‘But . . . how old are you now?’ he protested.
She didn’t answer, simply raised her eyebrows and he marvelled at how much older she looked. She must be in her early twenties he decided. He thought for a moment. Did that mean he was older too? He didn’t feel any older.
‘We keep saying we’ll go up for the festival one year,’ continued Cat. ‘But something always comes up to stop us. Your flipping job.’
‘My . . . job?’
‘That bloody museum. It’s always, “Ooh, Cat, we’ve got this new stuff arriving. I have to be there to oversee the Assyrian sculptures or whatever.” I mean, everyone needs a holiday sometime.’ She smiled at him. ‘We really should go to Edinburgh. I think you’d love it there. And you’ve never been, have you?’
‘Er . . . no,’ lied Tom. ‘No, never.’ He knew from experience that it was always best to play along in these situations. ‘That would be really cool, ’ he said. ‘Yeah, sure, let’s do it.’
‘This year?’ she prompted him.
‘Sure. Why not?’ He handed her another plate and watched as she dried it. ‘So, your dad,’ he prompted. ‘Is he still . . .?’
‘Dead? Yeah, I’m afraid so.’ She gave a snickering laugh. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Bad taste. What were you going to say?’
‘Umm . . . I was going to say . . . is he still . . . on your mind and stuff?’
‘No. It’s so long ago now. You know, if it wasn’t for old photographs I wouldn’t even remember what he looked like.’
Tom frowned. Clearly Mr McCallum hadn’t made it to this alternative reality. He was increasingly nervous of saying the wrong thing, but he still had a few more questions to ask. ‘And . . . your mum?’
‘Oh, she’s fine, I think. Obsessed with this new diet she’s on. She eats normally one day and then fasts the next. Sounds like nonsense to me. Well, you spoke to her yesterday on the phone. Didn’t she seem ok?
‘Oh, yeah. I think so. It’s not like she needs to diet, is it?’
Cat frowned at him. ‘We both thought she’d put on quite a bit at Christmas,’ she said. ‘And we did get her that exercise DVD.’
‘Oh . . . yeah.’ He stared into the washing up bowl. ‘And . . . Fraser?’
Cat scowled. ‘I’m so worried about him. I mean, what’s happening? There hasn’t been a word since his unit moved up to Helmand.’
Ok, thought Tom. Helmand Province. Afghanistan. So in this version of events, Fraser was in the army. It made perfect sense. He’d always loved messing around with his toy soldiers, though his current occupation was, of course, a good deal more serious than that.
‘He’ll be all right,’ said Tom quietly. ‘You know Fraser . . .’
She smiled, nodded. ‘I couldn’t believe that last FaceTime message he sent. Well, you saw him, he must have been a foot taller.’ She went to the cupboard and slotted the plate in. ‘I just want him to come home safe and sound.’
Tom moved the dishcloth around a last mug. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. And er . . . what about Jamie?’ he wondered.
Cat lifted her head and looked puzzled. ‘Who?’
‘Er . . . Jamie. Daft Jamie. From Edinburgh?’
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t a clue who you’re on about,’ she told him. She frowned. ‘Why do I feel like I’m being interviewed here?’
He tried a dismissive laugh and handed her the mug. ‘Oh, sorry, I thought you knew him. He’s just some kid who hangs around here. Talks with a stutter . . . walks with a limp?’
Cat shook her head. ‘I think I’d remember somebody like that,’ she said. She gave the mug a last wipe, carried it to the cupboard and put it away. ‘All done,’ she announced. She turned back. ‘Now . . .’ She put her arms around him and drew him close. ‘I think we’ve got a bit of time before I need to crack on with the novel so . . .’
He felt himself colouring up. ‘Whoah,’ he said. ‘Hey, time out! I’m not . . . I mean, I’m not . . . ready for this.’
She laughed at him. ‘Ooh, excuse me, Mr Choosey.’ She looked at him intently. ‘Michael, what is wrong with you today?’
‘Nothing, I just . . .’ He broke off in surprise. ‘Michael?’ he said.
‘Hmm?’
‘You just called me Michael.’
‘Yes. That was your name, last time I checked. Look, are you all right?’
‘Er . . . sure, I’m fine, I just . . .’
A terrible thought had occurred to him. It was a crazy idea, but he couldn’t seem to rid himself of it. Because something hadn’t felt right from the moment he’d found himself here and it was simply that he felt different. He broke away from her and went out into the hallway where he somehow knew there was a full-length mirror. Cat trailed after him.
‘Ok, I’m getting a little bit scared now.’ she told him. ‘You’re being really weird.’
‘I know . . . I just need to . . .’ He broke off and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t recognise the face looking back at him. He stood there, open-mouthed, gazing in stunned silence. The man in the mirror was taller and thinner and, Tom thought, several years older than he was. He had short black hair, a long thin face and what looked like dark stubble on his chin.
‘Oh. My. God,’ whispered Tom. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Just then the doorbell rang at a volume that made him flinch.
‘Who’s that?’ muttered Cat. ‘Did you invite somebody over?’
Tom shook his head and in the mirror, the stranger’s head shook back at him, perfectly synchronised. Cat trailed past him to the glass-fronted door. Tom turned to look at her and saw the dark silhouette of a figure standing on the other side of the glass. There was something horribly familiar about it.
‘Cat,’ he said. ‘Wait . . .’
But her hand was already turning the latch and pulling the door open. Tom caught a glimpse of a dark figure in a brown leather cloak. Behind the bird-like mask a pair of eyes stared at Cat without a glint of humanity. One arm lifted and a gloved hand glittered with a flash of silver.
‘CAT!’ screamed Tom. And he was moving, moving towards the door, his arms outstretched to try and reach her in time, but suddenly, the hall seemed to be thirty feet long and the doorway was at the far end, an impossible distance away and he was already too late, too late to change anything. He saw the blade swing upwards into Cat’s chest, saw her double over with a gasp of surprise, saw McSweeny’s free arm close softly, almost tenderly around her shoulders. As Tom drew closer, he heard the muffled laughter behind the mask, hoarse, rasping, triumphant.
Then his own arms were around Cat, but she was folding, crumpling like tissue paper in his hands, crumbling away to nothing and the cloaked figure in the doorway shimmered and rippled as clouds of steam rose up to envelope it. A sudden whirling sensation filled Tom’s head. There was a crashing sound which brought him abruptly back to reality.
He blinked and looked at his feet, where the remains of a large serving dish lay in fragments on the tiled floor of Margaret’s kitchen.
‘What’s going on?’ yelled a voice and Tom looked up in dull surprise. Margaret had just stalked into the room and was glaring at him indignantly. ‘I told you to wash the dishes, not break them.’
Tom gestured at the fragments on the floor. ‘It . . . slipped,’ he said.
‘Slipped, did it?’ Margaret came forward and Tom noticed, with a jolt of alarm, that she had the length of rope in her hand. ‘I’ll teach you to be more careful,’ she snarled and raised the rope to strike him. He lifted an arm to shield his face but the blow never came.
‘Leave the boy alone!’ Tom saw that Nell had just entered the room. She stood there in the doorway, glaring at Margaret, her expression steely. ‘You lay one finger on him and you’ll answer to me.’
Margaret turned and for a few moments the two women gazed at each other in mutual hatred. Then Margaret backed down. ‘Clear that mess up,’ she told Tom, and with that she strode past Nell, knocking her with her sh
oulder as she went by. The door slammed behind her.
Nell came over to Tom. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked him.
He nodded. He wasn’t all right, but he could hardly explain why. He got down on his knees and started to pick up the shards of broken crockery. His hands were shaking. Nell got down beside him, to help.
‘All that fuss over an old plate,’ she murmured, shaking her head. ‘Why, it’s not worth a penny of anyone’s money.’
Tom nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he said. He liked Nell. She seemed to be the only one who was really looking out for him. They dumped their respective fragments into a bin and got back to their feet. Nell looked at the huge pile of dishes piled in the sink and sighed. She found a filthy cloth and smiled at Tom.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘You wash and I’ll wipe.’
Sixteen
Tom woke with a gasp in the straw-filled stall, the stench of pigs in his nostrils and the chill grip of October all around him. He sat up, breathing heavily and once again, despite the cold, he was drenched in sweat. He’d been having a dream, a bad dream. And this time he was fairly certain it was a dream. He only had vague recollections of its content, but it had been something to do with Jamie. He’d seen the lad’s pale face staring at him, his features arranged into an expression of pure terror. He’d been shouting something over and over, two words, Tom thought, but he couldn’t remember what they were. Had it been . . . bird? And . . . hay? It didn’t make any sense.
After a little while, he settled and managed to drag himself out of the straw. He went through his regular routine, giving himself a splash of icy water at the pump and collecting the bucket of scraps to feed to the pigs. It got to around the time when Jamie generally showed up but there was no sign of him this morning which was unusual – he was always so punctual. Tom remembered the row with Margaret the day before and figured he probably didn’t feel like showing his face here until she’d calmed down a bit.
Hunger clawed at Tom’s insides, so he let himself out of the back gate and walked along the close in search of Jamie. He was well-known in these parts and as he wandered along Tom asked the people he passed on the street if any of them had seen him that morning. None had.
Tom decided to try a few of the places that Jamie often visited. The obvious choice was the butcher; he knew Jamie called there every morning to ask for scraps, but the burly, red-faced man behind the counter hadn’t seen him, which he himself said was very unusual.
‘It’s well past the time he usually calls,’ said the man and he handed Tom scraps of cooked meat wrapped in waxed paper. ‘I was saving these for him,’ he said. ‘Pass them on to him when you find him.’
Tom agreed, but he was so hungry he ate half of the meat as he walked along the street, knowing only too well that Jamie would have shared it with him anyway. When he had eaten exactly half of the contents he wrapped the rest up and stuffed the package into his pocket.
The woman who ran the fruit barrow hadn’t seen Jamie either and she came up with a couple of soft, brown apples to pass on to him which Tom accepted gratefully. He ate one and put the other into his pocket. The woman at the cake shop told him she hadn’t seen Jamie in days, but he only ever called there when he had money to spend and that wasn’t very often. Annoyingly, the woman didn’t offer Tom anything in the way of food and he left with a wistful look at the delicious tarts, puddings and pastries set out in the window.
He walked on along the close and spotted an elderly vagrant called Robert Kirkwood, who for some reason Jamie always called ‘Bobby Awl.’ He was a skinny, white-haired old fellow with a hacking cough. Tom knew he sometimes shared a sleeping spot with Jamie so he waved to him and stopped to talk.
‘Hey, Bobby, have you seen Jamie today?
Bobby shook his head. ‘I have not,’ he said grumpily. ‘I didn’t see him last night, neither,’ he said. ‘Which is odd because he promised me he’d bring me a dram of whisky to warm me up.’
Tom frowned. ‘Where would Jamie get the money for whisky?’ he asked.
Bobby shrugged. ‘I saw him around midday yesterday,’ he explained. ‘He told me he had a bit of a job lined up. Reckoned it would pay him sixpence.’
‘What kind of a job?’ asked Tom.
‘He didn’t say. Truth is, he was kind of secretive about it.’ Bobby scratched his stubbled chin. ‘Shame. I was looking forward to that drink. It was cold last night.’ And with that he gave a loud cough and shuffled on his way, his filthy coat clutched tight around him.
Tom carried on along the close, but he was beginning to get very concerned about Jamie. He couldn’t help thinking about the dream he’d had, although try as he might, he couldn’t put the broken pieces together. It was like the plate he’d dropped in Margaret’s kitchen, the jagged shards scattered across the tiled floor.
Just then he saw Billy strolling towards him, his pipe in his mouth, his hands in his pockets. He smiled amiably when he saw Tom and pulled the pipe out of his mouth. ‘What are you doing out so early?’ he asked.
‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ said Tom. He couldn’t help noticing that Billy had a purple bruise over one eye and a swollen lip. ‘What happened to you?’ he asked.
‘Ah, ‘tis nothin’. Me and Will had a disagreement over money. He seemed to think I owed him, but the way I saw it, ‘twas the other way around. Anyhow, he got the worst of it, I’d say.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, it’s the last straw. Me and Nell are moving out and this time we aren’t coming back.’
‘Moving out?’ Tom didn’t like the sound of that. Without Billy and Nell around, Laird’s was going to be even grimmer. ‘Going to stay with your brother again?’
‘No, we’ve found ourselves a nice little place, just a stone’s throw from here.’ He noted Tom’s glum expression and grinned. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll still be doing our drinking at Laird’s. You’ll see plenty of us.’
Tom nodded, feeling a little reassured. ‘Billy, you haven’t seen Jamie anywhere, have you?’
Billy shook his head. ‘I haven’t,’ he said. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’m getting worried about him. He didn’t turn up this morning and I know he had a big row with Margaret yesterday.’
‘Is that right?’ Billy rolled his eyes. ‘Him and the rest of Edinburgh, I’d say. That woman could argue with a paper bag if she put her mind to it. That’s another reason why we’re moving out.’
‘I heard Jamie had a job somewhere last night. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’
Billy shrugged. ‘He works for all kinds of people,’ he said. ‘I don’t keep an eye what he does.’ He thought for a moment. ‘You know, that lad is a vagabond at heart. He doesn’t stay in the one place for very long. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s moved on for the winter.’
‘Moved on?’
‘Sure. When the weather gets colder he often heads down to Leith. I believe he has relatives there.’
‘He’s never mentioned them to me,’ said Tom. ‘And I don’t think he’d leave without saying goodbye.’
‘Ah, Daft Jamie is a law unto himself,’ said Billy. ‘I wouldn’t worry, that boy might act like a halfwit, but he well knows how to take care of his own business. Well, must get moving. I’ve got some people coming over to move our stuff across to the new place.’ He winked. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he said. ‘Don’t you be going missing, now, if Margaret comes lookin’ for ya. Without Nell around to fight your corner, she’ll be calling the tune and you’ll be the one doing the dancing.’ He strolled on along the street, whistling tunelessly.
Tom gazed after him for a moment. He knew that Margaret might well be looking for him with a list of menial tasks for his attention, and he knew how angry she could be if she couldn’t find him. But at the same time he didn’t feel inclined to head back just yet. Instead, he went to the McCallum’s house. He rapped on the door and after a few moments Mary appeared, smiling warmly.
‘Tom,’ she said. ‘We haven’t seen yo
u in a while.’ She seemed puzzled. ‘On your own today?’
He nodded. ‘I can’t find Jamie,’ he said. ‘I’ve been asking around, but nobody’s seen him.’
‘That’s strange. Well, come along inside.’ He stepped into the hall and she studied him for a moment. ‘I’d say they aren’t keeping you very clean at that lodging house,’ she observed. ‘What say I get some water and fill the tin bath for you in the kitchen?’
‘Really?’ Tom was delighted at the idea. ‘Oh, that would be cool.’
‘No, it would be hot,’ she corrected him. ‘I’ll heat it on the stove. And those clothes look like they could do with a good wash. Maybe I could hunt out some of the things that Fraser has grown out of, just until your own clothes are ready. What do you think?’
‘Thanks, Mary. I really appreciate it.’
She smiled. ‘You’re more than welcome. Why don’t you go up and see Cat and Fraser?’ she suggested. ‘I’ll call you when your bath’s ready.’
He found them in the attic room, seated at their table, industrious as ever. Cat was sewing something, but she smiled welcomingly when Tom came in and set the fabric down. At least she seemed to have forgiven him for the incident at the Grassmarket. After his recent meeting with an altogether different Cat, it seemed strange to see her back in her nineteenth-century attire. Fraser kept his head down over something he was working on.
‘Tom!’ said Cat. ‘It’s been ages. No Jamie today?’
He explained the situation. ‘Billy thinks he might have gone to stay with some relatives in Leith,’ said Tom.
‘Really?’ Cat frowned. ‘He’s never mentioned relatives to me. I’m sure he wouldn’t leave Edinburgh, though. For one thing, his mother is here.’
‘But they don’t get on,’ reasoned Tom.
‘They don’t, but at the same time, blood is thicker than water. He still calls to see her. He just doesn’t stay there.’
‘I suppose I could try talking to his mum. Does she live near here?’
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