He took out two tiny, lifeless things. ‘The other one’s barely alive,’ he said. ‘It’s hardly breathing!’ He handed it to her, taking off his jacket.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ she asked helplessly, a disturbing feeling of having been here before filling her.
‘Get something to dry it off, get it up to the cottage!’
She pushed it back at him. ‘I canny,’ she said. ‘You do it. I don’t know how to.’
He glared at her. ‘It’s a living creature,’ he said. ‘Do you want it to die?’
‘I’m no good at helping things to live,’ she protested, feeling the panic rising. ‘Even plants die when I have to look after them.’
‘For God’s sake!’ he said. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’ve got the kiss of death!’ As he was shouting at her he was taking his sweater off and wrapping it around the kitten. ‘So, tell me,’ he said sarcastically. ‘How many small, innocent creatures have you killed, then?’
Kathy stared at him in horror. It was as if he knew and was tormenting her with it. She tried to stifle the cry in her throat, so that when it came out of her mouth it sounded like someone in pain, as she turned and ran awkwardly, her feet slipping on the shingle, back to the safety of the van.
On the way back to Glenfinnan the barely-alive kitten lay on Kathy’s lap, and not a word passed between her and Rory. He was no longer angry, it had evaporated the instant he saw her reaction and, like her, he seemed to want to get the episode over with as soon as possible. He stopped outside the Tourist Centre. ‘Leave the kitten on the seat,’ he said. ‘He’ll be all right there till I can get him home.’ She got out of the van and laid the kitten gently on the passenger seat. Rory leaned across without looking at her and closed the door, then he drove on up the hill. She went straight to her bedroom and lay on the bed, shaking with a cold so raw that it seemed to come from deep inside her bones, and froze every tissue in her body. It felt like being back in Moncur Street all those years ago. The tiny, weak creature in desperate trouble, wrapping it in what was available, holding it close for safety, for warmth and, above all, the feeling of helplessness, of uselessness. Well, Kathy Kelly? How many small, innocent creatures have you killed, then?
The following day Rory left an envelope at the flat for her. Inside were the keys to the cottage and a brief note. ‘It seems,’ he had written, ‘that we can’t talk without getting angry and fighting, so I thought I’d write instead. Take the cottage. We can work out the details later. We’ll need to talk at some stage, we have things to resolve, but the cottage is yours if you want it.’ He had signed it ‘RM’. What he had no way of knowing was that she had spent the night before locked in nightmares, and all the fight had already gone out of her. At lunchtime she asked Lachie Stuart to run her the short distance to the cottage in his van, but, as they pulled away from Glenfinnan, she looked up at the house on the hill and saw the shadowy outline of Rory standing at the window, watching. She asked Lachie to stop, went back inside and called Rory. ‘Thank you for the cottage,’ she said. ‘I canny fight any more. If you want to come down this afternoon we can discuss whatever you need to discuss.’
He arrived at three o’clock, knocking on the door and looking unsure of himself for the first time that she could ever remember. Once inside they were awkward with each other from trying not to be. He looked very big in the cottage, his broad frame blocking the light from the window as he sat on the deep ledge, speaking very quietly and deliberately, as though he had been practising in front of a mirror.
‘Kathy, I don’t know what I said the other day, but I know I hit a nerve. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.’
She smiled wryly. A ghost; he’d got that right.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘whatever it was. But I’m tired of fighting too, we’ve got to find a way of talking that doesnae end up like a battle.’
She nodded.
‘About the house. I had no objection to my father leaving it to both of us, but if you really don’t want it, I have a suggestion. Have the cottage instead. Sign your part of the house away if you like, if that would make you feel better, and we’ll make it a condition of the deal that the cottage is yours.’
She nodded again. ‘I would just feel that it would look as though I had got him to do it,’ she said. ‘Do you see?’
‘No. I told you, no one could ever get him to do anything, you know that, everybody knows that. But it doesnae matter what I think, it doesn’t matter what other people think either, though I know you don’t believe that. I have to get his affairs settled, do you understand? I’m not trying to trick you, or annoy you, I just need it all to be finished.’
Well, there was a meeting place she had never expected. She had always thought finishing things was her fetish alone. There was silence, then he held out his hand. ‘Angus left this for you.’ It was a bank book. ‘He said it was your wages, that you hadnae collected them in a long time, so he had opened up a bank account with them.’
She laughed and raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I wish I’d been born at the same time as him, or he’d been born at the same time as me!’ she said. ‘I feel that I missed the love of my life by fifty years! I really loved your father, you know.’
‘Aye, I know,’ he laughed back. ‘Do we have a truce?’
‘Aye,’ she smiled. ‘Would you like some tea?’
As she made the tea, the first time she had done so as mistress of her own home, he sat in an armchair by the fire and she was surprised how relaxed he seemed; they might have been friends.
‘Tell me something,’ she said, sitting opposite him. ‘Have you ever wanted to be married?’
‘Is that a proposal?’ he grinned. ‘No, the answer is that I never felt the need to be married. I’ve always been happy on my own, I never wanted to have someone else around permanently. Folks hereabouts think that’s unnatural, but that’s just tough. How about you?’
Kathy shook her head. ‘Me neither. Even when I was wee it never occurred to me. It was as if it was OK for everybody else, but not for me. I only ask because it seems that everybody for miles around has been pairing us off for years.’
‘Och, I’ve always known that,’ he smiled. ‘They’ll see the van outside now and be putting up the banns. It’s a convenience thing. They think everybody should be married, that everybody wants to be married, and here we are, loose ends that they can tie up in a neat parcel. But I think we’d end up killing each other, that’s the truth.’
‘Is that why you were so bloody horrible to me from the first day?’
‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully, ‘that was just me, my honest reaction. For some reason you’ve always managed to annoy me. I’m pretty easy-going, canny recall losing my temper more than a couple of times in my life, but there have been times when I’ve been so mad that I didn’t know whether to strangle you, or climb to the top of the hill and throw myself off to get away from the constant arguments.’
Kathy laughed. ‘When I heard you were coming back for good I almost left,’ she said. ‘Your mother stopped me.’ It seemed odd that they were telling each other of their mutual dislike in such friendly tones.
‘Maybe,’ he mused, ‘we’ll get on better apart. What do you think?’
‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘Can I ask something?’
He looked at her.
‘Can I come up to the house to get a book sometimes?’
He looked suddenly serious again. ‘You see, that’s what I mean. You know perfectly well you can, yet you go out of your way to make it sound like a favour to a servant!’
‘And,’ she continued, ‘could I have Angus’s typewriter?’
‘A slightly bizarre keepsake, but take it if you want it.’
‘And—’
‘Dear God! First I canny get you to take what’s yours, now you’re asking for more!’
‘The wee kitten,’ she said. ‘Is he OK?’
‘Aye, he’s fine. Do you want him?’ he asked, surprised.
>
‘Aye, I do. That should convince them all that we’ll never make a match of it. We’ll stay here together, the old spinster and her cat!’
He brought the typewriter and the kitten down the following day and, as he handed over the kitten, it lashed out at Kathy with a screech and scratched her arm. ‘Maybe I should call it Rory,’ she smiled.
13
Father Frank McCabe had been waiting for them. He had a look of bravado on his face as Kathy and Jessie were shown into the chapel house by his housekeeper. Kathy looked from him to Jessie and back again. Dear God! Why hadn’t she made that connection before? The eyes definitely had it; both father and daughter were wearing the exact same bags, like rimless skin spectacles, around their slightly bulging eyes. Kathy wanted to grab the little priest by the throat and demand Con’s cash, but she held herself in check, watching Jessie settling herself into the sofa and taking the hankie away from her mouth and nose. She was full of admiration for her aunt at that moment, knowing how much strength and determination it had taken for her to drop the safety props her life depended on. Jessie stared at Frank McCabe and held her hand out to Kathy, who placed a piece of paper in her palm as they had arranged earlier. Jessie’s hand didn’t even waver. What a woman the old whore was!
‘The money,’ Jessie said, waving the paper as a bluff, ‘that’s whit we’re here for. Just hand it ower an’ me an’ Kathy here will be oan oor way.’
‘What money?’ the priest asked innocently.
‘Noo, don’t play silly buggers!’ Jessie smiled calmly. ‘You know bloody fine whit money!’
‘If you’re referring to the money donated to the Church by the late Cornelius Kelly, then I have to tell you that donations are rarely refundable, and certainly not to anyone other than the donor,’ he smiled.
‘Well, wee man,’ Kathy said quietly. ‘It seems that Ah was the donor, only Ah didnae know, an’ the reason Ah didnae know was that you got it away frae Con before I found oot aboot it.’
‘It was your father’s view that the money would be put to better use by the Church,’ he smiled. ‘And you didn’t miss it, Kathy Kelly, did you? You managed perfectly well without it, so your father was right.’
‘An’ how dae you know how Ah managed?’ she demanded. ‘Ah was fifteen, Ah hadtae leave school the followin’ year an’ go to work tae feed and clothe masel’. If Ah’d had that money Ah could mibbe’ve stayed oan at school, gone tae university even. That was whit the money was for, wasn’t it? Tae help the dependents o’ the people who died?’
‘No,’ he smiled smugly. ‘It was for whatever the recipient wanted it to be for. Cornelius was the recipient, and Cornelius wanted it to be used for the good of the Church.’
Kathy and Jessie looked at each other. ‘Well, let’s stop beatin’ aboot the bush – an’ Ah know ye’ve beat aboot wan bush in yer time,’ Jessie said, as Kathy tried to stifle a giggle. ‘Bein’ reasonable people, me an’ Kathy here were quite prepared tae dae this the easy way, but ye’ve changed the entire nature o’ the negotiations. Put it this way. Hand ower the cash or Ah’ll make sure everybody knows that ye got yer leg ower Auld Aggie, an’ while she was married tae the Orangeman at that, an’ furthermore, that you’re ma Daddy!’ She stared him straight in the eye. ‘Noo, whit’s it tae be, Daddy dearest?’
‘There is not,’ he said eventually, ‘the slightest shred of truth in that monstrous allegation!’
‘Aw, gie it a rest!’ Jessie said dismissively. ‘Ah know it a’! Ah’ve known it since Ah was a wean! Mind the time you an’ Aggie were discussin’ ma confirmation name? Was it tae be Frances or Francesca, an’ you were shit scared somebody might suspect somethin’?’
The look on the priest’s face said it all.
‘Aye, Ah see ye dae remember that! Ah was listenin’ ootside the door, as it happens. An’ tae put the tin lid oan it, Auld Aggie tellt Kathy the full story, ya dirty wee bugger, the day before she died!’
Kathy nodded firmly. ‘An’ helluva shocked Ah was tae!’ she said solemnly.
‘There’s ways o’ provin’ monstrous allegations these days tae,’ Jessie said. ‘First ye go tae the papers,’ she looked across at Kathy and laughed. ‘They’d pay a packet for this story,’ she said. ‘Ah didnae thinka that! Imagine me missin’ an angle!’ Then she turned back to Frank McCabe. ‘An’ when you deny it, Ah then say “Gie’s wanna they DNA tests, pronto,” an’ Ah’m sure ye’d be only too keen tae gie a sample o’ some kind, tae prove ye’re innocent, like. It’d make a great story, no’ think so? Yer daughter’s wanna the East End’s best, an’ Ah don’t use the term lightly, whores, an’ yer grandson, son o’ a gangster, is as mad as a hatter an’ turns his ain kinda tricks puttin’ folk in touch wi’ the occult. For a wee consideration, of course! Ah don’t think ye’d have much chance o’ bein’ made Pope efter that lot came oot. Whit dae ye think yersel’, like?’
Frank McCabe got up, went over to a desk in the corner of the room and took from it a chequebook and pen. ‘Christ, Kathy,’ Jessie said in a stage whisper, ‘he’s gonny get a gun an’ shoot us!’
‘I never intended keeping the money indefinitely,’ he said, in a voice straining with dignity. ‘I only took it into safekeeping to stop Con misusing it. It was always my intention to hand it back to the family.’
‘When ye were found oot, that is!’ Jessie said calmly.
He wrote a cheque and held it to Jessie. Kathy held her breath, wondering if Jessie dared take it from him, even with a cotton glove to protect her. There was a moment’s hesitation, then Jessie smiled sweetly. ‘Thanks, Da!’ she said, looking at the cheque. ‘Helluva gooda ye! An’ this is the amount Con gave ye, is it?’
‘It is.’
‘Well, in that case, we’ll accept this as a down payment, an’ the morra Ah’ll get ma accountant tae calculate the interest due ower the last thirty years, ya cheatin’ wee bastard. Ah’ll let ye know how much merr ye owe us. We don’t need it, ye understand, baith me an’ Kathy here has a bob or two put by, we just want it.’
It had been too easy for Kathy. She had wanted a battle, she had wanted to be on the TV news, holding Frank McCabe hostage in his chapel house and making him confess all before the cameras, but Jessie, fine businesswoman that she was, had handled the matter perfectly. As they left, Kathy could contain herself no longer, she needed to get at least one blow in, she was due it. ‘An’ don’t you forget, wee man,’ she hissed at him, ‘Ah was there when ye wanted tae murder that horse!’
Jessie handed her the cheque, then with slow, deliberate grace she led the way from the room, holding her hankie again to her nose and mouth with shaking hands. Once safely outside in the waiting Mercedes, Jessie asked furiously, ‘Whit the hell was that aboot him murderin’ a horse?’
‘It was when Ah was a wean,’ Kathy replied, feeling her cheeks redden. ‘A horse fell ootside wee Maggie’s fruit stall an’ he wanted tae get it shot. Wee Maggie got it up by giein’ it sugar an’ apples.’
‘For God’s sake, Kathy!’ Jessie exploded. ‘Thank Christ Ah didnae let ye get a word in edgewise in there, ye havnae the heid for negotiations at a’! Bloody murdered horses!’ She shook her head in disapproval. ‘There Ah was, knockin’ ma pan in there, an’ you’re oan aboot bloody murdered horses?’
‘Ah hadtae say somethin’!’ Kathy protested. ‘You got your blows in, Ah was left standin’ there like a dummy! It, well, it just seemed tae me that it needed finishing aff, like!’
As she spoke, Jessie was retrieving an antiseptic wipe from her bag and carefully cleaning both hands, then a fresh pair of gloves was produced, the ‘soiled’ ones being put in the plastic bag that the fresh ones had come in. Kathy wondered where it stopped. Was the inside of the bag routinely disinfected to prevent germs from being transferred from ‘soiled’ items to clean ones? And what about the outside of the bag? Was there a point at which the germs invaded the inside, and where exactly in Jessie’s mind was that point? And, come to that, how did she reconcile the possible cross
-contamination caused by the packaging her various bits and pieces came in? ‘Look,’ said Jessie, ‘Ah’ll needtae get hame an’ lie doon, this’s knocked hell oota me. Drive us hame, Harry, son. Ye’ll needtae spend the night at oor hoose, Kathy, hen, an’ Hari-Kari here’ll run ye tae the station in the mornin’.’
She couldn’t remember the interior of Jessie’s house. The only time she had ever seen it before was on a fleeting visit with her mother when she was a child, and the overwhelming impression of the outside had been of neat gardens and respectable, net-curtained windows. Going inside was like entering a fairy grotto, with glass animals all over the place, obviously an obsession of Jessie’s, and china figurines of women in long dresses, with names like Rosemary and Daisy. She’d seen them in the display cabinets of numerous china shops, dainty, brightly coloured figures, flying kites, sitting on swings, skating, all with beautifully pure, wholesome smiles on their delicate, polished faces. Each new one on the market had a long waiting list of customers anxious to add it to their collection and, by the look of the place, Jessie hadn’t missed one. The house smelt of polish and disinfectant, and nothing was out of place. Kathy could imagine it remaining just like this for ever, the various ornament collections being moved only to dust underneath and then replaced on the same spot, at the exact angle that Jessie had predetermined God knew how many years ago. The colour scheme was predominantly white and pink throughout. Pristine and clean, that was the only way to describe it, and unlived in somehow, a bit like a showhouse. In the sitting room, cushions had been arranged just so on the plastic-covered deep-pink sofa and two armchairs, which in turn had also been arranged just so on the deep-pink-carpeted floor. The effect was so perfect that it seemed an affront to enter the room, never mind sit on the chairs. The TV was hidden behind the double doors of a mock-Regency cabinet, and the shell-pink vertical blinds at the windows, like every other window in the house, were accompanied by shell-pink nets, as a backup, Kathy mused, just in case some passer-by should develop the ability to look through the gaps in the blinds. The kitchen had a distinct 1950s feel, the units were all white, the floor white-tiled with tiny black diamonds where the corners of the tiles met. Here and there about the room were touches of red-and-white gingham, giving the illusion of pink, and nothing looked as though it had ever been used. The downstairs bathroom, she was told on arrival, was Jessie’s alone; she couldn’t use a bathroom anyone else used. It too was pink and had undoubtedly been installed straight from the factory. Just in case she should be caught short while upstairs, she had an identical en suite bathroom in her bedroom. Kathy was free to use the big upstairs bathroom, but she must not use the others; that was Jessie’s absolute rule. Kathy wondered what catastrophe would befall Jessie’s sanitised universe if she did. She would sleep in the bedroom that had belonged to Claire, her beautiful, thick cousin, but first she would be required to remove her shoes and leave them at the front door. This was said by Jessie with some distaste, as though she had fully expected Kathy to have known this and was now justifiably upset that it had had to be mentioned. A new pair of sock slippers, pink, were produced from a cellophane packet and given to her for the duration of her stay, after which, she surmised, they would be ritually burned in the back garden.
Chasing Angels Page 27
