by Laura Marney
‘Och well, it’s not very exotic.’
‘Oh you must have missed the exotica tent on the way in. It’s just next to the Boy’s Brigade tombola.’
The banter broke the ice and we both relaxed.
‘Jackie, I’ll need to head back, I’ve left Bouncer and he’s entered for the dog show which is about to start but can I catch you later, maybe in the beer tent?’
‘Sorry Trixie, I’m…’
Roger and Polly appeared at our side.
‘Well done Trixie, your roses look terrific!’
‘Thanks Roger.’
There was a moment’s silence while Roger and Polly eyed Jackie. Where were my manners?
‘Polly, Roger, can I introduce you to my…’
I instantaneously grasped the reason for the terror that passed across Jackie’s face. He didn’t want me to tell them he was my brother. But he was my brother. I wanted Roger and Polly to know that I had family. Most of all I wanted Jackie to, if not be proud, then at least acknowledge me.
‘…gardener,’ I said.
‘Oh, so you’re the chap responsible for these lovely flowers then?’ Roger joked.
‘No, it was all Trixie’s work,’ said Jackie.
He looked relieved and grateful and sorry and embarrassed, all at the same time. Roger looked confused. Polly, dishevelled and with a far away look in her eyes, looked like she couldn’t care less.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to get back, the dog show’s about to start,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Roger with a forced jollity, ‘we’ll come and watch you putting Bouncer through his paces, that should be fun.’
‘Nice to see you Trixie,’ said Jackie.
I shot him a filthy look and walked away leaving Roger trying to hurry along the listless Polly.
*
I got back to the stall to discover Jan missing, Ailsa in floods of tears and Rebecca with her arm around her.
‘What is it? What’s wrong? Where’s Jan?’
For one horrible moment I thought she’d been poisoned by my iced bathroom cleaner bleach sponge. I saw myself before the Procurator Fiscal with the half chewed cake, recovered at autopsy from Ailsa’s stomach, as exhibit number one.
‘He’s gone to get her mum. Ailsa’s upset. She made a mistake playing her guitar piece.’
Rebecca stage whispered this to me which was totally pointless as Ailsa could hear every word she said.
‘I got mixed up,’ Ailsa said between heaving sobs, ‘I stopped and I couldn’t start again, I was looking at the music but I couldn’t read it. I was rubbish!’
She started to wail again. Bouncer came and sat at her side, he didn’t like it when anyone cried but he never knew what to do.
‘You were not rubbish! You were good,’ said Rebecca.
‘I’m sure you were fine Ailsa.’
Rebecca was such a nice wee girl, sometimes she put me to shame. Just then Jan returned with Ailsa’s mum. As she was being led away Rebecca called after her.
‘Ailsa! You’ve forgotten your guitar!’
Not only had Ailsa forgotten her guitar, she’d forgotten how old she was as she threw a tantrum worthy of a two year old.
‘I don’t want it. I hate that stinking guitar!’
Once she was out of sight Rebecca shrugged.
‘She was rubbish, actually.’
‘But that was very kind of you not to tell her, you’re a good girl Rebecca. Michaela and your Mum and Dad are here. They’re coming to watch Bouncer in the dog show.’
‘Oh, Trixie, we better hurry! It’s five past, it’s already started. Jan, can we go now? The dog show’s started.’
‘Yes of course, go on girls. Good luck Trixie, and good luck to you too Bouncer.’
‘Jan, I wouldn’t put any money on Bouncer winning.’
Chapter 28
Andy Robertson, the deejay from Inverfaughie FM was commentating on the action through a scratchy sounding megaphone speaker system. Locally Andy was a celebrity and he drew a big crowd. To start with, he announced the rules. Then as each dog appeared, he introduced them by name with a brief description and CV. As they progressed through the contest he provided a running commentary.
There was an assault course, problem solving and an obedience test. It was The Krypton Factor for dogs. They came from everywhere, from the islands and from John O’Groats to Inverness. Dogs of every shape, size and breed had gathered. Every competitor had to slalom across the field, jump a fence, walk along a wall and crawl under a net. They had to manoeuvre a route through a purpose built chicken wire maze. Each was required to execute commands without question, to sit and stay and walk; to resist temptations such as sausages placed as booby traps for the ingenuous or poorly trained. Bouncer was of course rubbish.
Not entirely rubbish, he was not bad at the physical stuff.
‘Bouncer is a two year old of unspecified breed whose hobbies include long walks, personal grooming and bouncing up and down, it says here,’ Andy Robertson announced.
He was making a good round until I spotted Jenny and Walter in the crowd and made the mistake of waving to them. It may have been my fault. Bouncer might have thought I was telling him to go to Walter. He dashed through the throng knocking over two wee boys who were sitting at the front on the grass. That raised a laugh from the crowd at least and might have got him marks for charm. But when I tried to get him to complete the circuit he was all over the place. He wouldn’t sit, then he wouldn’t stay. He lifted the sausage in his mouth and then put it down again.
‘Ah yes, as you see ladies and gentlemen, Bouncer picked it up but he didn’t inhale,’ said the radio wag.
Despite his shambolic performance Bouncer got a good round of applause when he finished. Walter was delighted anyway.
‘He’s a good boy!’ Walter said triumphantly.
As usual Bouncer was all over Walter like a rash. Jenny had to keep the dog at bay for fear that he would knock Walter off his feet.
‘I’ve shut up shop for a couple of hours, the village is deserted anyway and Walter hasn’t been out for ages. It’s doing him the world of good to get out and see people,’ Jenny said while Walter was busy canoodling with Bouncer.
‘Now Trixie,’ said Walter. He beckoned me closer to him, ‘I want to suggest something and I hope you’ll be agreeable.’
‘It depends what it is Walter,’ I said with a cheeky grin but my stomach was churning. This was it, he was well enough now to take the dog back. I was going to have give Bouncer back. I was going to be alone, bereft, dogless.
‘Jenny tells me that you and Bouncer get on well enough. Is that right?’
‘Och he’s all right.’
‘You’ve been good to him and I’m very grateful. Och it’s a sore thing to give up an animal, so it is.’
Yes, I was discovering, it was a sore thing, a very sore thing.
‘But,’ he continued, ‘if you want to keep Bouncer I’ll put up no objections. Anyone can see the dog loves you.’
‘Oh Walter, are you sure about this?’
‘Yes he’s sure,’ Jenny interjected.
Suddenly and perversely I wasn’t sure if I wanted him. He walked the feet off me every day and cost me plenty in dog food. It would be nice to have a lie-in occasionally; it would be great not have to wash his bowl, scrubbing my nail on the chunks of horsemeat hardened and stuck to the sides; not to have to sit and smell his poisonous farts of an evening, or stand outside in the cold watching him quiver and squeeze out a turd that I, like a dictator’s lowliest slave, had to pick up and put in a poly-bag. Never again, through the thin poly-bag membrane, would I be forced to feel the heat of Bouncer’s jobbies.
‘Now if you don’t want him I understand,’ said Walter.
Bouncer was sitting at our feet, looking up at us, too daft to understand what was going on.
‘Oh go on then, I’ll take him. I suppose I’ve got used to him now.’
Bouncer looked up at me with shining eyes and offered me a paw
.
‘Yeah yeah, why couldn’t you have done that when you were supposed to? The dog show finished ages ago.’
I scratched him and whispered into his neck fur so’s Walter wouldn’t hear.
‘You stinking flea bag moron,’ I murmured tenderly.
Bouncer wheezed and wagged his tail and bounced and tried to lick my face, he was loving it.
*
Rebecca wasn’t due in the guitar competition for ages yet so she and Michaela and their school friends took Bouncer for a walk. Jan had arranged for two mums to take their turn on the stall although business was pretty slow by now, all the good stuff had gone. Jan invited me to take a wander round the stalls with him.
As we moved around the craft stalls we passed Roger and Polly a few times in the crowd. Polly looked terrible. She had lost a lot of weight and it didn’t suit her. The flesh drooped from her perfect bones, the English Rose complexion had become a prison pallor.
I was fascinated by the long jump event. There was no shortage of entrants, it seemed that all the men from the village were taking part, some of them the worst for drink. Most of them did quite short long jumps, landing arse first on the sand amidst loud cheering and great hilarity.
Jan and I stopped and bought smoked mackerel in burger buns and sat on the grass and ate them. They were absolutely wonderful. I fancied a pint from the beer tent just to wash it down but I was too shy to suggest it.
‘The cakes have been a great success. We have enough money for the minibus and tickets for the show. Now I can tell the children, they will be so excited.’
Ooops. I’d already told Rebecca. I just hoped she hadn’t told everyone else.
‘Thank you for all your help Trixie, you have been wonderful but I wonder if please I can ask you another favour?’
Uh huh, here it came. I was obviously getting too good at this baking carry on.
‘Well, you can ask,’ I said, while simultaneously thinking, but you’ll be wasting your time.
‘Calley Ali has requested the guitar group to perform at the ceilidh tonight. I must tune guitars and sort sheet music. I will need someone to supervise seating and music stands. It is their first professional engagement, the kids will be so excited. But perhaps you are tired from making all these cakes.’
‘Oh no, not at all, I’d love to help. I hadn’t planned on coming to the ceilidh but I’m happy to. D’you know Jan, in all the time I’ve lived here I’ve never set foot in the Calley.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. I have lived in Inverfaughie for four years but I have only been to the pub a few times.’
‘What brought you here Jan?’
‘You do not want to hear my very long, very sad story.’
‘I do.’ He stared at me and I met his gaze. I wasn’t just being polite, I did want to hear it.
‘I was ill when I came here. I was looking for someone but I was crazy. My girlfriend went to work one morning on the tram in Amsterdam where we lived. She died there on the tram, her heart stopped. She was healthy, just one of those things. They showed me her body but I refused to believe it. I was crazy, a nuisance, I looked for her everywhere. Everyday I saw her in the street and ran after her, but it wasn’t her.’
Oh dear, I thought, he was a bit fruit loops. Typical, the only man for a hundred miles who fancied me, was off his head.
‘She didn’t like Scotland, we visited once. She didn’t like the midges. She swore she would never go back, we used to laugh about it. When they told me she was dead I thought it was a lie. I thought she was hiding in Scotland, knowing it would be the last place I would look for her. I was crazy.’
‘It isn’t crazy to grieve, Jan.’
‘Rebecca told me that your mother died. Maybe you felt something the same?’
‘Yes, something the same.’
‘I am better now. I have accepted things, I don’t see her anymore.’
I giggled nervously, nerves made me do that, and always at the wrong time. I fought the impulse to go, oh look Jan, there she is over there! I pulled myself together and changed the subject.
‘I’ll have to go and buy my ticket for the ceilidh before they sell out.’
‘No. Of course you will not pay for a ticket. After the show when the children go home I hope you will stay and allow me to buy you drinks.’
Superb, I thought, a night out, not any old night out but Inverfaughie’s hottest ticket of the year, and better than that, on the drinks front Jan was talking plural.
‘Performers do not pay for tickets. With the guitar group you are on duty, you are with the band.’
‘Oh I like the sound of that. That makes me sound like I’m in showbusiness. And tell me this Jan, do I get a backstage pass?’
How desperate was I? Not only was a flirting with a crazy man with a dead girlfriend but I was doing it while mackerel grease ran down my chin.
‘For you Trixie, access all areas.’
And he, it seemed, was flirting back.
A wee boy came round selling raffle tickets in aid of the Mountain Rescue Volunteers.
‘Yes, I’ll take some, give me ten.’
‘They’re a pound each,’ said the wee boy as he tore off a strip and offered them to me.
Instinctively I shrunk back. But I was having such a brilliant day, the best day I’d ever had in Inverfaughie. My cakes had been a sell out success, Bouncer was now officially my dog and I had a date for the ceilidh.
‘Och to hell with poverty, give me them! I’m feeling lucky today.’
*
As we walked back to our stall Bouncer barked hello. He was with Rebecca and Michaela who were now with their mum and dad. Roger and Polly were just ahead of us. I didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know that they were bickering. Roger glanced behind and as soon as he spotted us he rushed over.
‘When on earth is Rebecca going to get her turn? We’ve had to wait around all day!’ he almost shouted at Jan.
Jan was a bit taken aback but he answered politely.
‘I’m sorry Mr Atkins. The judges have many children to test, they go as fast as they can.’
‘Yes but it says in the programme that the guitar competition is at 1pm and it’s nearly three. This is unacceptable. Can’t you have a word with someone?’
‘But I have no influence with the judges, I would not interfere. I’m sure they are doing their best.’
‘Well their best simply isn’t good enough. My wife is of a nervous disposition, she’s anxious to get home. I’m going to speak to the judges if you won’t.’
Roger stomped off and Polly trailed behind. Jan raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. I was annoyed with Roger speaking to Jan like that but he didn’t seem to mind.
‘He is an unhappy man,’ was all Jan said.
There was hardly any cakes left when we got back. Jan dispersed them to the kids and Bouncer as he packed up the stall.
‘This is good. Now we are able to go to the prizegiving.’
Roger came back out of the marquee victorious.
‘The judges have seen sense, Rebecca’s getting ready, she’s on next. She wants you to be there Trixie.’
Again Jan shrugged and said he wouldn’t come in, it might make Rebecca nervous, but he offered to stay with Bouncer.
The tent was very quiet now compared to how busy it had been earlier and it had a hot smell of canvas and flattened grass. The neat rows of folding chairs were now a bit askew but we tidied the front row and sat down. Rebecca, alone on the stage, looked tiny. The judges sat at a desk, two men and a woman, and when Rebecca was settled, the woman lifted her pencil in the air as a signal for her to start. Rebecca looked across at us and her father called out, ‘Off you go now Darling!’
The whole thing was a bit anticlimactic. It was all over in about a minute and a half. I wanted her to do it again, this time in slow motion. Now I knew how Olympic athletes must feel, training for four years to run a 100 metres in a few seconds.
She played her gu
itar piece, a piece I’d heard her play a hundred times in my kitchen. She played faster and a bit jerkier than she usually did but otherwise she played well. The Atkinses and I applauded enthusiastically, which coerced the few stragglers in the tent into clapping.
Jan and Bouncer were waiting for us when we came out.
‘You played very well Rebecca, I heard you,’ Jan said.
As soon as we emerged from the tent Polly walked off towards where Roger had parked my car.
‘I’m sorry Darling,’ Roger said, ‘I have to take Mummy home now but I promise I’ll be back for the prizegiving.’ He turned to me. ‘I wonder if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the girls until I get back, would you Trixie?’
‘Of course Roger, no bother.’
*
When at last the guitar competition was finished and results had been compiled for all the various contests, the prizegiving ceremony was announced. As everyone moved towards the main field I fell into step with Walter and Jenny. They’d had a lovely day they said, as they linked arms and laughed. I noticed how well Jenny looked, she radiated health and happiness, a beautiful looking woman.
Andy Robertson started the proceedings with a lot of jokes about locals. He was quite witty but I couldn’t fully appreciate it as I didn’t know who he was talking about. Roger who made it just on time, was alternately threatening and pleading with Michaela to be quiet and stop whining. Jan smiled at me and shrugged, he didn’t get the injokes either.
Ailsa Robertson was announced as the winner in the eight to twelve year old guitar category. Roger’s jaw dropped. Rebecca, standing between his legs threw her head back and looked up at him. I saw Roger put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders and squeeze. I had never missed Steven so much in my life. After those few stunned seconds Rebecca took it well, she managed a smile and clapped and congratulated Ailsa when she came past with the trophy. The trophy that should have been Rebecca’s. Jan also congratulated Ailsa but he couldn’t look at Rebecca.
Next were the field event prizes and I noticed more Robertsons cropping up although to be fair, I thought, the name was bound to come up more often, the town was full of them. But I was amazed when Jackie stepped up to pick up the award for Personal Best in the Long Jump.
