She had to stop this. She was in his house. He’d be able to hear her. She blew her nose as quietly as she could, threw the tissue into the bowl and reached for another few squares off the roll.
She forced herself to her feet, splashed more water on to her face and looked at the haggard visage in the mirror. Eyes like a mixie rabbit, she thought. Then the possibility of Malcolm, lying in bed with a morning erection. She ran the tap, lapped water from her hand, trying to stop it trembling. Please not that. Please not. She would have to explain. Just say she felt sick. No. Too raw. She started to cry again.
She lowered the toilet lid and sat again, taking deep shuddering breaths. A shiver racked her. She couldn’t stay in here, she’d catch her death. She must pull herself together. Perhaps just a cuddle would be possible. She’d like a cuddle. He’d not force anything more, surely, would he? She couldn’t bear it. Not just now. Maybe some other time. No, she was a Fe-Phi-Pho girl, she didn’t do other times. She would add this night to her handful of other sexual experiences, filed away under ‘disappointments’, and just forget about it.
She got up and splashed water on her face for a third time, drank some more water and rubbed her teeth with her finger. She dabbed a bit of toothpaste on it and tried again. Her mouth felt toxic. Should she borrow his toothbrush? She knew all these AIDS phobias were irrational, but… Had they used any protection the night before? She struggled to remember. Her mind was failing. Then yes, the memory of a condom. No, she mustn’t cry. She would just go into the bedroom and get her clothes and say she had to go. Brazen out the shame.
She gave her nose another blow and dried her face. The toilet flush was explosive.
As the cistern squealed, she crossed the landing and nudged open the bedroom door. The bed was empty, covers tidied, ‘her’ side folded back like in a hotel room. How tidy he is, she thought, for what seemed the hundredth time. She dressed in the clothes lying on the floor on her side of the bed, conscious of them being crumpled and more appropriate for dinner than for breakfast. She wished she had some make-up to disguise the stains of her grief, but she didn’t. Tying her hair back and biting her lips would have to do.
Malcolm turned as Callis edged over the threshold and stood in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. It was a grey day. Out of the window the garden was dominated by a rectangle of soil, ploughed by the look of it, without a blade of vegetation. A particularly tidy vegetable patch or a zen gardening feature, she wondered. The field beyond was a meadow, grass cropped close to the ground with the brown stripes of a recent spreading of slurry.
The kitchen was all chrome and pine. Malcolm stood with his back to an incongruous Aga, which took up one entire wall of the room.
‘Coffee? Or tea?’
‘Coffee. Thanks.’
‘No bother. Are y’all right?’
She breathed out but no words came. The lie was not possible. He sloshed coffee into two mugs, then wiped up the spillage and the bottom of both cups.
‘Was it something I, or… your mum, or… Milk, sugar?’
Callis shook her head and reached for the proffered mug. She sipped. He added milk and two heaped sugars to his and stirred noisily.
‘Look, I’m sorry, Callis, if I…’
‘It’s OK. I mean, it’s not. I was not saying… It was my mum.’ She swallowed and took another mouthful of coffee.
‘Would a hug help?’
She nodded and set her mug on the worktop. She took a step towards him. He met her halfway, let her hide her face in his thick checked shirt. He smelt strong, and faintly of cattle. She let her hands come to rest on his back.
Diana picked Callis up from her father’s house on Friday afternoon. Frances was already in the car, and Callis was glad to take the back seat. It was the first time in ages they’d been together, just the three of them.
The Teddy Bear Weekend was exactly Fran’s sort of thing; fabric and needles and sewing were all second nature to her. She would no doubt grasp the fundamentals in no time and manufacture a precise copy of the bear in the pattern, complete with friendly expression on its face, leaving just enough time to tidy up before they had to leave. Diana would surely be as skillful at this as she was at everything else. She was bound to create some furry work of art. Callis, on the other hand, knew she would struggle and fret, striving for a perfect bear and cursing all the failings inevitable for a beginner. She didn’t know why she had agreed to go.
They drove through sheeting rain, which slowed to a drizzle as they arrived at the Victorian mansion. They were greeted by a glamorous woman about their own age, wearing high-heeled cowboy boots, tight cream riding trousers and a frothy silk blouse. Her long blonde hair shone like a shampoo advert.
‘Welcome to Fenwick House ladies. I’m Juliana.’
Diana stepped forward to shake hands. ‘I’m Diana,’ she said. Next to their glossy hostess, she looked almost shabby in her black pumps and long mohair cardigan. Callis was glad she had only brought jeans.
Diana turned to her and dragged her forward. ‘This is Callis.’ She stumbled on the doormat and dropped her hold-all.
‘Let me help you with that.’ Juliana turned her smile on Callis. ‘What a pretty bag,’ she said, standing it upright. It was an old carpet bag made out of upholstery material with wooden handles. Callis wanted to tell Juliana that it had been her mother’s, that she had been going to throw it out because it was old-fashioned until Callis had saved it from her. But she said nothing and they just shook hands.
Frances stepped up with a charming smile. ‘And I’m Frances.’ She held her hand outstretched in greeting. ‘Fantastic house!’
Their hostess looked gratified by this. ‘Yes, isn’t it! It’s been in the family for four generations now, we’re very lucky. Follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms.’ She lifted a clipboard from a polished wooden sideboard and checked down a list of names. ‘Diana… Hunter?’
Diana tried to see what else was on the chart. ‘That’s me.’
‘… and Frances Morrison, you’re next to each other, sharing a bathroom, I hope that’s all right. They’re gorgeous rooms with a view down over the gardens. And Callis… what an unusual name, it’s lovely, Callis MacArthur?’
Callis nodded.
‘You’re… oh, you’re at the back, but you do have a bathroom of your own.’
Juliana swept up the staircase and the others followed along behind. At the first landing, she showed Diana to a big, bay-windowed, velvet-curtained room, which did indeed have magnificent views down not only over the garden but out to the hills beyond. Frances was delivered to the room next door. Then Juliana ushered Callis out and back to the staircase. On the next landing she led off down to the end room. It was cozy, with Laura Ashley furnishings that suited the carpet bag.
‘It’s perfect,’ Callis said.
‘We’ll gather at 5.30 for tea on the patio. I’ll leave you to unpack.’
The door swung shut behind her. Callis sat on the bed. She wondered if the weekend would help her to stitch herself together or whether she would be overwhelmed by grief. Juliana seemed nice enough, if a bit posh.
What if she cried in public? She hated such shows of emotion. They embarrassed everyone. At least she had her own room. She was glad it was small.
At 5.35 she dragged herself downstairs, her footsteps muffled in thick carpet. The whole house smelled of hyacinths, two notches too sweet. She heard Diana and Frances before she saw them, laughing loudly on the patio. Frances had added a silk scarf to her standard outfit of black slacks and top, achieving her usual nonchalant elegance. Diana had put on a patchwork flamenco dress, and turned towards Callis as she approached. She looked into her face as if assessing what others could not see. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I have gin.’
They stood around with cups of tea. Juliana mingled and got acquainted with everyone, finding out what people were hoping to make during the weekend, whether they had brought materials with them and what experience they had.
She then gathered the group together in the big conservatory and introduced the plan for the weekend. They would choose fabrics and patterns and begin cutting out before dinner. She gestured to the tables up against the wall, strewn with rolls of furry cloth, felt, glass jars and Tupperware boxes of assorted haberdashery. ‘On Saturday you’ll complete cutting out, if you haven’t already, and we’ll spend the day sewing. Then we’ll have all of Sunday for stuffing and finishing – eyes, ears, noses, tongues, claws, that sort of thing – so we’ll hopefully all be finishing with a smile by Sunday teatime. Any questions?’
The group shook mute heads. Then the youngest of the group, a round-faced girl, who looked about seventeen and was squeezed into jeans at least a size too small, said, ‘Is the fabric and all that included in the price, or do we have to pay for what we use?’
‘Good point, Sally. It’s all included, feel free to use whatever you want. That reminds me there are some things you can pay extra for if you’d like, some options for seeing some real animals, for example.’ She swung a dazzling smile around the room like a searchlight. Then she launched into what was obviously a much-repeated spiel. ‘We have lots of free options – walks to various spots on the estate where your chances of spotting animals is good. There’s a lovely riverside path where there are chances of seeing fish jumping and always lots of birds. There’s also a bird hide out beside the loch, we’ve a pine marten and badger feeding station, and if you’re lucky you might spot capercaillie on the woodland walk. There’s a map of those walks in your bedrooms. Alternatively, for a small extra charge, we can drive you out on to the moor to the south and see if we can spot any deer, or we can even take you to the wildlife reserve at Glenmathan to see if you can spot any of their big carnivores. That’s for those of you who want to make your bears really realistic!!’
She had, of course, saved the best for last. Diana was straight on the case, enquiring about times and costs.
After a few questions Juliana said, ‘You can make your plans during the course of this evening, ladies. For now, let’s get started with the creative process. Gather around here, I’ve got fabrics and patterns laid out for you to make your choices.’
By dinnertime, Diana had begun a substantial polar bear and Frances was undertaking a grey cat, as close as she could get to a lynx, given the patterns and materials on offer. Callis had chosen a chocolate-brown velvet and was planning a small bear. The group was getting to know each other. The teenager turned out to be already planning to set up a toy business and was doing every relevant course she could find. The other participants were all women, mostly aunts and grandmothers aiming to make gifts for young children.
‘I might have known it’d be full of grannies,’ Diana grumbled to Callis. ‘We’re going to have to do something to avoid the zimmer frames.’
Over dinner and gin the three friends agreed to go on the Glenmathan drive at crack of dawn on Saturday. Frances was keen to get the morning light for photographs. ‘Fe-Phi-Pho, here we go!’ she said. ‘It’s been ages since the three of us went out snapping together.’ Callis wished she could muster more enthusiasm.
‘Better get some beauty sleep before the morning shoot,’ Diana said.
Frances grimaced. ‘Could they not arrange for dawn to be a bit later?’
Callis was already on her feet. Her mother had used the phrase ‘beauty sleep’ almost every night of her childhood. She needed the privacy of her room.
The alarm went at five and Callis dragged herself out of bed, dressed warmly and headed downstairs. They drank coffee out of thermos flasks from the dining room sideboard, then gathered in the grand hallway and waited for Juliana, who arrived in jodhpurs and tweed jacket as if she were about to ride out on a hunt.
‘I’m not coming with you,’ she said, leading them out of the front door, where a sleek 4x4 stood waiting. ‘John will drive you. There’s no one better at spotting animals – he can see a frog at half a mile.’
Diana muscled her faux-ex-army boots, black leather jacket and big camera into the front seat. John gave her a dismissive nod and faced straight ahead. He lacked cap and gloves but was otherwise playing the chauffeur role to a tee. Callis and Frances took the back seat and Frances began spreading out her photographic gear. Callis fingered the ‘point and shoot’ she had borrowed from her dad, wishing now she had brought her camera from Norway after all.
Juliana said, ‘John will get you home for breakfast at about nine. Enjoy!’ The door slammed shut and John pulled away.
‘How far is Glenmathan?’ Frances called from the back.
John took his time answering. ‘Thirty miles, thereabouts.’
Frances was in taxi-driver chat mode. ‘Have you been with the Fenwick estate for long?’
‘Aye.’
John’s reluctance to talk grew more apparent in his pauses until her interrogation let up.
They drove in silence past Inverness and across the Kessock Bridge. Dawn light marbled the water of the Moray Firth. The landscape beyond it was shrouded with cloud. There was little traffic and John barrelled along.
Frances and Diana talked camera kit for a while. Callis watched the Ross-shire fields and woods flow past. She spotted a roe deer on the edge of some trees, but didn’t mention it to the others.
‘What are they?’ Diana gestured to a forestry plantation on the right. Two large birds of prey hung in the air above them, then one swooped down across a field as if down an ice-slide.
‘Kites,’ said Callis.
Frances craned over to see past her. ‘Beautiful!’
The bird checked its descent and soared upwards. All three women tried to keep the birds in view until the last possible moment, their heads swivelling backwards as the vehicle curved round a long bend in the road. When Callis turned forwards, Diana was eyeing her.
‘So, Cally, do tell. You’re being very secretive about your brown-eyed date after the funeral.’
Callis felt the blood bloom up from her neck. She tried to keep eye contact with her friend but there was something too owlish in her face. ‘No secret.’ She looked down.
Frances nudged her. ‘You’re blushing.’
Diana swivelled her head round to face forwards again. Callis drilled her gaze into the back of the car seat.
At Glenmathan, John punched in a code and the eight-foot-high gate swung open. They puttered up the track, eyes peeled, cameras primed, peering into the tangle of young birches and willows. At a junction they met a red Land Rover and its occupant, a tall, leggy character in a tweed jacket and brogues, got out and strode over. John opened his window and shook hands with him.
‘Hullo, John.’ He bent down to look in at the passengers. ‘Good morning, ladies. Welcome to Glenmathan. I’m Luke. I gather you’re keen photographers and you’re hoping for bears.’
Callis, Frances and Diana assented with gestured equipment, which their host noted with approval. ‘I’m afraid the riverside road is pretty much a wash-out at the moment, so I suggest you take the upland track. It’s your best bet for bears, anyway.’
The women all nodded. ‘What are our chances, realistically?’ said Diana.
‘With John here, pretty good, I’d say, but of course there are no guarantees.’ He grinned at John.
‘When did they come out of hibernation?’ asked Callis. Luke peered into the back of the car at her.
‘Well, strictly speaking, they don’t hibernate, and it’s been such a ridiculously mild spring they’ve been out and about in good weather since February. They’re full of beans just now. Keep your eyes open.’
‘Are there any cubs?’ Frances said.
‘You bet. Four of the females have cubs, seven in total, and there are four one-year-olds still with their mothers from last year. We’ve lost a couple of young unfortunately; the males can be very aggressive to them, you know. So the mothers with young tend to be extremely shy. You can consider yourselves very lucky indeed if you see cubs. We saw one of the mothers up among the pines on top of that hill ye
sterday.’ He gestured to the north. ‘There’s a feeding station there, so it’s definitely worth a look. The mothers are hungry. You know where I mean?’
John nodded.
‘Look, there’s an elk!’ Callis pointed down towards a patch of willows where an outsized coffee-coloured deer was browsing.
‘Well spotted!’ Luke tapped the vehicle roof. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Give me a tinkle if you spot anything interesting. Have a good morning, ladies, and good luck.’
John switched the engine into life and slid the vehicle forward for a clearer view of the elk.
‘You scored the top man,’ he volunteered. ‘That was Luke Restil, owns the place.’
Diana nodded satisfaction. ‘Nice enough man,’ she said, ‘though I’m getting tired of being “ladied”.’
‘Och, he’s just being polite.’ Frances took another shot of the elk and sat back.
Callis leaned forward towards John. ‘That seemed a big hint about the feeding station by the pines.’
‘Aye. We’ll go there then?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Diana.
‘Wherever you recommend. We’re in your hands,’ said Frances.
‘I wonder what they feed them,’ said Callis.
‘Pig nuts,’ said John.
‘What on earth are they?’ said Frances.
‘Fish meal, corn.’ John said. ‘Plenty protein.’
The track wove up among birches, past a big rowan in smithereens.
‘That’s bears,’ said John.
‘That’ll be them after the berries in autumn. Look at that! Devastation.’ Callis was delighted, and even more so when John pointed out a large brown mound of bear turd.
By a grand oak, just coming into leaf, they forded a rushing burn. A roe deer bounded away into a tangle of holly and brambles. They were in thick woods now and under the shelter of a crag. Aspens stood tall and stately. More rowans hung from the rocks above.
‘Delicious light,’ said Frances, watching the peach morning glow through her lens.
Bear Witness Page 4
