yours to the brim.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

1861

‘There was a meeting of the kirk session yesterday evening, Mrs Barrie, and we have decided upon a resolution to your situation,’ said a short, stout man dressed in black, standing at the door of the Barries’ tiny cottage in Tannadice.

‘And what’s that then, Mr Lamb?’ Margaret stood at the door, adjusting the straps of her apron. There was the sound of crying from inside.

‘Might I be permitted to enter, Mrs Barrie?’

‘If you want, it’s a right guddle though. The bairns dinnae look after themselves.’

He removed his tall black hat, bent his head down and stepped inside. The cottage smelled of the mutton broth that was stewing in a pot on a swee over the fire. He turned towards the noise and saw two infants on the floor. A chamber pot poked out from under the bed.

‘Sit doon if you want, Mr Lamb,’ said Margaret, dusting off some crumbs from the only armchair in the room. ‘The girls are just starting to eat oatcakes, they mak’ a bit o’ a mess.’

‘I shall remain standing, thank you. I do not wish to be a burden.’ He pressed his chalky white hands together as if in prayer.

Margaret shrugged and went over to the little girls, one of whom was trying to crawl towards Mr Lamb. Margaret picked her up and put her at the other side of the bed, away from the fire.

Mr Lamb coughed. ‘Mrs Barrie, ever since the tragic
death of your husband and your consequent status as pauper we, as a kirk session, have endeavoured to ameliorate your position by giving you some financial aid on a monthly basis. This obviates the need to approach the Parochial Board as per the Poor Law of 1845. And as you may or may not be aware…’

‘Mr Lamb, I dinnae hae all day, please can you just say what you have to say and in language I can understand.’ Margaret picked up the second child and gave her a finger to suck.

Mr Lamb grimaced. Margaret’s finger was filthy.

He continued, ‘To summarise, we have found a position for you to take up and we conclude that this is the best solution for you, for the children and also for us as a parish.’

‘And what would that be then?’ She began jiggling the child up and down on her hip and glanced towards Elizabeth, who was crawling towards the chamber pot. ‘Elizabeth! Dinnae touch!’ She ran to the other child who had her hands outstretched towards the grubby chamber pot. She glowered at the infant who frowned back.

‘You are to go to live with your cousin Jean Mann in Oathlaw. There you will assist her with her own children while she starts work as a cook at Oathlaw Farmhouse for Lady Munro’s daughter Mrs Nicholson who, as you may be aware, left the family estate to live there after her recent marriage.’

‘Does Jeannie ken aboot this?’

Margaret grabbed Elizabeth by her arm and dragged her back to the other side of the bed. The little girl sat down with a thump and raised a chubby little hand to her head. She began twisting a finger around a ringlet while staring up at Mr Lamb, brown eyes open wide.

‘Yes, she does, and she is more than happy to accommodate you and the two children. This will mean the kirk session will end its payments to you.’

‘An’ whit about this place? It’s been in the Barrie family for years.’

‘This cottage will remain yours and you may keep the few items that are yours here until such time as it is deemed fit for you to return to live in Tannadice.’

Margaret sighed and went over to the bed to deposit the child on her hip. She hauled the other one up from the floor and put her alongside. ‘Am I right in thinking this is the Minister’s doing?’

Mr Lamb glared at her. ‘As you know, everything the kirk session decides is sanctioned by the Reverend Whyte. He has also been in communication with Lady Munro in Oathlaw. You may leave here as soon as possible, Mrs Barrie. Mr Grieve has a cart he can carry your belongings on. Perhaps this Saturday would be a convenient day?’

‘I dinnae believe I hae any say in the matter, dae I?’

Mr Lamb put on his hat, inclined his head and stepped outside.

Chapter Twenty-nine

2014

Doug peeled off his latex gloves and washed his hands, peering into the mirror as he did so. God, what a fat slob he was these days. He really should be giving up beer and starting to run again.

‘Bye, Amy,’ he called, as his dental nurse opened the door of his surgery to leave. ‘See you tomorrow.’

He picked up his jacket from a hook by the door and switched off the lights. In the reception area, Frances was talking on the phone. He waved goodbye but she put up her hand for him to wait.

He stood at the window and watched a car reversing into a space outside. It was a flashy silver Mercedes, just like Gerry’s. In fact, it was Gerry’s car, he was sure of it. A woman with cropped black hair and large sunglasses got out. She smoothed down her short skirt, locked the door and rang the surgery door bell. Frances buzzed her in and the woman strolled into the reception area, without glancing at Doug, handed the car keys to Frances and walked right back out again, her high-heeled boots clicking behind her. She knew Doug was watching her.

‘Who was that?’ asked Doug, as Frances put the phone down.

‘Oh, that’s Angie. She cleans at Gerry’s surgery so he sometimes lends her the car to get about. He asked her to leave it here as he’s meeting you for a pint round the corner. You’re to take his keys.’

Doug frowned. ‘Do I recognise her?’

‘Yes, she’s cleaned here too when Bev’s been off ill. Agency cleaning, so she picks and chooses. Doesn’t want her husband to know as he doesn’t like her going out to work.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Doug, looking at his watch. ‘What was it you wanted, Frances?’

She burrowed into her handbag for lipstick and a compact mirror then proceeded to apply two thick red lines. ‘Two things,’ she said, lipstick hovering. ‘Don’t forget you told Mrs Owen you’d be in at eight tomorrow for her root canal.’

He nodded and showed her the back of his hand across which he had scrawled a marker-pen reminder.

Frances shook her head. ‘In this day and age, could you not use your Blackberry?’

‘Not as much fun.’ Doug winked. ‘Always gets a rise from you, Frances.’

She tutted. ‘And Lottie phoned to tell you to be home sharp as she’s cooking dinner for the three of you for Mags’s birthday.’

‘Okay.’ He turned to go. ‘Thanks, Frances. And thank God you reminded me about the date on Friday, she couldn’t believe I’d got her a card and a present this morning!’

‘All in a day’s work, Doug,’ she said, smiling at him adoringly.

‘The usual, Gerry?’ Doug nodded as his friend entered the bar.

‘Please. What a day!’ He sat down beside Doug on a high bar stool then said, ‘Actually can we go and sit at a table, my back’s killing me.’

Doug followed with two pints of beer and they sat down.

‘You know I’ve told you before about this elderly patient, she’s about eighty, the one who’s got chronic periodontitis. Anyway, she refuses to have the seat reclined even a fraction and I have to do everything at a really awkward angle as I can never get my stool high enough. Today she was in for a double appointment and by the time she left I could barely straighten up.’ He placed his hand at the base of his spine and rubbed.

‘These old buggers, why don’t they like lying prone?’ Doug said, chuckling. ‘Too many nights at the swingers club, I reckon!’

‘That’ll soon be us, mate,’ Gerry said, sipping from the glass.

Doug raised an eyebrow.

‘The getting old bit, not the swingers.’

Doug put down his glass and fished in his pocket for the car keys. ‘So what’s with the tarty cleaner in the mini skirt driving your car around town?’

‘Ah, Angie, she’s great, isn’t she! Did Frances tell you about her? Her husband’s really old-fashioned and wants her just to sit at home looking after their house and making his tea, but she gets cleaning jobs here and there so she can have her own cash.’

‘Yeah, I get that, but the car thing? What would Chris say if she saw tarty cleaner driving her husband’s Merc?’

‘Tarty cleaner is called Angie. I just gave her the car to help her out today.’ He frowned. ‘Mind you, I’ve never thought about what Chris would say, good point. Should I tell her?’

‘Nah, not sure she’d take it well.’

‘You make it sound dodgy and it’s really not!’

The lines round Doug’s eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘I believe you, mate. It’s just, Chris might not. You know what she’s like.’

Gerry nodded. ‘She’s certainly got a jealous streak. She got all emotional once when I told her about Debbie Kennedy.’

‘Christ, what did you tell her about Dynamo Debs for?’

‘Dunno, she asked me about girlfriends at uni.’

Doug shook his head. ‘Sometimes best to avoid telling the whole truth with things like that, especially to jealous types like Chris.’

‘Good thinking. Anyway, enough of me. Good to see you’re a bit less bloody grumpy today.’

Doug smiled. ‘I know, sorry, I’ve been just a bit down lately, but I’m fine now. Anyway, I can’t stay long. Lottie’s cooking for Mag’s birthday and I daren’t be late. The wrath of my daughter is something to behold!’

‘Yeah, Anna’s the same. How come we have such stroppy daughters, but Jack’s Mr Chill?’

Doug lifted his glass and downed his pint. ‘A mystery, Gerry.’

Gerry walked down the road from the bus stop, turning into his street in Craigleith. It was a cold night and not a cloud to be seen, just bright stars everywhere. He’d get out his binoculars later and that book on stars he’d been given for his birthday. It fascinated him, he really ought to have studied astronomy instead of dentistry.

He turned the key in the lock.

‘Kitchen!’ Christine shouted. He went through and saw the table set as usual, napkins neatly folded and the water poured even though she knew he always preferred to run
fresh water from the tap.

He leaned towards his wife for a kiss, but even though he had trimmed his beard, she swung away so that his kiss only brushed her cheek.

‘Presume you knew it was Mags’s birthday, Chris?’ said Gerry.

‘Of course I did! I’m taking her out for lunch on Saturday. Are they doing anything special tonight?’

‘Lottie’s cooking one of her specials so Doug was rushing home to be on time. Though he said he was tempted to have a pie at the pub as she’d probably be doing one of her mung bean flummeries.’ He jingled the coins in his pocket. ‘Thought a flummery was a pudding?’

‘That’s just Doug being funny, Gerry!’ Christine snipped the top off a bag of broccoli and tipped the contents into a pan. ‘How’s he doing these days? Less moody?’

‘Yeah, back to normal, no idea what that was all about.’ He looked over to Christine at the stove. ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll be right down. Smells good. What is it?’

‘It’s only a Markies’ cottage pie.’

‘Lovely.’

Christine placed her knife and fork together on her empty plate and began strumming her fingers on the table. ‘I hate living in a new-build house on an estate. I can’t stand living in a modern box, Gerry. No character at all and we’re all so close together. We are just far too near Phyllis next door. I mean, if she pokes her head over the fence for a chat one more time, I will actually kill her.’

‘Don’t be so mean, Chris, she’s just lonely, she’s a widow. And she’s interesting. I chatted to her for ages at the weekend about vitamins, you know she used to run that
health food shop before it shut down?’

‘Yes, she’s told me, more than once.’ Christine finished her water and looked around her. ‘Why is our kitchen not huge and light and airy like Mags’s?’

Gerry sighed. ‘They got that house in Trinity years ago before the area became trendy. And don’t forget, running an old Victorian house has its downfalls. Remember all that money they had to pay for those roof repairs, and the new kitchen cost loads.’

‘Yes, but they can afford it.’

‘He inherited it from his parents’ estate when his mum died. What, would you rather Charlie was dead so you were wealthier?’

‘Of course not, don’t be silly, but it’s just… Well, it’s not just their new kitchen, they’ve also got those lovely tiled fireplaces and the original wooden floors rather than our horrible lino, and…’

‘God, Chris, you should hear yourself. You’d think you were jealous of them.’

Christine grabbed Gerry’s plate and stood up.

Gerry sat back in his chair and swirled the remnants of wine in his glass. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

Christine stood at the table, plates in hand, listening.

‘You know that woman Angie who I told you was doing our cleaning? Well, I’ve lent her my car a couple of times to get about town. Remember I said she had that husband who doesn’t let her go out to work?’