The Back of Beyond

by Doris Davidson

  Since Nancy Lawrie had miraculously appeared again, the Forvit women had reversed their opinion of Alec Fraser. Yesterday afternoon, he’d been hard pressed not to laugh out loud.

  ‘I never thought Alec Fraser would’ve run off wi’ her.’ This was the postman’s wife.

  The one they called Doodie had almost nodded her head off. ‘Me, either. Didn’t I say, Mattie? I said no, no, nae Alec. He’s a decent man and he would never’ve ta’en up wi’ a lassie young enough to be his dother.’

  Mattie had added, ‘As for him and Mrs Birnie! Well, there was nae wey there would be ony scandal aboot them. They was pillars o’ society, baith the two o’ them.’

  Not that that was conclusive, Roddy mused. Pillars of society had been known to stray, even to commit heinous crimes, they were only human, after all, with human feelings and failings.

  Glancing at his alarm clock, which he had set for six but switched off at five thirty because he was wide awake, Roddy was astonished to see that it was now almost quarter to seven. Good God! He’d planned to collect Gaudie and be on the way to Inveraray before seven, and it would take him all his time to be ready for half past.

  First telephoning to tell his sergeant that he was running late, Liddell gave himself the quickest wash and shave he’d ever had, rummaged in his chest of drawers for a clean shirt and uncrumpled tie till the kettle boiled, and drank his cup of tea while he dressed. It was twenty-nine minutes past seven when he went out to his car, his brown wavy hair flopping over his eyes because he’d forgotten to brush it, two small pieces of toilet paper attached to his chin to staunch the blood where the razor had nicked it.

  Alistair’s thoughts were so tangled when it was almost time to get up that he knew his work would suffer. Maybe he should just lie there in the hope that exhaustion would overcome him eventually and he could sleep for a few hours?

  He had more or less decided that what he felt for Lexie now stemmed from pity rather than love, but he still couldn’t make up his mind about his wife. What he felt for her wasn’t so easily defined. This not knowing where she was had blunted the earlier hatred and resentment for the pain she had caused, and what was left was an aching anxiety to know that she was safe and well. What she had done while he was a prisoner of war still rankled, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her, but his children needed their mother and for that reason alone, he would ask her to come home. The thing was, where the devil was she? She had made it quite clear to her sisters – just Peggy now – that she wanted to be on her own, but that was almost six months ago. Surely she had done all the thinking she needed by this time.

  Oh, hell! He couldn’t carry on like this, going round and round and getting nowhere. He’d be as well going in to work to take his mind off it.

  After a quick wash and shave, he came out of the bathroom and called, ‘Come on, troops, time to get up,’ before going downstairs.

  The first meal of the day had deteriorated into a cup of tea and a slice of toast each, but neither his son nor his daughter had complained … so far. A flurry of raised voices overhead made him smile. David would be accusing Leila of sneaking into the bathroom before him, and she would be retaliating by saying she couldn’t let him go first because he splashed soapy water all over the floor and left the basin in such a mess. But they were good kids, and David seemed to have a talent for repairing old clocks and watches. Leila, of course, wasn’t quite so dedicated. She appeared to be serious about Barry Mearns, so she probably had her mind set on marriage and babies, not a career in a small watch-maker/jewellery shop in a side street.

  Leila came downstairs first. ‘David thinks Mum’s with the Tilly Something who sent her a card every Christmas.’

  Taken aback, he stammered, ‘I … I never knew her.’

  ‘Are you going to get in touch with her? She lived beside Auntie Ivy, so it must be in or near Moltby somewhere.’

  ‘But she might have moved …’ The accusation in his daughter’s eyes made him get to his feet. ‘I’ll tell you what. If you and David clear everything up when you’re finished, I’ll go and phone Auntie Peggy. I’m not saying she knows that address, but she could possibly find out for us.’

  * * *

  As David grudgingly dried the dishes, his ears were fine-tuned to catch what his father was saying on the phone in the little porch at the front door, but, unfortunately, all he could hear was an odd phrase here and there, and only one side of the conversation.

  ‘… I should know myself … yes, yes … paid more attention …’

  David nudged his sister. ‘Auntie Peggy’s getting on to him for not remembering himself.’

  ‘What? … Gwen’s address book? … I don’t know. I think she kept it in her handbag.’

  ‘She doesn’t know either,’ David muttered in disgust.

  ‘She didn’t know Mum ever went to Auntie Ivy’s …’ Leila stopped speaking at David’s imperative ‘Ssshh!’

  ‘Yes? … it doesn’t matter … but I’d be grateful if you or Dougal remember anything … Yes, I know he wasn’t at home, but Marge could have said something in a letter … OK, thanks anyway.’

  He came back into the kitchen, shaking his head. ‘She doesn’t know. Well, that’s it, I suppose.’ Alistair gave a long sigh and shook his head again. ‘Look at the time! The shop won’t be opened at eight o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Nobody ever comes in as early as that, anyway,’ Leila consoled.

  ‘This’ll be the day somebody does,’ her father said, dolefully. ‘Have you both got everything, now?’

  David gave an annoyed exclamation. ‘No, I’ve forgot a hankie. Just be a tick.’

  With his father and sister on their way to the car, he ran to the sideboard and extracted a sheet of notepaper and an envelope from the left-hand drawer. He wasn’t going to be stumped because he didn’t know exactly where this Tilly lived. He was desperate to see his mother, and the only way to find her would be to write … to any sort of address. He was often left on his own in the little back workshop, and surely he’d have a chance to scribble a few lines, and Dad wouldn’t miss a stamp if he took one.

  ‘Thomas Birnie?’

  The tall, white-haired man frowned, then gave a light laugh. ‘No, I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong man. My name is Charles Balfour and I’ve never heard of this … what was it you called him? Birnie?’

  ‘I am Detective Inspector Liddell from Aberdeen City Police, and this is Detective Sergeant Gaudie. There is no mistake and we are taking you to the Police Station here …’

  ‘Are you arresting me? On what charge, may I ask?’

  His insolence got under Liddell’s skin. ‘No charge … yet. We are merely taking you in for routine questioning.’

  ‘Questioning? About what? A robbery, a paternity suit, ha ha? You’ve got the wrong man, I tell you. I have committed no such crimes, Inspector.’

  Having to hold himself back from punching the man in his supercilious face, Liddell said, ‘It is nothing like that. Fetch your coat, please, and come with us now.’

  ‘Am I allowed to tell my wife where I am going?’

  Gaudie’s restraining hand on his sleeve made Liddell take a deep breath, and he managed to keep his voice steady. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Birnie disappeared into what they took to be the kitchen, and came back in a few seconds, followed by a brown-haired, pleasant-faced woman who looked to be in her late forties, much younger than her husband, if he was her legal husband, which was doubtful. ‘What’s wrong, Inspector? What is Charles supposed to have done?’

  The soft, lilting Highland tongue made Liddell feel even more sorry for her. Poor soul, he thought, she’s in for a shock when everything comes out. ‘We want to question him regarding his first wife, Ma’am.’

  Her unlined brow wrinkled. ‘His first wife died many years ago.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, we know. Are you ready, sir?’

  With a sneering smile at Liddell, the doctor kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll be back bef
ore you know it, my dear. There’s been some terrible mistake, but I’ll soon clear it up.’

  They hadn’t far to go, and within minutes, the three men were seated at a table in a small room in Inveraray Police Station. Giving his sergeant time to produce his notebook and pencil, Liddell regarded his suspect. The man must know he was about to be accused of murder, but his eyes – a startlingly bright shade of blue – held no indication of worry or apprehension, and his hands were as steady as a rock when he took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘May I?’ he asked, as he extracted one and fished in his pocket for his lighter.

  Silently, Liddell pushed the ashtray over to him. ‘If you’re ready, we can begin. As your present wife mentioned, your first wife died some years ago. Is that correct?’

  The silver head nodded, the mouth turned up briefly in a sad little smile. ‘Yes, that is so, Inspector. Sadly, Margaret caught a chill one night, which developed into pneumonia. She’d had a bad chest since she was a child, I believe, and I did advise her not to go out that night, it was so cold and damp, but she wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘She was, perhaps, going to choir practice at the church?’

  Liddell thought he could discern a flicker of anxiety now, but Birnie said, quite calmly and with a sarcastic smile on his long lean face, ‘No, Inspector, Margaret had a voice like a corncrake. As I told you before, you have the wrong man.’

  ‘No, sir, I think not. You have been definitely identified by a witness as Thomas Birnie, medical practitioner.’

  ‘A case of mistaken identity, Inspector.’

  ‘She swears …’

  ‘She? Oh, Inspector, never, never trust a woman’s judgement. If you ask any woman if she has seen a certain man, of course she will say yes. It is part of their nature.’

  ‘Is it part of their nature to provide that certain man’s address?’ Liddell was growing increasingly irritated by the doctor’s attitude. ‘Furthermore, this lady had not been asked anything about you. She did, of course, know that we were trying to trace you, but she came to us of her own accord to tell us where she had seen you, and how she discovered where you lived … under an assumed name.’

  ‘I am afraid your witness picked me at random, Inspector. I had never heard the name Thomas Birnie until you mentioned it to me earlier. Where, if I may dare to ask, does your witness live?’

  ‘She and her family were on holiday in Inveraray from Aberdeen when she spotted you. She knew you very well at one time, and I have every faith in her. She made no mistake.’

  ‘I have never known anyone from Aberdeen, Inspector. I cannot understand this.’

  Liddell was pleased to detect a tremor in the voice now. Birnie was getting edgy, though he would still brazen it out. ‘How long have you been practising in Inveraray?’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Um, we moved here only a few weeks ago, on account of my wife’s health. Prior to that I was almost twenty years in the heart of Glasgow.’

  That could be true, Liddell thought; since he left Forvit, but it would have to be checked. ‘And before that?’ This was the crucial period.

  ‘Dunoon, From the time I qualified until Margaret died … almost eight years.’

  ‘Not Dunoon, Doctor. Well over a hundred miles from there, wasn’t it?’

  ‘What are you getting at, Inspector?’ The mask was beginning to slip, the voice was sharper, higher. ‘Where am I supposed to have been?’

  ‘Do you know Aberdeenshire at all, Doctor?’

  ‘No, I have never been as far north as that.’

  The questioning went on for hours, over and over the same details, with Birnie obviously trying to remain calm, but there was an odd second or two when Liddell knew that perseverance would pay off. The man would crack … if they kept at him.

  It was almost midnight, with all three men on the verge of collapse, when, after Birnie had again denied ever being in Aberdeenshire, Liddell said, wearily, ‘So if we take you to a small village some miles to the north of Aberdeen tomorrow, you will be confident of not being recognized?’

  At this, Birnie jumped to his feet, his face crimson with anger. ‘Can’t you get it into your thick police skull that I have never – ever! – set foot in Forvit?’ His colour draining, he thumped down on his seat again.

  Almost simultaneously, Gaudie threw down his pencil with a smirk on his face, and Liddell himself leaned back with a tremendous feeling of satisfaction. He had known Birnie would put his foot in it eventually.

  Tilly was smiling as she came in with the post. ‘It’s for you, Gwen, but just look at how it’s addressed. Mrs A. Ritchie, care of Tilly and Fred, Somewhere in Moltby, Near Newcastle, and somebody in the post office has written, “Try Barker, Jasmine Cottage.” Just as well, or you mightn’t have …’

  Grabbing the letter, Gwen gasped, ‘It’s David’s writing. Oh, God! Maybe Alistair’s ill, or Leila.’ Her nervous fingers made a sorry mess of the envelope, but at last she drew out the single sheet. ‘“Dear Mum,”’ she read out, ‘“if you ever get this letter, please come home as soon as you can. Your loving son, David.” Oh, goodness, something must be far wrong up there.’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘David must be missing you, he’s still very young.’

  ‘He knows I can’t go back. His father as good as threw me out.’

  ‘Alistair likely didn’t want to climb down, so he let David do the pleading.’

  ‘D’you really think that’s it?’ A note of hope came through the question.

  ‘It’s how it looks to me.’ Tilly’s brow suddenly furrowed. ‘But Alistair knows where you are … doesn’t he?’

  ‘I never told Marge or Peg where I was going,’ Gwen muttered, guiltily.

  Gasping, Tilly said, ‘No wonder nobody’s written before. They must be frantic with worry, and it’s high time you got in touch. Go and phone right this minute.’

  It was with some reluctance that Gwen went upstairs for her purse, but she was down in seconds pulling on her coat. ‘I’m not going to be bulldozed into going home, though, if I don’t think Alistair wants me.’

  The nearest telephone kiosk being in the village proper, Tilly knew that she would be gone for at least twenty minutes, and busied herself by sweeping the flagged kitchen floor, sluicing down her back doorstep and emptying the teapot on to the rose bush under the bedroom window. Then she went back inside, filled the kettle and put it on the stove. Gwen would likely be glad of something to heat her when she came in out of that cold wind.

  Gwen timed it perfectly, running in, her face ashen, as the kettle started to warble.

  ‘What’s up, love?’ cried Tilly, jumping up to take her in her arms.

  ‘Marge is dead! And I didn’t know! Oh, Tilly, it’s awful!’

  ‘There, there, my lovie. Don’t upset yourself.’

  ‘But I didn’t know, that’s what hurts. A big pipe fell off a lorry and hit her, and she died on the way to hospital, and Peg said they’d all been worried stiff about me.’ She took in a deep gulp of air and went on, ‘Alistair had phoned Peg to ask your address, but she’d never heard of you, and I took my address book away with me.’

  ‘You should have phoned his shop when you were at it. I’m sure he’d have dropped everything and come to you.’

  ‘I just had the two pennies, but Peg said she’d ring him and tell him I’d be at Lee Green. She wants me there as soon as I can … to talk about …’

  Tilly’s sympathy metamorphosed into brisk efficiency as she organized her soon-to-be-ex-lodger and looked up the LNER timetable. ‘There’s a train at ten past two, so you’ll need to catch the 12.45 bus from here. You’ll just have time to get your things together and have a bite of something to keep you going.’

  Gwen was glad that she’d have no time to brood over her sister’s death, although Marge’s cheery face still flashed into her mind occasionally.

  Their leave-taking was harrowing, because Tilly, as close to Gwen now as Ivy had been, couldn’t hold back the tears, which set her off, too. Ev
erything bad, as well as good, comes to an end, however, and at last she was sitting on the bus with her bag at her feet and her hands clenched.

  She was on her way to Lee Green again, but even though Peggy had said she would tell Alistair to drop everything and come to London, too, it would be anything but a happy homecoming.

  Chapter 35

  The welcome in Lee Green was even more traumatic than the farewell in Moltby. Hours were spent in the telling of, and the mourning for, Marge’s death. Over the months since it happened, Peggy had learned to hide her sorrow, to profess acceptance, but the fragile veneer was scraped away by the depth of Gwen’s grief. ‘I should have been here,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t bear to think she died and I didn’t even feel something inside me.’

  Peggy put extra pressure on the hand she was gripping. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Gwennie. She never regained consciousness. She wouldn’t have known that none of her family was with her at the end, only two ambulance men.’

  And so it went on, the tearing apart of one heart and the desperate struggle of the other not to let the wound open again, and when Dougal came home from work it began all over again, with him doing his best to console his wife’s sisters while he, the bereaved husband, was equally in need of comfort – even more so, in fact.

  It was almost time for bed when Gwen remembered. ‘Where’s Nicky? Who’s been looking after him?’

  ‘You remember Eth Powell, three doors down? I asked if she’d take him today and keep him overnight, till I saw how you were.’ Peggy glanced at Dougal now and, a slight nod telling her it was all right, she continued, ‘Pam Deans looked after him at first while we were at work, till one of her sons persuaded her to go and live with him and his wife. Then … well, I gave up my job and took over.’

  ‘And you bath him when you come home, and put him to bed?’ Gwen asked Dougal.

  ‘That’s how it was for a while,’ he answered, carefully.

  ‘But not any more?’

  ‘Let me tell her.’ Peggy regarded Gwen apprehensively. ‘For the first few weeks, I went to my own house as soon as Dougal came in, but it seemed so silly to be burning two lots of electricity and gas, so … I more or less talked him into letting me move in here.’