In The Garden Of Stones (26 page)

“
Yes.”

“
After I telt ye not ta?”

“
You only told me not to talk to him on the phone. You
didn’t say anything about not meeting with him, and as I told you
before, I don’t take orders –”

“
Ach! Fer fuck’s sake, Grace!” Colin explodes, throwing the
book across the room. “You couldn’t bloody well leave it alone
could you? Why did ye have ta –?”

“
I didn’t really have a choice. I had to ask him to sign the
forms.”

Colin
scrambles awkwardly to his feet. “And how much did ye have ta pay
him ta dae it, eh?”

“
Nothing! He was really nice. We had coffee and flapjacks
and a good long chat. He told me about his wife and kids and his
work. When we talked about you, he got very upset.”

“
Aye, I bet he did.”

“
He was genuinely distressed and sorry that he hadn’t been
able to see you. He was more than happy for me to come though, and
he signed my forms. Even made up a little reference for
me.”

“
Always was a bloody liar,” he growled.

“
That’s not fair!”

A sullen
silence falls.

“
So fit excuses did he make fer no showing his face?” Colin
asks. “An hour away by car and he canna be bothered.”

“
Not true. He can be bothered, he cares a great deal, he
just can’t bring himself to do it.”

Colin
snorts.

“
He’s frightened, Colin. He’s scared that if he sees you
he’ll say the wrong thing and upset you, or get upset himself and
embarrass you both. He’s totally overwhelmed with what’s happened.
It’s totally out of his sphere of understanding and the best way
he’s found to deal with it is to deny it. Sound
familiar?”

Colin’s chin juts defiantly.
Bang
. Another nail hit.

“
He said to say that he’s sorry and that he loves you,” she
says.

“
Bah!”

“
He was crying when he said it.”

“
Crocodile tears.”

“
God’s toenails, you’re a cruel man McLeod.” She scoots off
the cot, throwing the sewing onto the blanket. “He’s your brother.
Your own flesh and blood.” She pulls open the hut door. “At least
you have one to care about you.”

The door
slams, and she is gone.

For a
full ten minutes Colin sits at the table and sulks, brooding over
Grace’s betrayal, straightening out the creased pages of his novel.
When he finally decides that she hasn’t done any harm, that her
heart, as always, is in the right place, he closes the book,
lurches to his feet, and goes in search of her.

He finds
her sitting on the stone bench in the rose garden and creaks down
to sit beside her.

“
I’m sorry,” he says, wringing his tatty cap in his hands.
“I know you meant well.”

Silence.

“
If ye don’t want ta come and see me now, here or at the
centre, I understand. I don’t blame you fer thinking me a … a
cad.”

A reluctant smile crawls across Grace’s face. “Cad? Who are
you, Terry-Thomas? Nobody under seventy says cad anymore, you daft
bugger. How old
are
you?”

“
Old enough to ken better, young enough to no give a
fuck.”

She
laughs out loud. “Silly sod.” A pause. “Lucas asked me if I was one
of your fancy women.” She gives him a nudge in the ribs with her
elbow. “You popular then?”

Colin
looks to his fingernails. “I’ve had ma moments,” he says modestly.
“It’s the uniform and rumours of big… guns. Attracts ‘em like flies
round a dog turd. They’ve read stories in the papers and seen
things on the news, and they get turned on by the danger factor.
And then of course, there’s ma medal ribbons and the pips on ma
shoulders when I’m all dressed up, which fer some strange reason
they seem to equate that with being loaded wi cash too. But then,
when they realise I’m no a jet setting Superman wi balls of steel
and a cock like a jackhammer, but an ordinary bloke with sweaty
feet, prickly heat and a crappy ten year old Ford Focus, they
bugger off to get their jollies elsewhere.”

“
What are the medals for? Bravery? Gallantry?”

“
Nothing quite sa grand. Jest operational service medals and
good conduct awards fer being a good boy and eatin’ all ma
greens.”

“
Have you never thought of getting married and settling
down? Having children?”

“
Once or twice,” he says. “But if I’m honest, I’m no' big on
families, and it wouldn’t be fair dragging a wife and kids around
the globe from posting to posting, or leaving them behind for
months at a time, worrying about what’s going on at home while I’m
away, and never certain when or even if I’m ever going to get home
again.” Sniff. “Nah. I’m better off on my oan.”

“
Me too.”

Colin
turns his cap over in his hands. “What you said about me and Lucas,
that at least I have a brother to care about me? Did something
happen to yours?”

Grace
sits up straight, hands gripping the edges of the slab, head tilted
to one side, face turned to the sun.

“
No, I never had one. I’m an only child.” She sighs
wistfully. “I’ve always had a romantic notion that every girl
should have an older brother to look out for her, someone big and
strong and noble who would slay the metaphorical dragon, who would
stand to and defend her honour from a black caped
moustache-twirling Dick Dastardly, would keep the base malefactors
at bay with his steely presence. I’ve never had any particular male
presence in my upbringing and always wondered if it would have made
any difference.”

“
Fit ‘boot yer faither?”

“
He was long gone before I was even born. Don’t even know
his name. My mum brought me up on her own as best she could, when
she wasn’t in hospital being stabilised because her medication
stopped working, or because she didn’t bother taking it. It was
like living with a firecracker, never knowing when it was going to
blow up in your face, and when it did there was no-one to turn to.
No balance. It was really hard work. No wonder I turned out the way
I did.”

“
You said was. Is she …”

“
No, she’s not dead, she’s in Fraserburgh.”

“
Much the same thing,” says Colin with a smile.

“
She sent me a letter a few years ago, telling me she’d
hooked up with some guy who sold stationery, that they were in love
and she was happy and he was really good for her, and that they
were moving away to get a fresh start together. She said she didn’t
want me always worrying about what was going to happen next, that I
should forget about her and get on with my own life. So I
did.”

“
And now you’re all alone in the world?”

“
I have Mr Pickles, and Alec and Den … and you.”

Colin
takes her hand. “You will come and see me, won’t you?”

“
After all the time and effort I’ve put in to get my
visitor's pass? You try and stop me. I had to have my photo taken.
Do you have the slightest idea how much I hate that. All I can say
is, you’d better be worth it.”

“
I hope so too.” He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “I
can’t wait to see you. You’ll be my first visitor. I’ll get to
break my duck at last.”

Chapter 27

The wait
to find out whether Grace’s application is successful drags on for
another three weeks, until the day she has to sign for delivery of
a stiff brown envelope. In it is her visitor’s pass for Pelham
Chase Rehabilitation Centre and an information leaflet.

She
kisses the pass and skim reads the leaflet, then gathers together
the bits and pieces she will need for a trip to Kemnay on the bus
the next day.

She
shows her pass to the guard at the security booth. He takes it,
looks at it, looks at her, hands it back and waves her
on.

“
Turn left at the top of the drive, glass doors, can’t miss
it.”

“
I know where to go. Thank you.”

“
Hi. I’m here to see Colin McLeod,” she says confidently to
the woman behind the desk, another soldier, smart as a pin, frizzy
hair the colour of Irn Bru pulled back into a reluctant ponytail,
name-tag declaring her to be Private Karen Kelly.

“
Can I see your pass please?” says Pte Kelly.

Grace holds out the laminated card with black
capital
visitor, visitor, visitor
picked out in staggered rows across its
face, over which are printed her mug shot and personal
details.

Pte
Kelly takes it and offers its barcode to the magic eye scanner. She
taps on her keyboard, studies the screen, a frown of perplexity on
her face.

“
Something wrong?” asks Grace.

“
A moment please.”

The card
is introduced to the scanner again.

“
I only got the card yesterday, so maybe the computer hasn’t
caught up,” Grace says hopefully.

Pte
Kelly looks up from the screen. “Yesterday? That would explain it
then.”

“
Explain what?”

“
Why you’re in the system, but I can’t find confirmation of
an arranged visit. We usually require at least twenty-four hours
notice.”

“
A what? I didn’t know I had to. I thought so long as I came
during visiting hours–”

“
It used to be that way until a few months ago when we
changed the system. Improved security measures.”

“
Then why didn’t it say so in the information
leaflet?”

It probably did, but you couldn’t be bothered to read it
properly could you, you daft cow!
Grace berates herself.

“
I can only assume you must have got one of the old stock,”
says Pte Kelly. “They have been reprinted with the correct
information. I’m sorry.”

“
So what do I do now?” Grace says.

“
Without an arranged visit–”

“
Is there a problem?”

A tall
athletic looking man in a navy blue polo shirt and matching track
suit bottoms squeezes his way past the receptionist to drop
documents into a tray.

“
This lady has a pass, but she doesn’t have an arranged
visit, and isn’t family,” says Pte Kelly.

“
And I’ve come a long way … by bus,” adds Grace, as if the
ordeal of using public transport will sway her case.

The man
examines Grace’s card. “Who is it you have you come to
see?”

“
Captain McLeod,” says Pte Kelly, and the man’s eyebrows
rise, an action which does not go unnoticed by Grace.

“
What’s the matter? Am I in the wrong building?” she says,
eyes flitting from one to the other.

The man
hands back her pass. “No, but I’m afraid you can’t see him
today.”

“
Why not?”

“
It’s not … convenient.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because you don’t have an arranged visit.”

“
Not my fault. I didn’t know I had to. I explained all that.
Can’t you make an exception?”

“
Only in case of emergency and only then for next of kin or
close family–”

“
Who haven’t been able to visit for … personal reasons, but
that’s by the by. So I’m here instead, with their permission, on
their behalf you might say, and he’s expecting me. He said I would
be his first visitor who isn’t medical, Physio or some-such other
professional. I’ve just come to chat with him and he’s so looking
forward to it, and I don’t want to let him down.”

The nurse is staring at her as if she had just sprouted a
second head. “I’m sorry, back up a bit. Did you say Captain
McLeod
told
you he hadn’t had any visitors, and that he’s expecting
you?”

“
That’s right.”

“
And when did he tell you this?”

“
Couldn’t say exactly. Time gets a bit muddled. We’ve talked
about it off and on; the last time was … day before
yesterday.”

“
The day before–? In person?”

“
Yes … well, sort of.”

The nurse continues to regard her confusedly and he
scratches at his brow with his thumb nail. “Miss Dove, I don’t mean
to … I mean, I’m sure you
think
you have the right Captain McLeod, but are
you
absolutely
sure?”

“
Why? How many have you got?”

“
Describe him to me.”

“
Late thirties. Tall-ish. Scots accent that ventures into
the unfathomable when he gets cross. Lovely brown eyes. Dark curly
hair gone a bit wild and needs a cut. He has a burn scar on his
neck, here–” She touches the area on her own neck. “–it goes across
his shoulders and all the way down his back, past his waist.
Shrapnel scar here–” she touches her right cheek. “And a tattoo on
his right arm. Still haven’t worked out what it is and he won’t
tell me, so it’s probably something rude.”