Ledmore Junction

by Ian Todd

  Silence.

  “So you saw?”

  “Ah sure did, Amigo.”

  “It’s been going on for God knows how long. I first came across them at the New Year. It’s an ideal location for landing black fish.”

  “So, why no jist take it ashore doon at the harbour in Lochinver?”

  “In 1970, The Common Fisheries Policy was introduced. Since then, foreign boats are not allowed to fish or land catches within twelve miles of our coast. They’ve also recently introduced fish quotas for the trawler fleets. The Customs and Excise officer down at the harbour in Lochinver monitors the catches and the weigh-ins. Hamilton uses his boats to go out into The Minch and take loads of fish from foreign vessels, Klondikes, from other countries. That saves the Klondikes having to go back to their home ports, like Spain and Russia, before going back out again. All the fish that’s landed onto Vestey’s Bay beach is illegal and heads south…tax free. He must be making a fortune.”

  “No bad, if ye kin get away wae it,” Johnboy agreed, sounding impressed. “Whit aboot the polis?”

  “There’s only one about here, Lachlan MacLeod. His beat stretches from Lochinver all the way up to Bettyhill in the north…and anyway, he’s useless. He’s Ishbel Mackenzie’s nephew. I’ve heard they don’t get on. She brought him up with an iron rod. It doesn’t stop him reacting when she passes on gossip though. The problem with Lachlan is that he’s too stupid to realise that he’s getting a using. Heckie MacLeod feeds her and she passes it on. That’s how they silence a lot of the opposition about here,” Grizzly added, wae a wee cackle, topping up his glass wae clearic.

  “How come everywan aboot here is either called MacLeod or MacKenzie? Ur they aw related?”

  “No, laddie, though they all belonged to the same clan, back in the day.”

  “Senga…ma other hauf, loves it up here, so she dis.”

  “Aye, well, laddie, going by what you’ve been telling me, you won’t be living across there for much longer,” he said, nodding behind Johnboy’s heid. “None of us will…not if Hamilton gets his hands on the land about here.”

  “Well, you seem safe enough.”

  “Me? Ha!” he coughed.

  “Aye, bit ye own this place, the caravan site.”

  “They’re coming after me, laddie. They’ve changed tactics. I won’t be here for much longer…maybe it’s for the better, eh?” he said, no sounding too convinced.

  “So, whit’s the new tactics then?”

  “Here ye go, laddie,” Grizzly said, haunin oor an official looking letter.

  “Whit, the basturts ur gonnae grab yer wee caravan site o’er a measly hunner and ten quid?” Johnboy asked, looking up fae the cooncil letter.

  “It might be measly to someone like you, laddie, bit it’s a fortune to someone like me. Without the boat, I can’t fish. This place doesn’t bring in much.”

  “Aye, bit surely if ye wur tae dae the place up a wee bit and came across a bit mair friendlier, ye could maybe generate a bit mair dosh? That beach oot there is hoaching maist days, so it is,” he reminded him.

  “With what? I’m caught, trapped in the middle between the council and Hamilton. I tried to get a loan, but I would need to give the land up as collateral.”

  “Ah suppose ye could always sell it…aye, okay, sorry,” Johnboy apologised tae the withering look, furgetting that that wis the whole issue they’d been talking aboot. “Ah could always gie ye a haun tae spruce the place and the vans up. Ah used tae be a painter and decorator. Ah’ve still goat paint left o’er fae when we moved in.”

  “It’s the floors, laddie. They’re all rotten. They need replaced.”

  He wis gonnae mention the letter fae Angelina MacLeod, asking if him and Senga wanted tae buy the place, bit held back. He needed a bit ae space tae collect his thoughts. He wanted tae look at his watch, bit didnae want tae come across as being rude. It wis obvious that Grizzly wis well pissed noo. Johnboy suspected that he probably widnae hiv opened up otherwise. It wis time tae go.

  “Look er, Mr…”

  “Flintlock…Flintlock McBean.”

  “Whit, no MacLeod or MacKenzie?” he asked.

  “Different stock, laddie.”

  “Anyway, Flintlock…Ah’m gonnae hiv tae scoot and get ma wummin’s tea ready fur her coming in fae her work. It wis nice meeting ye.” Johnboy said, staunin up.

  “Feel free to come and visit anytime, laddie,” Flintlock, his new best pal said, no bothering tae staun up, bit starting tae sing whit Johnboy thought sounded awfully like a wee sea-shanty type ae song.

  “Way, haul away, we’ll haul away together.

  Way, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe.

  Way, haul away, we’ll haul for better weather.

  Way, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  “I’m starving,” Senga said, gieing him a wee peck oan the lips oan the way past as she heided fur the cooker and lifted the lid aff the pot. “Ooh, mince. Lovely. Dae ye want me tae make some dough-balls tae go wae it?”

  “Whit’s wrang wae me making them like?”

  “Because yours ur always bouwff, that’s why. The last time Ah bit intae wan, it wis like eating caked sherbet, so it wis.”

  “Fair enough. The cooker’s aw yours. Whit kind ae a day hiv ye hid?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Aye, well, apart fae breaking that poor back ae mine, filling up mystery trenches oan the road tae nowheresville, Ah’ve quite enjoyed masel, so Ah hiv,” he said, drapping the needle oan the first track ae ‘Crime Ae The Century.’

  “Hiv ye?” she muttered, clearly no interested, tasting the mince. “Ah thought ye didnae like Supertramp?”

  “Ah don’t, bit ‘Dreamer’ reminds me ae you plus Ah like the keyboard riffs oan it. So?” he asked, breaking intae her contemplation, wondering whether tae tell her aboot the big black reincarnator that hid been sitting oan the shed roof maist ae the day. “Spit it oot then.”

  “Whit?”

  “Who’s upset ye?”

  “Naebody.”

  “That face ae yours his been tripping ye since ye walked through that door.”

  “It’s nothing…Ah’ve jist hid wan ae they days…mental.”

  “Ye’re sure?”

  “Aye.”

  “Okay, changing the subject. Whitever happened tae that letter we goat fae oor landlord?”

  “Letter?”

  “Asking us if we wur interested in buying this place?”

  “Oh, er…Ah…Ah think Ah put it away in wan ae the drawers. Why?”

  “Ah’ve been thinking,” he said, pouring her a glass ae her favourite petrol.

  “Oh?”

  “Aye, maybe Ah wis being a bit too hasty in dismissing us buying this place.”

  “Eh?”

  “The longer we’re here, the better it’s becoming, so it is.”

  “Ah’m sorry, Johnboy. Hing oan a sec. Ah thought ye didnae want tae live here…long-term like?”

  “Ah never said that…”

  “Aye, ye did.”

  “Whit Ah said wis that we hid tae gie the place a chance…tae see how we goat oan wae it.”

  “And?”

  “And we’re getting oan wae it. The place his grown oan us, hisn’t it… don’t ye think?”

  Silence.

  “Whit?”

  “Ah’m no sure aboot this place…”

  “Ye whit?”

  “The job and aw that,” she replied, avoiding any eye contact wae him.

  “Bit Ah thought ye loved yer job and living up here. Ye even telt me ye liked that auld dragon, whit’s her name…?”

  “Miss MacKenzie…”

  “Aye, her. Where’s the negativity come fae aw ae a sudden?”

  “Look, if Ah tell ye, will ye promised no tae get mad?”

  “That auld clatty basturt wisnae trying tae feel yer bum again, wis he?”

  “Whit auld clatty basturt?”

  “Yer boyfrien
d. The wan wae the sophisticated Van Dyke beard that ye telt me makes him look sophisticated…him that imports aw that wine fae France that tastes like petrol...him,” he said, as she laughed.

  “Naw it’s nothing tae dae wae him. Ah never said that wee beard ae his makes him look sophisticated, ya liar, ye.”

  “Ye bloody well did, before ye found oot he wis a dirty auld groping basturt. Ah’m convinced there’s something gaun oan between you and him, so Ah am,” he said accusingly, his eyes narrowing, as she laughed again, throwing the dishtowel at him. “Right, then, spit it oot. Who’s being upsetting ye?”

  “Ah goat interviewed by the polis the day, so Ah did.”

  “The polis?”

  “And well…Ah…Ah goat accused ae stealing that typewriter that Ah brought hame fae ma work tae ye.”

  “Aye, well. See?” he laughed.

  “See…see whit?”

  “Foisting something oan tae me that wisnae welcome in the first place.”

  “Johnboy, whit the hell ur ye oan aboot?”

  “Nothing…carry oan. Ah’m aw ears.”

  “It wis the same polisman that came up here…”

  “Jimmy Hill’s wee brother? That long faced basturt? Him wae a face like a pit horse pony, miserable looking prick.”

  “Look, furget it, it disnae matter,” she said, tears starting tae well up in her eyes. “Me? Accused ae stealing?”

  She started tae weep, shaking her heid.

  “Look, if it makes ye feel any better, the hurt wears aff. Look at amount times Ah’ve been accused ae stuff that Ah wis innocent ae.”

  “Aye, bit you wur probably bloody guilty, Johnboy.”

  “No aw the time.”

  “Look, furget it.”

  “So, he accused ye ae blagging that auld contraption. Whit’s its scrap value? A bob at maist?”

  “Doctor Innes asked me if Ah wanted it when he heard ye wur a writer, so he did.”

  “So hiv ye spoken tae him?” he asked, as she nodded. “And?”

  “He said the only reason that it hidnae been thrown in the bin before Ah took it, wis because he kept furgetting aboot it until the next time he tripped o’er it in the cupboard.”

  “Well, there ye go then. Sorted.”

  “Sorted? Johnboy, wan ae the lassies put the mix in…the same wan that telt the polis that the mad guy across oan the caravan site pulled a shotgun oot oan ye. Why wid she dae that? Okay, Ah kin understand the shotgun, bit an auld bloody typewriter? She obviously hates me…Ah must’ve upset her or something. Ah cannae work there if she’s gaun aboot telling everywan that Ah’m a bloody thief, kin Ah? Ah’m a team player. Ma work isnae effective if everywan isnae pulling in the same direction.”

  Silence.

  “Well, say something.”

  “Did ye no tell me she’s the receptionist? It’s no as if ye’re back in The Royal, is it? Ah mean, surely tae dae yer job back there, ye wurnae dependent oan the people oot oan the front desk at the reception? It sounds tae me as if she’s a typical gatekeeper. Fuck her. Look, eat up. Ah’m gonnae tell ye an interesting wee story…Ah should’ve probably mentioned it before noo, bit Ah didnae want tae shatter that illusion ae yours aboot this place.”

  “Oh no, Johnboy,” she groaned, looking alarmed, her haun covering her mooth. “Whit hiv ye hiv gone and done noo?”

  “Me?” he laughed. “Fuck, Ah’m as innocent as the snow is pure…that’s the kind ae guy ye’re living wae noo, so it is. Hiv ye no noticed? Anyway, enough aboot ma changed ways. Hiv Ah goat a tale fur you? Noo, if ye want tae move oot ae here or change yer job…and maybe even go back tae the toon, wance ye hear it, then that’s fine wae me…Ah, Ah,” he tut-tutted, lifting up the palm ae his haun, while topping up her glass wae mair petrol. “Ur you sure you and that clatty Van Dyke wan urnae up tae something?” he asked her, taking a sip and screwing up his face, as she laughed.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  “Johnboy!” Senga screeched in terror, as he fell oot ae the bed in blind panic.

  “Whit?” he panted, getting up oan tae his feet in the bare buff.

  “Oh my God…look,” she squeaked, looking at him, before turning back tae the windae.

  “Whit?” he asked again, looking doon oan tae the tap ae her car.

  “Th…the shed…th…the roof,” she stuttered nervously, as Johnboy at last clocked whit hid upset her.

  The big crow wis staunin oan the ridge like some kind ae Phoenix jist risen fae the ashes. Three feet further alang, Mr Hopkins wis sitting looking at it. They wur baith eyeballing each other.

  “Why’s his tail no swishing?” she demanded tae know, transfixed.

  “Who?”

  “The bloody cat, Johnboy!” she hissed. “Fur God’s sake, will you waken up?”

  “So, his tail’s no swishing…neither is the crow’s.”

  “Well, it is every other time there’s a bloody bird aboot this place, so it is.”

  Silence.

  “Ye’ll hiv tae dae something…and quick,” she added, turning tae him.

  “Whit the hell am Ah supposed tae dae aboot it?”

  “Ur you serious? That’s the same crow Ah saw doon at Ledmore Junction, so it is.”

  “And how dae ye know that?” he asked, trying tae collect his thoughts.

  “Believe you me, Johnboy, that’s the same wan…look at the size ae him. Dae ye think the cat will be awright?” she wondered, as he burst oot laughing. “Whit?”

  “He’s a cat, Senga, remember? He kills birds tae keep himsel amused.”

  “Well, he certainly disnae look too amused noo. The poor thing looks petrified, so he dis. He’s sitting there like a statue.”

  “Look, it’s jist a scabby crow. Ignore it. It wis there yesterday, so it wis.”

  “Eh? Bit…”

  “Aye, Ah wis meaning tae mention it last night, bit Ah furgoat, wae aw the excitement ae you managing tae talk yersel oot ae being charged fur the crime ae the century.”

  “Crime ae the…”

  “You blagging the typewriter and ootwitting PC Horsey Chin,” he reminded her, pulling oan a pair ae underpants.

  “Look, wid you be serious fur a change…that…that’s the crow.”

  “Whit crow?”

  “The wan Miss MacKenzie telt me aboot…the wan that wis sitting there freaking me oot doon at Ledmore Junction and caused Clodagh MacKenzie’s stillbirth up in Clachtoll,” she replied, getting hersel mair and mair irritated at his response.

  “Look, Ah’m sorry. Kin we hiv this chat doon the stairs o’er a slice a toast, Ah’m starving,” he said, jumping intae a pair ae troosers and grabbing a shirt oan the way tae the door. “Oh and by the way, it might be better if ye put some clothes oan yersel. We widnae want tae scare poor Davey The Post if he turns up.”

  “Right, so whit ur we gonnae dae?” she asked, sitting doon, shaking her wet hair, before running her fingers through it tae separate any tangles while lifting up a slice ae toast wae the other.

  “Aboot whit?”

  “Johnboy, Ah swear tae God. Ah’m gonnae assault you if you don’t stoap taking the bloody piss. The big evil Crow?”

  “Senga. It’s only a crow. It’ll soon get bored sitting there eying up that stupid cat, believe you me.”

  “Naw, it’s no only a crow.”

  “It is…Ah’m telling ye.”

  “Look, you wurnae there doon at that junction. It’s definitely the same wan. How the hell wid it hiv goat aw the way up tae here again, eh?” she demanded tae know, as he sat there gently flapping his erms, smiling across at her. “Okay, he obviously flew, bit why here? Miss MacKenzie telt me that crows aboot here ur bad news, so they ur.”

  “Look, Ah’m no buying intae aw this superstitious shite. Ah cannae believe someone as intelligent as you wid believe whit some auld crabbit wummin telt ye. Fuck’s sake, Senga. It’s the summer ae 1976, so it is.”

  “Ah’m no happy wae that attitude ae yours.”

  “And Ah’m no happy that
ye’re making such a mountain oot ae a molehill. Furget the crow…there’s mair important things in life jist noo.”

  “Like whit?”

  “Like, if you don’t get moving, ye’re gonnae be late fur yer work.”

  “Oh, shit,” she cursed, staunin up and heidin fur the door. “Ah want that crow evicted fae that shed roof by the time Ah come back the night.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Miss MacKenzie roared. “Oh my, I think I’m going to wet myself. You can’t be serious, Senga?”

  “Ah’m telling ye. This’ll make ye feel a lot better. Ah’ve goat a group ae the mums oan the go jist noo and they’re aw right in tae it, so they ur. They love it. Ah want tae try and get some ae the auld wans tae gie it a go tae.”

  “But, I’m ninety one…with sticks. I can barely stand up.”

  “And, as Ah’ve already telt ye, ye’re only as auld as ye feel. Ye don’t hiv tae be up oan yer feet like them. Ye kin dae this sitting doon. Remember, if you kin dae it, then there’s nae excuse fur aw the other auld wans in the area no tae, is there? It also means they kin dae it by themsels when Ah’m no aboot.”

  “The last time I danced was at a ball just before the war, over in Culrain Castle. I even danced with the Old Duke himself…and me a MacKenzie too,” she laughed. “I don’t think he would’ve been aware of that. It was so romantic…The Blue Danube Waltz…apart from his hands, that is.”

  “Hauns? Whit wis wrang wae his hauns like?”

  “They were all over me,” she cackled. “The Old Duke of Sutherland was a randy old goat. He was notorious for molesting the kitchen maids. It makes me happy that I’ve outlived the dirty old sod, even though he made it into his eighties. Anyway, put the Strauss back on. It’s my favourite.”

  “Ah’m telling ye, it won’t work. A waltz is a totally different rhythm tae a rhumba. Ye want mair ae a discotheque beat, so ye dae. If it disnae get yer heart pumping, it isnae working.”

  “It’s too noisy. It’ll make me deaf.”

  “Naw, it won’t. Look, we’ll dae another wee run through, okay? We’ll take it nice and easy. Jeez, ye should see some ae the mums. They MacKenzie twins, even wae a set ae triplets each…ye should see them go, so ye should,” Senga gushed enthusiastically, drapping the needle oan tae the record player, before rushing back across tae staun in front ae the patient as the electric organ and snare drum kicked in.