by Laura Marney
‘But it looks awful sore. Och you’re a brave soldier Trixie so you are! And do you know who you put me in mind of?’
I shook my scabby misshapen head.
‘That, what do you call him,’ she waved her hands in front of her face, ‘him in the church, Och what’s his name?’
I would have liked to be able to help her out but I didn’t know which particular cleric she meant. There was that guy who’d been the bishop’s envoy and ended up in captivity for years, he was pretty brave, but as far as I knew he wasn’t actually in the church himself. She might mean Nelson Mandela but he wasn’t a churchman either. It could be Joan of Arc but she was a woman. I tried to think of a famously stoic member of the clergy.
‘Och,’ Jenny clicked her fingers and smiled, ‘I know it now. Quasimodo!’
*
The midgie bites had a bad effect on me. I didn’t want to go over the door. It would be just like the thing for me to bump into Jackie when I had a face like a pizza. Apart from brief sorties down to Jenny’s when I knew the shop would be quiet, the plukes made me a virtual prisoner. Even mad Polly was getting out more than me. The last few mornings she’d taken the girls out to meet the school bus.
Rebecca was beside herself with excitement, Mummy was having a Imhag meeting, and everyone would bring biscuits. It was a rule. She and Michaela would feast on KitKats for a week. But even better than that, Rebecca and her sister were being shipped off to Ailsa’s for a sleepover. Everyone had a social life, except me.
Rebecca was on at me to go to her mum’s meeting but I demurred. Just my luck, I thought, the one time anything happens around here and I’m not fit to be seen in public. I watched the Imhaggers arrive. Three cars drew up: a Volvo, a Lexus and a wee Audi sports car. Was it just posh women who went mad? Only posh women joined awareness groups, visiting each other’s houses, being aware. When it had all gone quiet outside I took Bouncer out for his evening wee.
I supposed I could have gone in but I had three good reasons: One, I wasn’t looking my best and I was a firm believer in first impressions. Two, the only biscuits I had were half a packet of soggy ginger snaps left over from when the boys were here, and three, what was I going to say? ‘Hello my name’s Trixie and I’m aff ma heid.’ It wasn’t even true. I was a fraud. From outside I could only hear the faint sound of murmuring with the occasional short blast of one person’s manic laugh. That was reason number four.
I remembered from drug training that it was inadvisable to take drink with antihistamines. It could potentiate the effects of the alcohol. One glass of wine and I’d be fleeing. The way things were going, that would be a result.
*
I awoke the next morning to a snuffling sound at the end of the bed. Through an antihistamine haze I was aware that Bouncer was holding a dirty white fluffy thing in his mouth. He was bringing me a gift. The full horror of the situation became apparent when I realised that it was the body of Smidgy Rabbit.
The rabbit’s legs were sticking up in the air and his mud-spattered fur was dirtying the duvet. Fucking hell, what was I going to do? How the hell did Bouncer get into Smidgy’s cage? Bouncer could be very expressive when he wanted to be. He managed to look surprised and deeply wounded when I screamed at him. He took the huff, slinking out of the room, leaving me holding the rabbit.
After I chained Bouncer in the kitchen I made every effort to revive Smidgy. I shook him, I poured whisky down his throat, I blew into his slack mouth. I pulled the wires out the toaster and tried defibrillating him. Nothing worked. After my big slip up with Bouncer I had to be sure that Smidgy was definitely one hundred per cent dead. No pulse, no breathing, no condensation on the mirror. Nothing.
Just in case he really was alive but just shy – I knew rabbits were shy, I’d seen Watership Down – I put him in front of the fire and waited in the kitchen while Bouncer farted and whined. Three quarters of an hour later Smidgy’s body had grown a lot bigger. The heat was causing some kind of chemical reaction, and still he hadn’t moved. I had to face the facts, Smidgy wasn’t coming back.
Next door’s car was gone and the house was quiet so they must have gone to pick up the girls from the sleepover. I could just stick him back in the hutch, make it look like he’d died of natural causes. Roger would be suspicious but he couldn’t prove anything. I examined Smidgy for bites but although he was filthy, there wasn’t a mark on him. That idiot Bouncer must have dragged him through the dirt. To stand any chance of getting away with it I had to clean him up.
Most of the dirt I managed to brush off with my fingers but his fur was grubby so I gave him a quick shampoo. I set the hairdryer to cold, I didn’t want Smidgy’s body getting any bigger, there was always the danger that he might explode. Laying him across my knee I gently fluffed up his fur. He scrubbed up lovely. On the pretext of hanging out a washing, I sneaked Smidgy back into the hutch. Apart from being a bit swollen, he just looked as if he was sleeping.
It would look more suspicious if I wasn’t at home when they found him so I stayed where I was. It wasn’t long before I heard the kids wailing and howling in the garden. I had to have a wee steadier before I could face them, particularly Rebecca, but I stuck to vodka so they wouldn’t smell it. Pretending to bring in the washing, I stuck my head over the fence.
‘Morning! Everything all right?’
‘No. Actually it isn’t,’ said Roger, his face tripping him.
‘Oh no, it’s not the rabbit, is it?’
I had to mention it because Roger was squatting at the hutch with his head in his hands.
‘Yes, it is actually Trixie. Smidgy died yesterday. We buried him yesterday afternoon. The kids were just getting over it and some sick bastard has dug him up and put him back in the hutch.’
*
Kids recover quickly. A few days later Rebecca was as right as rain. My spots were beginning to clear up so our long walks were back on. I asked her if she was okay about Smidgy.
‘Och aye,’ she said.
It was funny to hear these words through her English accent.
‘Daddy asked if we wanted another rabbit but I said no. I think it’s cruel to keep animals locked up. And anyway, I always have to clean the hutch.’
Oh well, I thought, things had turned out not so bad after all.
‘Daddy’s a bastard.’
‘Oh Rebecca, don’t swear, it’s not nice. Why is he a bastard?’
‘He says we’re not to have anymore sleepovers at Ailsa’s.’
‘Why not?’
‘And Mummy’s not to go to the Imhag meetings but she says he can’t stop her. He says he’s not having any more lunatics in his house, one is enough to cope with. Daddy says a person who would put a dead rabbit in the hutch needs locking up.’
I patted her wee thin shoulder and resolved to buy her and Michaela a present the next time I went to Inverness.
‘But the worst thing is, he won’t drive me to my guitar lesson. He says he can’t trust Mummy alone in the house and he won’t leave Michaela.’
‘Oh but Rebecca, you can’t miss your lesson. Tell Daddy I’ll look after Michaela.’
‘I already asked him but he said no. I don’t think Daddy likes you Trixie. He doesn’t like anybody. He’s a bastard. He makes Mummy cry.’
‘Okay, okay. Look, why don’t I take you to the guitar lesson? Would he be all right with that?’
‘Could we go in your car? Can Bouncer come too?’
Roger might have been a bastard and he definitely didn’t like me, but even he didn’t want Rebecca to miss her guitar lesson. He agreed that I would take her. Guitar lessons were with a man who lived about four miles the other side of the village. When I dropped her off Rebecca insisted that I bring Bouncer in to meet everybody. Her pal Ailsa was there along with some other kids from school. Jan, the guitar teacher was very friendly. He didn’t seem to mind that the lesson was being disrupted by a dog bouncing all over the giggling kids and their oversized guitars.
Jan, pronounce
d Yan apparently, wasn’t a local. He had a Dutch accent. When I managed to get Bouncer under control Jan said I could wait for Rebecca if I wanted, but I felt daft hanging around. When I came back for her all the other kids had gone.
‘Rebecca told me you volunteered to bring her to the lesson.’
Jan was smiling at me.
‘I’m glad. She is very talented you know Trixie, a natural musician.’
I was smiling too. Jan was like me, an incomer. When he said the word glad his accent made it sound like gled, like a Glaswegian. I was gled too.
*
The exams were upon us and Steven was on the phone every night. I was forced to admit that staying with Nettie had been great for his studying. If he wasn’t studying he had to sit and listen to her boff on about the damp running down the walls or her sore ears, so swotting was infinitely preferable. Despite it, Steven was suffering a crisis of confidence.
‘Mum, I’m not going in, I’m only going to make a fool of myself in there. I won’t be able to write anything but my name.’
‘Steven. You’ll be fine. What is the worst that can happen, eh? It’s not the end of the world if you fail an exam. You’ll still have your pals and your Dad and me. And Auntie Nettie.’
‘And that’s supposed to motivate me?’
‘You know what I mean. You won’t have lost anything. If you fail you can appeal or resit or leave it alone. You have choices. You’ve done the work Son, I know you can do it. This is only exam nerves. Go in Steven, eh? Go in and give it your best shot, nobody can ask any more of you than that. We love you no matter what.’
All day my arse was knitting socks, I couldn’t sit down, couldn’t go out in case something happened and he phoned. Eventually the phone rang.
‘A total scoosh case. I checked my answers with everybody when we came out and I reckon I’ve done okay.’
‘Oh that’s great Steven, well done Son, I was sure you’d do well.’
‘Yeah, so was I.’
This was pretty much the pattern, or the pattren, for the rest of the exams: a tense insecure run-up followed by Steven bumming about how well he thought he’d done. The boy was becoming a man.
Chapter 19
I had a bit of bad news. Walter was getting better, they were letting him out of hospital. I supposed this was good, Walter was on the mend, but also bad, I’d have to give back the gardening tools and furniture. And Bouncer.
I had a phone call from Jenny. This was surprising, she’d never called before; I had no idea she had my number. Would I come with her to the hospital to pick up Walter? I readily agreed, it would be a wee day out of the village for a change. She had keys for Walter’s house, she was going to get the place cleaned up and ready for him. I said I’d help. I’d only ever peeked in the back windows of Walter’s house, this way I’d be able to get a good nosey inside.
Jenny was a wee dynamo, she had twenty years on me but she put me to shame the way she got stuck in to Walter’s housework. I hardly had a chance to look around. Move along there, I thought, nothing to see here, no trophies from exotic places or priceless antiques, no evidence of Walter’s scandalous dissolute life. Just an old man’s house with worn-out carpets and chairs. Was my life so empty these days that I had to get vicarious thrills from snooping in a sick pensioner’s house? Instead of this respectable shabbiness, would I have been tickled to find something seedy? I was ashamed of myself and, alongside Jenny, scrubbed Walter’s house from top to bottom.
Walter looked half-dead when we picked him up at the hospital. He was quiet and humble but, despite his long stay in hospital, Walter seemed uncomfortable accepting help. Bouncer, recognising Walter right away, tried to jump on him and had to be restrained. He was far too eager for my liking with a lot of indecorous panting and whining. Walter tried to match the dog’s enthusiasm but he looked scared.
Not usually one to cast things up, I couldn’t help but think about everything I’d done for that dog. All the walks and the biscuits and the letting him up on the couch, even covering for him when he exhumed Smidgy. Maybe this was the real Bouncer I was seeing. Maybe he’d always felt this way about me, desperate to get away but humouring me for fear I’d try to bash his brains out again. It was just as well he couldn’t talk. As Bouncer lunged forward again trying to lick Walter’s face, I gave his lead a good tug. Trying to dub me in, his yelp was a wild exaggeration. A drama queen and a grass.
Matron Jenny took charge right away. She made Walter comfortable in the back seat and got in beside him. As unpaid taxi driver, I was stuck with Bouncer in the front with me.
‘Now Trixie, we’re in no hurry home. Walter hasn’t been out for a while so let’s just enjoy the countryside. None of your Grand Pricks stunts on the way back now.’
It was true I’d driven fast on the way there, but it was Jenny who’d nagged me to step on it.
She treated Walter like a china doll. They muttered away in their sing-song Highland accent and I could hardly make out a word. Jenny had draped a white hospital blanket around Walter’s shoulders. The old guy was away with it, maybe doped with pain killers or just resigned to the ignominy. He had the sort of beneficent expression I’d seen on pictures of the Pope. From my rear view mirror, with his white hair and almost transparent skin, Walter looked like an angel. I saw Jenny lift his hand and kiss it. She kissed his palm. Not in a kiss-it-better type of way. In a slow sad way. And then she laid her head down, her face cradled in the palm of his hand. As if she was a wee girl. It was nearly an hour before she spoke to me again.
‘Trixie, would you mind making a wee detour on our way home?’
‘Not at all, just let me know where you want to go. You’ve picked a fantastic day to get out of hospital, Walter.’
Walter gave me a papal nod and smiled, keeping his energy and conversation for Jenny.
Unlike my last excursion, the sky was clear and the views were amazing. Jenny directed me to take a wee side road that didn’t seem to lead anywhere. There was nothing signposted, it was a road to nowhere. The single track wound up and over a few hills before petering out at the edge of a wee lochan. I thought we must have come the wrong way but Jenny was pleased when we stopped.
‘Oh look, there’s the boathouse! See? I told you!’
‘Many nights I dreamed of here,’ said Walter.
It was a simple thing to say. He said the words quietly, privately, like a prayer. This place, which to me was a miserable boggy midge-ridden lochside, was dreamed of. Many nights I dreamed of here. I don’t know if it was his accent or the sadness in his voice but it sounded like poetry. We all sat in silence, even Bouncer, for what seemed like a long time.
When we arrived at his house and brought in his stuff, Walter tottered from room to room. Jenny wanted to go with him but he refused. As he passed through the rooms picking up ornaments, he smiled. Each time he returned to the kitchen where Jenny and I were sorting out the lunch, Walter looked better. With every room he got taller, straighter, had more colour in his cheeks. This was a different man from the one who was led out of hospital with a blanket round his shoulders.
Not until Walter had concluded his tour of inspection did I let Bouncer off the lead. He bounced and romped from room to room like he owned the place, sniffing everything. As we ate lunch at the kitchen table Bouncer, the traitor, sat at Walter’s feet. I was amazed at the healthy appetite Walter displayed. Back in his own environment, his recovery appeared remarkable. After a hearty lunch of mince and doughballs Walter cheerfully excused himself and went to the toilet.
‘That mince was lovely but if you’ll excuse me ladies, nature calls.’
He was gone a long time.
‘D’you think he’s okay in there? He’s been away a helluva long time.’
‘It’s his condition,’ Jenny whispered, ‘for God’s sake don’t mention it when he comes back.’
What did she take me for? As if I would say, Just been for a shite then have you Walter? And how are your diseased old innards? While he
was away Jenny brought up the subject I had been dreading, that of Bouncer.
‘Walter looks grand but that will wear off, he’ll tire quickly. He’s to take it easy. You didn’t know him then but at one time Walter was a big strong man. You can see for yourself how weak he is, Bouncer will knock Walter down like a skittle if he jumps on him. And as for walking the dog, he’s not fit.’
I carried on cutting my doughball, saying nothing.
‘Oh go on now Trixie. It’ll only be for another few weeks until Walter gets back on his feet. You can keep the gardening stuff for now if you want. He’ll not be doing much in the way of gardening for the next wee while. I’ll get Jackie to come up and keep the place in trim.’
Mid-doughball chew, I drew her a dirty look. She knew what it was about. She’d ask Jackie for Walter but she wouldn’t ask him for me.
‘Och come on, you’re a fit and healthy young woman. It’s done you the world of good doing your own garden and you know it. And having the dog. I didn’t like to say, but what a difference it’s made to your figure.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Toned your muscles, lifted your bum, that’s what I mean. Look at you! It’s half way up your back!’
If she’d left it at that I would have been quite chuffed, but, typical Jenny, she didn’t.
‘Not that I was looking, I’m not that way inclined, but when you first came to Inverfaughie your arse was sweeping the ground. Sorry, och, I never say the right thing but Trixie, please. Please please please will you take the dog?’
‘I will, for Walter’s sake.’
‘Och Trixie you’re good-hearted, I don’t care what anybody says.’
*
‘How’s Trix?’
‘Hey, don’t get cheeky, it’s Mum to you, pal. So, tell me about the job. CEO is it?’
‘JWO actually, Junior Warehouse Operative, and don’t knock it, it’s good money, 50p more than the minimum wage.’
