Archie looked grim. ‘Read what else it says.’ His voice was hoarse and he bit his lower lip. His wife searched for the place again. ‘The new Lord Kilstrath has put the whole estate up for sale, and an offer has already been made by an American electronics company. They intend to convert Kilstrath House into a factory … Oh no.’
‘It doesna bear thinking about,’ Archie said sadly, ‘but carry on. That’s nae the worst o’ it.’
‘They intend to convert Kilstrath House into a factory,’ his wife repeated, ‘and say that some of the village houses will be required for their key workers, but employment will be given to many of the local men. The company promises to provide new, terraced houses in Strathdene for all those forced to leave their homes.’ Alice handed the newspaper back to her husband and sat down heavily. ‘What does it mean, Archie?’
‘It means we’ll ha’e to get out, woman, for I’m well past the age for employment. The Americans love old cottages, so our wee house’ll be snapped up for one of their “key workers” as they call them.’ Archie ran his hand through his wiry grey hair. ‘We’ll be put away to one of their new, terraced hooses in Strathdene, though what we would need wi’ a terrace in a hoose beats me.’
‘They’ll maybe leave us,’ Alice said hopefully. ‘We could offer to pay them a rent and …’
‘No, no. They’re not wanting old folks here, just young men. We’ll be put out, there’s no two ways about it, and the whole place’ll change. What a thing to happen, and me aye thinking I’d be able to draw my last breath in the house I first saw the light o’ day in.’
Alice frowned. ‘I wish you wouldna say such things, Archie, you’re just tempting fate.’
‘I tell you this, I’d rather go to sleep under yon arches than move from this cottage.’
His wife snorted. ‘Och, you and your arches. You never think on anything else.’
They sat in silence, one on each side of the fire, wondering what was to become of them, until Archie stood up. ‘I’m away out.’ He walked into the small square porch, lifted his coat from the peg and whistled to the dog. Belle, the spaniel, lifted her head off the hearthrug, but did not rise - it wasn’t the usual time for their walk. When she heard the door being opened, however, she got slowly to her feet and followed Archie out.
Alice knew, without being told, where they were going. Her husband always went down to the old railway bridge if he was troubled about anything. He said the arches were his friends and had helped him make decisions and to face up to life’s problems. She hadn’t found out until after they were married that this was an obsession he’d had ever since he was a boy, and had often resented it, but had complained only once … a long, long time ago.
She couldn’t see what comfort or direction a dozen stone arches would be to anyone, though Archie did usually come home calmer and more settled in his mind after being there.
Belle ran on ahead, checking every now and then that her master was following, but Archie was paying little attention to her. His thoughts were fully occupied, his stomach had a weird sickness in it. After a lifetime of service to the laird, himself and his father before him, to think it would come to this - thrown out of the house he’d been born in. There must be a law against it. ‘Aye, aye, Archie.’
He looked up, scowling, not in the mood to make idle chit chat with anybody, even an old friend, but the postie was standing smiling, obviously waiting for an answer, and he wasn’t the kind you could brush off easily; he’d a hide like a rhinoceros. ‘Aye, aye, Geordie,’ Archie mumbled and would have walked on.
The postman, however, was curious to know what Archie thought of the news that had been going round, startling news. ‘A terrible sad thing, the laird dying in London sudden like that.’
‘Aye.’
Geordie raised his eyebrows, but carried on, ‘It’s a richt shame aboot this American buying the whole village lock, stock and barrel, isn’t it?’
Archie didn’t want to discuss it, but was well aware that his old friend was desperate to take it through hand. ‘It is that,’ he said bitterly, ‘after the hundreds of years this place has belonged to the laird’s family.’
‘If he’d married again after his wife died,’ remarked the postman, ‘and had a son, things would’ve been different, but this nephew in Montreal fell heir to the whole caboodle, and he’d only be interested in the money side o’ it. He wouldna be bothered to come and see things for himsel’. He’s nae worried about Kilstrath or his uncle’s folk.’
‘Aye.’ Archie agreed wholeheartedly with this.
‘I’m due to retire in six months, so I’ll be like you, Archie, nae use to them. Still, there’s one good thing, they’re going to set us up in better houses.’
Geordie didn’t sound all that concerned about it, and Archie remembered that he was an incomer to Kilstrath, taking over as postman when old Willie Thomson retired, about fifteen years ago, so he’d be accustomed to flitting. ‘Aye, I suppose that’s a good thing,’ he said grudgingly, not feeling like arguing.
He carried on along the street, past the wee Johnnie-a’
-thing shop, where a group of customers were deep in talk, speculating about the proposed changes, more than likely. The changes were actually only proposed, nothing really settled, he reminded himself, but he knew in his heart they must be pretty near settled before the Observer would print such a bombshell. Pat Wilson had always stayed on the safe side, terrified he’d be taken up for misrepresentation of facts.
After leaving the village behind, Geordie stopped, as he always did, to savour the shape of the huge railway viaduct ahead, looking, this grey overcast morning, uncannily forbidding. The spaniel raced on, through the arches and into the field beyond, where she usually spent her time chasing rabbits while her master was communing with the granite stones.
Archie was alone, alone with his beloved arches to whom, all his life, he had poured his heart out over everything that had ever troubled him. Not only troubles, he remembered, smiling to himself. He had asked their advice and blessing before he married Alice, and had told them proudly about the birth of their son. His eyes clouded as he recalled the comfort he had drawn from them when the boy died of a fever only three years later. That was the only time Alice had ever really complained about him coming here, though he knew it was because he had left her alone at a time when she needed him to be strong for her.
When he left the house that terrible day, she had called after him ‘You think more of that arches than you do of me.’
It wasn’t true, of course, yet he had walked out blindly, unable to cope with the emotions that were tearing him apart, let alone deal with hers. Only when he reached the towering viaduct had he found blessed relief in tears, and he’d gone home prepared to be the tower of strength she needed.
Dragging his mind back from the past, he realised that there was no relief for him this time. He felt nothing except that ever-present, excruciating gnawing at his heart. ‘What’ll I do?’ he asked the silent arch nearest him. ‘If this new laird sells the village, what’ll happen to Alice and me? We’re too old to make a fresh start in another place. We’re not easy at making new friends.’
Nothing! No feeling of peace. No serenity. No sign of anything. After almost seventy years, from the first time he had run to them to escape his mother’s anger, the arches had let him down - forsaken him. In a few minutes, he lifted his head and whistled to the dog, who came running up, tail wagging twenty to the dozen. Touched by her affectionate dependence on him, he patted her head and they set off.
‘You haven’t been long,’ Alice smiled when they went in, but did not ask if his pilgrimage had been successful. She could see by his whole dejected attitude that it hadn’t.
He pottered about in his garden for the rest of the day, a horrible sense of doom closing in around him, and he sat picking at his supper until his wife said, in som
e irritation, ‘If it’s to be, Archie, it’s to be. If it’s God’s will that we have to move from here, we’ll just have to move. It’s nae as bad as you’re making out, in any case; you’re worrying for nothing. They’ll leave us here in peace, I’m sure.’
It was all right for her, he thought resentfully. She hadn’t been born here like him, nor spent the whole of her life loving every stone of the four walls surrounding them, nor tenderly caring for their great skelp of a garden. The new terraced house would be absolutely gardenless, or if it wasn’t, there would be a wee bit the size of a postage stamp, for the young folk today hadn’t the slightest interest in growing things. They likely believed that the only place to get flowers and vegetables was in a shop; one of them supermarket places. What was more, builders wouldn’t waste their precious land for folk to make gardens. It was money, money, money all the time for everybody these days.
Having finished clearing up, Alice sat down with her knitting to watch her favourite TV programme - Archie could never understand how she managed to concentrate on both things at once - he just stared into the fire. Once or twice, she was about to say something to cheer him, but thought better of it. Nothing she could say or do would lift him out of this depression.
Lying beside him in bed that night, she longed to put her arms round him and tell him it didn’t matter where they lived as long as they were together, but fear of being rebuffed held her back.
Archie also spent long wakeful hours until daylight, pondering over what he could do, and it was rising time before he came to a decision, a decision he definitely could not pass on to his wife. It was something he would have to do by himself.
He set off after breakfast, with Belle, as usual, padding in front of him down the street, and as he neared the one and only shop, a familiar figure came out. Jimmy Masson, a year or two younger than he was, was already bent and walking with a stick.
‘Aye, aye, Archie, grand morning, for a change.’ The man stood up, ready for a chat to pass the time.
‘Aye, aye, Jimmy.’ Archie gave the expected response and walked on, eyes straight ahead.
The other man looked after him in bewilderment. Archie Murchie always stopped for a blether, and they would speak about matters of interest in the world or just in their own small community. With all this speculation going on about the future of Kilstrath, he’d have thought Archie would have plenty to say. He’d always been different, of course, forever sitting under the railway arches, even when he was just a wee laddie. That’s why his schoolmates had tormented him.
‘Archie loves the arches!’ they had shouted, and he was blowed now if he could remember what Murchie’s real first name was. Even Alice called him Archie. Reminding himself that nothing was as queer as folk, Jimmy went home to see if his wife could refresh his memory.
Belle was obviously pleased that her master hadn’t stopped to talk, leading the way to the viaduct, and running back several times to hurry him on. They were within twenty yards of it when Archie stopped to admire the magnificence of the old structure. He had always been impressed by it and loved standing underneath to hear a train rattling past over his head. There were no trains now, though - the line had been closed with the Beeching cuts, years ago, and the village itself would soon be as good as dead; with nobody there but noisy Americans swaggering about as though they’d owned the place since the year dot.
Alice was drying the breakfast dishes when she heard the postman’s knock, and hastily laid down the towel. Geordie Forbes didn’t believe in simply pushing letters through letterboxes, for he liked to pick up any gossip available at each house on his round.
‘Well, well, then, Mrs Murchie,’ he observed as she opened the door, making her smile, because he’d called her by her Christian name for years. ‘It’s a grand day - in more ways than one.’ He held up a long, brown, official-looking envelope. ‘Is Archie about?’
‘He’s out with the dog.’ Alice didn’t mention their destination in case he laughed, for most folk knew it was a sore point with her.
‘Oh, well. I’d have liked to see how he took it, but never mind. It’s good news I’m delivering this day. It’s from a firm of solicitors in Edinburgh, telling all the laird’s tenants their houses are safe.’ Since he had discussed the contents several times with earlier recipients, he was well informed. ‘He’s not selling unless the buyer agrees we’re left where we are. I’m telling you, that’s a load off a lot o’ folks’ minds, for they were worried sick at reading that bit in yesterday’s Observer.’
‘Oh. Geordie,’ Alice breathed as soon as she could get a word in. ‘I’m right pleased to hear this. I was that sorry for Archie. He never got a wink o’ sleep last night for worrying what would happen to us.’
‘I noticed he was terrible upset when I saw him yesterday morning. If I was you, I’d give him this as quick as I could …’
Grabbing her coat from its peg and the envelope from the man’s hand, she pushed past him and set off as fast as her rheumaticky legs would carry her to pass on the good news.
Once again, Archie had the awful feeling that, far from giving him guidance, the arches were unfriendly, even menacing, although the sun was shining on them. There would be no peace for him here; no solution to clear his agonised mind. He’d have to do what he’d made up his mind to do.
Walking under the bridge, he carried on along the road until he came to a gate in the field, then lifted the bar and walked back across the grassy incline up to the railway tracks. The steep embankment was quite a struggle for him, and when he reached the top he had to stand a few minutes to get his breath back before he bent to go under the wire fence.
After waiting a few more seconds until the pain in his lungs eased, he walked on to the viaduct. He hadn’t been up here since he was a youth, coming for the sheer excitement of facing the danger his mother had always warned him about, and had forgotten that this high vantage point afforded such a beautiful view of the village and surrounding countryside. In spite of everything, he felt more at ease; there was something about this wonder of Victorian engineering that gave him strength and courage … courage to do what, though? He couldn’t remember now what he had planned in the early hours of the morning.
He couldn’t face leaving his cottage, though Alice didn’t seem to mind. If it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t need a new house at all. She could go and live with her widowed sister in Aberdeen; they’d be company for each other. His thoughts paused there. Yes, that was what he had decided to do.
He clambered up on the parapet to look down at the road below. It was quite a distance, but if he closed his eyes he could forget all his worries. Holding up his head, he felt the keen wind in his face - for the last time. It was better this way, far better, and it would be all over in no time at all.
He suddenly became aware of a calling voice that was invading his consciousness and tried to shut it out. But no matter how hard he fought against it, it kept on. ‘Archie! Archie! It’s all right! It’s going to be all right!’ Opening his eyes reluctantly, he saw Alice looking up at him from the road beneath, terror showing clearly on her face. What did she mean? Why was she here? She’d no business coming to the arches. She never came. She said they gave her the creeps.
He closed his eyes - that would shut her out. She wasn’t really there, anyway. It was all in his imagination. But his confused brain couldn’t recapture his previous train of thought. What had he been going to do? It was somehow connected with Alice, that was all he could remember.
The sound of a dog barking made his eyes jerk open again, and there was his spaniel at his feet, looking up at him with her head on one side. What was she doing up here on top of the viaduct? He couldn’t even remember having climbed up himself, but he crossed over and ducked under the wire fence again. Stumbling down the embankment, he saw Alice coming up to meet him. She said nothing as she turned with him down on to the road, but t
hat was when he noticed the envelope in her hand. A long, business envelope. Here was the news he didn’t want.
‘It’s for you, Archie.’
He opened it with trembling fingers and drew out the single sheet of paper, but the typed words blurred before his eyes and he handed it back. ‘Read it out for me, lass. I haven’t got my glasses.’
She had to read it through twice before its full significance dawned on him, and he was silent so long that his wife felt anxious. ‘Archie?’ As he lifted his head she was relieved to see him smiling, his eyes clearer and brighter than they had been a moment before.
‘I’ll be able to die in the house I was born in,’ he said, happily. ‘It’s what I’ve aye hoped for, and not many have the good fortune to do that.’ The worry and conflict of the past long hours were gone from his face, and his shoulders lifted as they turned towards the village. ‘We’ll just get back home now, lass.’
A lump in her throat and tears in her eyes, Alice painfully matched her steps to his, but in a couple of minutes, he stopped and looked back at the arches. ‘They didna help me,’ he said, simply.
‘I ken, Archie, I ken. Just forget about it.’
He put his arm round her ample waist, for the first time in many years. ‘It’s you that never lets me down, lass.’
Alice smiled at him fondly. ‘Ach, you’re just a great, soft lump.’
***
Word count 3647
Written in July 1986 and rejected by People’s Friend.
The Christmas Baby
‘Why’s your tummy so fat, Mummy?’
Three-year-old Iain poked his podgy finger into his mother’s pregnant body and looked up into her face, his eyes demanding an instant, truthful answer.
Duplicity Page 8
