by Ian Todd
“Och, Starlina?” she asked, pulling forward her cardigan tae expose the baby sound asleep under her blouse, still suckling oan wan ae her mother’s nipples. “She’s a hungry wee bairn, this one is.”
“Bit, er, should ye no be at hame resting wae yer feet up, Morvina? That wis an eighteen-hour labour, so it wis. Ye widnae want tae be putting any pressure oan they stitches ae yours, noo wid ye?”
“Och, there’s too much to be getting on with. I don’t have the time. Only a couple more journeys and that’ll be the peat back up to normal after the winter,” she sang.
“Bit, why kin Uisdean no take care ae that? That man ae mine jist aboot hid a heart attack trying tae fill a wheelbarrow wae the stuff, never mind pushing a load ae it alang the road.”
“He’s helping to set up the hall to make sure The Laird has everything he requires for the official opening starting at six o’clock. Are you going to the dance afterwards?”
“Er, Ah’m no sure,” Senga admitted, efter deliberately no mentioning the ceilidh tae Johnboy.
“Everyone will be there.”
“Everywan?”
“Well, almost everyone, I suppose. Anyhow, Nurse Jackson…”
“Ah’ve telt ye before, Morvina, it’s Senga...”
“Thank you for attending Starlina’s birth. I must get on if I’m to make it to the dance on time,” she said smiling, bending doon, clutching baith handles ae the barrow wae her hauns, as she pushed aff up the road.
Senga stood watching her, hauf expecting tae see a trail ae blood oan the dusty road, following in her wake.
“Miss Jackson…Miss Jackson…”
“Shit!” Senga cursed under her breath. “Reverend MacKenzie, how ur you the day?”
“Och, fine, lass, fine. Did you get my note?”
“Er, aye.”
“Can I have a word…”
“Er…”
“I think we really need to have a talk…about the, er, situation, before it gets out of hand.”
“Situation?”
“Er, yes.”
“Whit situation wid that be, then?”
“Your position…in the community…the children and the old ones…”
“The weans? Auld wans?”
“About you living in sin and what requires to be done about it before there’s a crisis on our hands in the parish.”
Chapter Nineteen
Johnboy took a deep breath and sauntered in through the door, wondering how long the meeting wid take, so he could get him and Senga back up the road. The hall wis mobbed. There wis a double clump ae empty chairs, set up in rows doon in the middle ae the hall. Aw the people milling aboot wur staunin chatting tae each other in the aisles, wae white cups and saucers in their hauns. O’er tae the left as ye entered, three big boards wur set up wae pictures and maps oan them. The stage hid been set up wae band equipment, wae a solitary microphone staunin in the middle ae it. In between the band’s gear and the mic, four empty chairs, similar tae the wans set up in the middle ae the flair, sat waiting fur occupancy. Other than the smell fae the clouds ae tobacco smoke swirling above the heids, there wis a strong smell ae fresh paint. He moved across and collected a free cup ae tea, leaving the saucer oan the table, tae disapproving looks fae the auld dear that hid filled his cup as he wandered across tae see whit information wis available oan the boards. The middle wan hid an aerial shot ae Lochinver and the surrounding area. Oan closer inspection, he wis disappointed that the edge ae the map stoapped jist short ae Vestey’s Bay, bit included Achmelvich Beach. It wid’ve been good tae see their crofthoose fae the air, he telt himsel. Jist tae the left ae Grizzly Chops’ caravan site, behind the big solid rock nearest tae the waterline, that he widnae hiv been able tae see fae his side ae the beach, he spotted a wee grey building, that looked like a castle ae some sort. Even in the picture, it looked tiny when ye compared it tae Grizzly’s auld shack.
“That’s Hermit’s Castle,” a voice behind him said, as he turned tae look at the speaker. “It’s supposed to be the smallest castle in Europe.”
“Oh. Aye, Ah did think it looked a bit odd when comparing its size tae the other buildings in the picture.”
“It’s not an ancient castle. Some architect from down south came all the way up here in the 1950s and built it. He camped beside it during the build. No-one, at least around here, knows why. He left after he finished building it.”
“Whit, naebody lives in it? That’s a bit ae a waste, so it is,” he replied, back tae peering at the picture, as the lassie laughed. “Whit?”
“The front door is only about a foot wide. Some people compare the inside of it to a prison cell, it’s that small. I think that’s why they call it Hermit’s Castle, as only a little hermit could probably live in it. It’s still amazing to look at, up close, that is. It’s very medieval looking. My father believes that it’s a blot on the landscape and is hoping to see it demolished once he purchases the land it’s sitting on.”
“Hiv you been in it like?”
“Only after we moved up here about ten years ago. I was only six years old then,” she said smiling. “I’ve always wanted to go back up to see it, but my father doesn’t get on with the local owner of the caravan park. Unfortunately, you need to cut through the caravan park to gain access to it.”
“Ach, well, yer da sounds like the kind ae guy Ah’d get oan wae. That auld bas…er, codger, that runs the site, is a nasty piece ae work, so he is. Ah hid a run-in wae him efter Ah wandered across there looking fur a job when Ah moved up here, so Ah did. Tried tae set his collie dug oan me.”
“Is that a Glaswegian accent?”
“Aye.”
“My mother is from Glasgow originally. My sister and I were both born there too. Although your accent sounds a wee bit similar, they are different.”
“Ach, well, listening tae your accent, Ah’m sure that ma ae yers came fae a different side ae the track tae me, so she did,” he said, as they baith laughed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name’s Heather Hamilton. My dad will be saying a few words shortly. I’ll introduce you when he’s finished speaking, if you want. He employs quite a few of the local men in the area. If you’re still looking for work, perhaps he’ll take you on.”
“Ach, Ah wis looking fur a wee job initially, bit since Ah’ve started that book ae mine…a novel, aw ma focus his been getting oan wae that, so it is.”
“Oh my God. You’re a novelist? How brilliant. Have you written many books?”
“Naw, this is the first…ae many, mind ye,” he added quickly.
“What’s it about?”
“Whit’s it aboot?” he repeated, screwing up his face, slightly swivelling that heid ae his fae side tae side, before shrugging. “It’s kind ae a long-winded love story.”
“A kind of a long-winded love story?” she asked, smiling.
“Er, aye. Ah know it sounds kinda weird, bit it takes a while fur the main character tae get his shi…er, act thegither, tae get started…in the auld sex stakes, if ye know whit Ah mean...it being a love story and aw that.” he replied, nodding, as the baith ae them laughed this time. “Mind you, it’s no aw humpy pumpy. There’s plenty ae action oan the go as well, so there is.”
“What, swashbuckling?”
“Swashbuckling? Aye, that’s a good description that Ah’ve never thought ae. There’s certainly plenty ae swashbuckling oan the go in it fae the start,” he agreed, as the pair ae them laughed again.
“What’s the title?”
“Ae whit?”
“The novel.”
“Oh, Ah hivnae goat wan yet. Ah suppose Ah should gie it a bit ae thought.”
“Oh, look I’m sorry. I think they’re about to start.”
“Oh, right. Ma name’s Johnboy…Johnboy Taylor. Ah moved up here wae the local nurse at the end ae March.”
“Oh you’re Senga’s husband? She took out the stitches from my knee a few weeks ago. I fell off my horse and landed on barbed wire. She’s brilliant…and fu
nny, too.”
“Ach, well, she probably picked that up fae me,” he drawled dryly, as The Laird’s daughter laughed again. “Look, Johnboy. I’ll need to go. I have to be down the front. See you later at the dance,” she said, before turning and disappearing through the milling bodies, heidin fur the seats.
It wis as the crowd wis thinning oot that he spotted Grizzly Chop-face Adams across oan the other side ae the room, passing his empty cup and saucer across tae his tea-lady pal, Mrs Happy. He wis staunin wae a few other grizzly bear types like himsel. They wur staring across at him. Johnboy stared back.
“Fuck the pricks,” he muttered under his breath, looking aboot tae see where the hell Senga wis.
When he looked back, three ae the grizzlies wur heidin fur the seats while Shotgun Charlie disappeared oot the door intae the foyer. Efter hivving another quick glance aboot the hall, he still couldnae see Senga. Before he knew it, he wis heidin fur the exit. When he goat oot oan tae the street, looking aboot, he stood tae the side tae allow the latecomers tae rush past him. He tripped doon the front steps before quickly walking roond tae the entrance ae the car park. He spotted Grizzly walking across tae that auld rusty Landy ae his. He again looked aboot tae make sure Senga wisnae oan the go, before he quickened his step. It wis Grizzly’s mad collie dug that spotted him first and it started letting rip through the wire mesh fae the back ae the Landy.
“Sharrupp, Blackie!” Grizzly Chops hollered, as the dug slinked back doon oot ae sight.
“Hoi you…aye, you, ya big dode ae shite, ye,” Johnboy shouted, as The Grizz turned tae see who wis coming up at his back.
He wis a lot bigger and meaner looking than he remembered, Johnboy thought tae himsel, no breaking his stride.
“What the hell do you want, laddie?” The Grizz growled through they mad, fiery eyes ae his, his tobacco streaked beard still wet fae where he’d obviously dribbled Mrs Happy’s pish thin, watery tea, doon the front ae it.
“The next time you pull a shotgun oan me, ye better fucking use it, ya big ugly lump ae shite, ye. If ye don’t, Ah’m gonnae take it aff ye and stuff it right up between the cheeks ae that auld hairy arse ae yours.”
“Why, you little…”
“Johnboy!” Senga’s voice rang oot, sounding like the crack ae a whip in the surroundings ae the quiet car park, as he spun roond tae face her.
“Oh er, Senga…” he gulped.
“You better keep that pup of yours on a tight leash, lass,” Grizzly Chops snarled, before getting intae the driver’s side ae the Landy, as baith him and Senga stood tae the side and the clapped oot, four-wheel drive suddenly reversed, before shooting forward and speeding oot ae the entrance oan tae the main road.
Chapter Twenty
He hidnae come across Grizzly Chops Adams’ face tae face fur another three weeks efter the confrontation oan that Saturday doon at the Lochinver Memorial Hall. Previously, he’d only ever come across Grizzly when him and Senga hid come up tae view the crofthoose back in February, when he’d nearly run him o’er oan the narrow road heidin up towards Achmelvich Beach and the other time when the mad tosser hid confronted him wae the shotgun. Him and Mr Hopkins wur slowly wandering back up fae Vestey’s Bay, when he spotted that ugly bearded mop ae his, scurrying up the track away fae the crofthoose. He wisnae sure if the auld basturt hid heard his shout or no and he’d only caught a fleeting glance ae him before he’d disappeared oot ae sight. By the time him and the cat reached the front ae the hoose there wis nae sign ae him. While he wis looking alang the track, Mr Hopkins’ delightful squeal ae pleasure alerted him that something was up and he ran across tae the front door, screaming like a banshee and scaring the wee cratur oot ae his wits, as that tail ae his disappeared roond the far end ae the building. He stood looking at the broon paper parcel nervously. Beside it, a well-recognised ginger bottle, minus the wee runner wae the torch oan its Barr’s Irn Bru label, filled wae whit looked like stewed pish, stood guard o’er the parcel. He nervously approached the door, before bending doon tae hiv a wee gander. He reached o’er wae a finger and gied the parcel a jab wae a finger. It wis saft. He tried a few fingers this time, his haun curved intae a claw, and gied it a squeeze. It felt like soft dough or something, before he remembered the bottle ae pish sitting there.
“If that auld basturt’s left me a parcel ae shite, there’s gonnae be a fucking war aboot this place,” he cursed, as the cat’s face suddenly appeared roond the corner ae the hoose, looking at him in anticipation ae getting a share ae whit wis in the parcel.
“Oh yummy. Whit ur we hivving the night?” Senga asked, sounding gleeful later oan efter arriving in fae her work.
“Right, Ah’m only gonnae open the oven open door fur a second, as Ah don’t want tae lose the temperature,” he warned her, pulling the handle and lifting oot the steel ashet and placing it oan the cooker ring oan tap, kicking the door shut wae his fit. “This, ma darling, is two lovely sea trout, so it is.”
“Oh my God, Johnboy. They look amazing, so they dae,” Senga exclaimed, as Mr Hopkins started hivving a hairy fit, howling the place doon.
Johnboy carefully covered the tap ae the ashet wae the tin foil again and slid it back intae the oven.
“And,” he added, “there’s new totties, carrots and turnip tae go wae it. So, get that coat aff and grab yersel a pew.”
“Bit where did ye get them? Ye never caught them, did ye?” she asked.
“Never you mind that. Jist you get yer laughing gear roond this,” he replied, pouring her a glass ae white wine.
“Said the bishop tae the maid,” she added, as they baith clinked their glasses and chuckled.
“So? Nice day at the office?” he asked, as she sat there wondering whether he wis up tae something, before dismissing it, enjoying the romantic layoot.
“Another day, another dollar,” she replied. “Ah’m oan the schools this week.”
“Ah thought that’s whit ye wur daeing last week?”
“It wis, bit that wis the quarterly baptism ae aw the weans in the primary schools wae their jungle juice, as you call it. Ye widnae believe the amount ae nits there ur oan the go jist noo. Ah thought the toon wis bad…”
“Right, furget the nits. See, ye’ve goat me scratching awready,” he interrupted her, scratching his heid furiously wae baith hauns as she laughed.
“It’s their BCG boosters this week. Ah hate it. Aw these poor wee crofting kids, howling fur their mas and das while Ah’m expecting them tae voluntarily come tae me so Ah kin stab them wae a hypodermic needle. It’s terrible. The boys ur the worst, so they ur. Ah’m sure they’ll aw grow up tae hate me, so they will.”
“Ach, well, serves them right. That’s whit they get fur being born in the 20th Century. It could be worse. A hunner years ago they wid’ve aw been limping aboot wae crooked limbs, wan eye and two heids.”
“Oh, that’s terrible, Johnboy. Whit a thing tae say!”
“Aye, well, there ye go. Here’s tae us,” he said, topping up her glass.
“So, whit hiv you been up tae?” she asked, inadvertently glancing across at the typewriter.
“Don’t worry…Ah done a wee bit ae writing before me and Mr Hopkins heided doon tae Vestey’s Beach fur a wee donder.”
“Is that where the fish came fae?”
“Something like that. Anyway, furget aw that. Ah’ve goat something tae show ye that Ah’ve discovered,” he announced, staunin up and taking a map doon fae the shelf above their heids and spreading it across the table, between them. “Ah need yer opinion…”
“That’ll be a first,” she said, giggling at his frosty look. “Sorry.”
“Right, tell me, is that a path doon intae Lochinver jist beside Loch Dubh?” he wondered, stabbing the map wae his finger. “It looks like it takes ye tae a wee place called Baddidarach, doon beside Lochinver?”
“Oh, aye. Ah think Davey The Post mentioned that tae me.”
“A path…that’s whit he said?”
“Aye…Ah think so. Baddi
darach is oan the edge ae Lochinver. Ah’ll pop in by the morra and ask him.”
“Furget the morra. That’s when Ah’ll be walking intae Lochinver. Look, there’s a wood Ah’ll hiv tae walk through. That’ll make a change fae the Mars landscape aboot here.”
“Lochinver? Wit dae ye want tae go intae Lochinver fur?” she asked, sounding worried.
“Fuck’s sake, Senga. Don’t worry. Ah promise tae behave masel.”
“Why don’t ye wait until Saturday and we kin go in thegither?”
“Because Ah don’t want tae wait until Saturday. Ah’m gaun the morra. The walk will dae me good.”
Silence.
“Whit?”
“Remember whit happened the last time ye went intae Lochinver and Ah left ye alane fur five minutes?”
“It wisnae five minutes. Ye wur away fur ages. Look, stoap treating me like Ah’m some sort ae a thug or something.”
“Then stoap acting like wan.”
“See you,” he said, laughing, staunin up and gaun across tae the oven. “Ur ye ready?” he asked, as she nodded in anticipation.
“Oh, Johnboy, Ah think that’s the best meal Ah’ve ever tasted, so it is. Honestly,” she sighed, laying the cutlery thegither oan her plate.
“Whit? The best meal Ah’ve ever cooked?”
“Naw, the best meal ever.”
“Whit? Even better than the wan in La Tanterna’s, that Tony treated ye tae?”
“Don’t remind me, or Ah’ll end up wae indigestion,” she retorted.
“That good?” he asked, as they baith laughed. “Ah still think ye’ve goat the wrang end ae the stick regarding him.”
“Right, well, furget him. Ah don’t want tae speak aboot him. Ye know how Ah feel aboot that psycho.”
“So, where dis the path come oot ae then?”
“Whit path?”
“The wan Ah’ll be walking doon the morra, remember?”
“Johnboy, ur ye sure this is wise? Ah’m sorry, bit Ah jist cannae help it. Ah’ll be worried sick aw day at ma work noo, worrying whit scrape ye’ll end up getting yersel intae.”
