‘You should sleep now,’ Eleanor said, getting up. Tomorrow, we really must try to get hold of David again. Maybe I could find his partner. He had an unusual sort of name – what was it?’
‘So strange, the whole thing,’ Marion murmured, settling her pillows, lying down. She seemed young and childlike, her dark hair, her pale face, against the white pillows. Eleanor had a lurch of fear for her. I don’t have a brother now. All those years, I believed I had a brother. She could not grasp this, that David was no longer their brother. The idea made her want to cling to Marion even more.
Eleanor lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. Once, falling into a floating half-consciousness, she thought she heard a baby cry, and started awake again. It was only an owl, hooting in the trees. As she lay listening to it, there came into her mind a memory of the uproar in the night when Marion had fled to their parents’ room shrieking about a ghost, a baby crying. Afterwards, she and Marion had cuddled up together in the same bed. Were they still sharing a room then – or had one crept along to be with the other? It must have been me, Eleanor thought drowsily, I was always the scaredy-cat, needing her. Marion’s hair, tickling her face like feathers, the softness of her Winceyette pyjamas, their legs tangled together in the narrow bed.
What did she look like, the lady?
A bit like Auntie Alice.
Maybe it was a dream.
The crying wasn ‘t. I heard the crying.
Where did the ghost come from, with her baby in her arms? I saw her too, Eleanor thought, in the garden at Pitcairn, years later. I thought it was the tinker woman, who died in the fire, clinging to her baby. A bit like Auntie Alice.
Eleanor turned over, and fell into sleep again, dreaming of Gavin, and that she was going to have his baby after all. When she woke, still believing this, her face was wet with tears. This dream had been so clear and present to her that she was scarcely aware now of having wakened in the night. Something had come to her then, some new idea, but she could not have said what it was.
24
Marion and Eleanor drove home next day, after calling in to see Mamie. She looked more tired than she had the evening before.
‘They’ve had me on two sticks walking the length of that corridor,’ she told them, and they were not sure if she was boasting or complaining. She was to be in hospital until the end of the week, then at a convalescent home on Deeside. She was looking forward to that: she had heard the food was good, and there was a visiting hairdresser, so she would get her hair set.
‘Have you got hold of David?’ she kept asking them. ‘He’ll want to come and see the house.’ She switched between this and a story the nurse had told her. ‘She’s to be engaged at Christmas. “Why wait?” I says to her. “What have you to wait for at your age?”’
Marion and Eleanor looked at each other. What should they ask, if anything? It seemed more difficult, Mamie less approachable. Then she switched track again.
‘Well, did you speak to your father?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. She hesitated, and Marion stepped in.
‘Aunt Mamie, did you meet him, this Eric – David’s father?’
Mamie narrowed her eyes, thinking back. ‘Aye, I did,’ she nodded. ‘But that was lang afore Alice was in trouble. By the time I got up to Aberdeen, he’d made himself scarce. But I’d been in Aberdeen a few months back, and we were having our lunch in Esslemont and Mackintosh. They had a nice restaurant, very reasonable.’
However forgetful she was now, Marion knew Mamie would be able to recall the whole menu, and was likely to describe it in detail. She tried to head her off. ‘Did you see him in the office then? What was he like?’
‘No, no, he came up to us in the restaurant. We were just finishing our first course – steak and kidney pie, I think. Alice just had the Welsh Rarebit, she never ate much in the middle of the day. Anyway, up he comes, and Alice has no choice but to introduce him to me. But you could see she didn’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
‘Och, she was like that. Close.’
‘Maybe there was something going on even then?’ Eleanor asked.
Mamie shook her head. ‘I dinna think it. He was a good-looking man, I’ll grant you that.’
‘Tidy,’ Eleanor supplied. ‘That’s Claire’s word.’
‘Oh well, he was in a shirt and tie,’ Mamie said, missing this. ‘Everybody was smart in an office in those days. Not like the young ones now in their jeans.’
‘Aunt Mamie,’ Marion asked, ‘is David like him?’
‘Oh my, yes. Just as well he left the area. He couldn’t have made out Davy wasn’t his son if he’d stayed.’ She paused. ‘Oh, he was a waster. A rogue. He was wicked to Alice. A decent woman, he should have kent better.’ Mamie was red with indignation, as if the years between had vanished and the old wrongs were fresh as ever.
‘I know he went off with money, Dad told us. But he must have had some good qualities,’ Marion persisted.
‘He was a charmer,’ Mamie said. ‘That’s what he was.’
‘Not bad though?’ Eleanor asked, knowing what Marion was trying to find out. ‘A rogue, like you said, and probably scared off when she was pregnant, but not really a wicked person.’
Mamie’s gaze had wandered beyond them, down the length of the ward. She touched Eleanor’s arm. ‘There. That’s her.’
‘Who?’
‘The wee nurse I telt you about. Ask to see her ring – it’s awful bonny. She’s got it on a chain round her neck while she’s at work.’
Eleanor and Marion looked at each other. Mamie leaned back with a sigh.
‘Ach, I’m fushionless the day. I’ll be glad to get out of here. Did I tell you they’re putting me out to Deeside? I’ll get my hair done, that’s a blessing.’
‘That’s good,’ Marion said, rising from her chair. ‘You’ll be more rested there. We’d better leave you in peace.’
‘Your dad will be wondering where you’ve got to.’
‘No, we’re going home now, Aunt Mamie.’
In turn, the sisters kissed Mamie’s soft cheek, left her lying with her eyes shut.
‘She’s not so great today,’ Marion said as they left.
‘No wonder – it’s been a shock.’
The operation or all the secrets coming out at last?’
‘Both.’
They did not talk much for the first part of the journey. It was as if they had reached a barrier that could not be taken down until they had seen David. They were weary of speculation, and felt the hollowness that comes with truth.
‘All these lies,’ Eleanor said. ‘Over and over, for years and years.’
‘Oh,’ Marion sighed, ‘let’s talk about something else.’
At this, they both fell silent. Then Eleanor had to stop for traffic lights set up at roadworks, and the silence became too much for Marion.
‘What about Gavin?’ she asked. ‘He’s home just now, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ The lights changed; the car moved on.
‘Are you seeing him tonight, then?’
‘He’s getting a job in Aberdeen,’ Eleanor said abruptly.
‘Oh! Oh, I see. When?’
‘Six months’ time.’
‘Right.’ Another pause. ‘So … what made him decide on that? Did his firm move him or something?’
‘He’s fed up going offshore.’ Eleanor glanced sideways at Marion. ‘But he’s not abandoning me or anything. He wants me to go with him.’
‘Aberdeen?’
‘I know. I mean, it’s impossible. I can’t move down there.’
‘Why not? Not that I want you to go,’ Marion added hastily. ‘Of course not.’
‘Oh come on, Marion, I couldn’t take Claire away. She’s got standard grades next year, and she’d hate it anyway, a city, after all the freedom she’s had here.’
‘She might be quite grateful to you, when she’s seventeen and wants to go clubbing.’
‘Whatever – I can’t go off and
leave you.’
‘Oh, Eleanor.’ Marion was dismayed. ‘You can’t live your life round my illness. I’ll be all right soon anyway, and I’ve got Fergus and the kids. You need to have a life of your own.’
‘Look,’ Eleanor said through gritted teeth, clenching the wheel, ‘I want to stay here. It’s my home.’
She is angry, Marion thought. What have I said?
‘Eleanor.’ She touched her sister’s arm, stiff with tension. ‘Look, it’s all right. I want you to do whatever will make you happy. I don’t want to be putting any pressure on. You’ve been so good to me these last horrible months. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
Silence. Eleanor’s fingers unclenched, the knuckles no longer white. How difficult it all is, Marion thought. We have lost our brother; now we are frightened of losing each other. There was more than one way for such a loss to happen.
They stopped at Baxter’s to eat, shortly after two. Here, in the quiet restaurant with its wooden tables and smells of tinned game soup and baking pancakes, they lapsed with relief into one of their ordinary conversations. They talked about their children. Briefly, there might have been nothing else for them to discuss, no views to exchange except those they had aired a dozen times before, scarcely listening to each other, content. The rest of the journey, after this, did not seem so bad.
Eleanor took Marion home, then went to collect Claire from Sarah’s house.
‘Come in,’ Andrea said. ‘I’ve had an awful day clearing out the loft, so I could do with a cup of tea. Would you like one? How was your aunt?’
Eleanor had meant to go straight home and see Gavin as soon as she could, for an hour or so at least, before he went out with his friend in the evening. Now Andrea’s welcome and the thought of the sunny conservatory at the back of the house, where they could sit and talk about ordinary things, were all at once irresistible.
‘You mustn’t run after him, that’s the one bit of advice I’ll give you,’ Marion had said, and because they were comfortable again by the time she offered this, Eleanor had not resented it.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Andrea. ‘I’d love that.’
What Eleanor longed to tell Andrea, of course, were the things she had learned in the last two days. What a fertile source of conversation (and gossip) for months to come. It was no good, she could not say anything. They talked instead about their daughters, about the summer holidays.
‘I think I might actually take a proper holiday this year,’ Eleanor said, thinking of this just as the words came out. ‘My aunt left me some money. I could take Claire somewhere exotic.’ She laughed. ‘Only trouble is, she’d want half her class with her as well.’
‘Oh, they can’t live without their pals,’ Andrea said easily.
The late afternoon sun shone warmly through glass. Andrea had opened the door and several windows, but they both grew lazy with the heat, reluctant to move. Eventually, Eleanor stirred herself, and Andrea went to call Claire.
‘I know I’ve only been away a couple of days,’ Eleanor said as they drove back down the lane to the cottage, ‘but for some reason, it feels like weeks.’ She knew the reason, of course, but could not tell Claire yet. She and Marion had discussed telling their children. Should they do it at all, and if so, when?
‘I will speak to Fergus,’ Marion had said in the end. ‘He’s good at helping me sort things out.’
As they drew up at the cottage, Gavin appeared at his front door and waved. He came straight across, before Eleanor had even emerged from the car.
‘Hi,’ she said, pleased to see him, reassured. He must have been looking out for her. He took her aside as Claire bent to fuss with Jim and Edie’s cat.
‘Eleanor.’ He held her arm, meaning to tell her something without Claire hearing.
‘How are you?’ She would talk to him about David, she thought. If Marion could ask Fergus, surely she could speak to Gavin?
‘Your brother’s here.’
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t sure at first, but Edie recognised him. He was banging at your door, shouting your name.’
‘David? When was this?’
‘Last night. He turned up about … oh God, ten o’clock? I heard the shouting and came out. Edie was peering round her curtains. When she saw me she came out too. Then she tells me it’s your brother.’
‘But where is he now?’
‘I gave him the spare key. I hope that’s OK. Then I got him in. I’d have offered him a drink, but to tell you the truth, he’d had a bucketful already.’
‘He’s still here then?’
‘I was just thinking I’d go in again, see how he’s doing, when I saw your car.’
‘How had he got here?’
‘I’ve no idea. Train, maybe? Anyway, he seems to have got as far as Dingwall, gone to the pub, come out guttered after a couple of hours, headed out the Strathpeffer road. I don’t know – he could have hitched, or maybe just walked, though the shape he was in …’
Eleanor started for her door. ‘I’d better go and see him.’ She hesitated. ‘Sorry, you’re going out tonight, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but I won’t be late. Call me if you want. Or I’ll give you a knock when I get back. Check you’re OK.’
‘Gavin, you said he was drunk. But have you seen him today? Is he all right?’
‘Sure. I went in and made him some coffee and toast this morning. He’s all right, apart from his face, of course. And there must be other bruises; he’s stiffened up a bit today.’
‘His face?’
‘Can I go in?’ Claire asked. ‘Where’s the key, Mum?’
‘Just a minute – hang on.’
Gavin shook his head, reluctant to say more with Claire listening, hopping with impatience. The cat was stretched out on the path, and they stepped over it to reach the front door. Distracted, Eleanor said, ‘Has he had an accident or something?’
‘You could call it that.’ He nodded at Claire. ‘Hi, have a good time at Sarah’s? The two of you hit the high spots last night?’
Claire looked at him coldly. ‘We had homework,’ she said. ‘It was a school night.’
‘Oops!’ He grimaced, then grinned at both of them, squeezing Eleanor’s arm. ‘I’ll see you later. Here—’ He picked up her bag and opening the front door, put it in the hall. Then he went back to his own house. Eleanor became aware that Edie was at her window, signalling wildly.
‘Claire, hang on. I think Edie wants to speak to us.’
Claire was on her way indoors already, but in a moment, she was back, her face puzzled, white. ‘Mum – Uncle David’s on the sofa and his face is all swollen and purple. He looks awful, his mouth has a big cut and – is that what Gavin was telling you?’
Edie was at her door now, head bobbing with anxiety.
‘It’s all right,’ Eleanor reassured her. ‘Gavin’s told me. I’m sorry David disturbed you.’
‘Dear, dear, poor laddie, I hope they catch whoever it was. Wicked, to do such a thing. It must have been a big fellow, to go for your brother, or maybe it was a few of them, eh? He’s tall, your brother, isn’t he? I says to Jim, “They’re a tall family, look at her dad, but of course Marion’s not so tall” …’
Eleanor broke in, afraid this might go on for an hour or so. ‘Sorry, Edie, I’d better go and see him.’
‘Oh yes, yes, I’ll put a wee drop of soup through later for you.’ She hurried indoors.
‘Oh God,’ Eleanor said, ‘what a time we’re having. What next?’
‘Why, what else has happened?’ Claire was following her into the living-room.
David had been asleep stretched out on the sofa, but Claire’s appearance must have disturbed him. He was sitting up, easing his legs over so that he could put his feet on the floor. ‘Eleanor,’ he said. ‘Thank God.’ His voice was thick, the words slurred.
Since she had seen him last, the world had shifted. He was not her brother, but he was not rootless and impoverished either. He ha
d money and a house. This new knowledge had removed him from her. This was what she had been thinking all the way home, whenever she and Marion had fallen silent. And yet now, as he came towards her, all she felt was shock, pity, disbelief. His face!
‘Walked into a door,’ he said, trying to smile, but not managing. To smile, to talk, hurt too much. The blackened eye half-shut, the blood-crusted cut on his lip, the swollen cheek and rising purple bruises – they were so bad, his face was altogether changed.
‘Don’t hug me,’ he mumbled, as Eleanor put out her arms. ‘Sorry, it’s just I think a couple of ribs might be broken.’
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the doctor. Or we’ll go to Casualty. This is awful – what happened?’
‘No, no doctors. No hospital. I’ll be all right. Really. Bas’lly I jus’ want to sleep.’
‘I’ll get Fergus. What am I thinking about – Fergus will come.’
‘No!’ He put his hand to his face. ‘Oh God. Look, it’ll get better … I only need a bit of time. I lost a tooth, but it’s at the back. Had a huge filling anyway. Taste of blood in my mouth. But that’s the worst of it. They don’t strap up ribs now.’ He spoke all of this slowly, finding it hard to get the words out. Then he caught sight of Claire, hovering in the doorway, wide-eyed, and tried to smile at her, raised a hand instead. ‘Hi.’
A little later, Edie brought the promised soup, liquidised. David drank it through a wide straw cut in half that Claire found in the kitchen drawer, left over from one of her parties, a long time ago. Edie went up in Eleanor’s estimation. She had realised he would not be able to eat.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ Eleanor said, showing Edie out, almost tearful with gratitude, too shocked to keep calm any more.
Edie patted her arm. ‘Now, now, he’ll be a lot better in the morning. You get the doctor to come and take a look. Dr Munro will come, eh?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, too weary to explain anything. ‘Goodnight, Edie, thank you.’
‘No trouble, no trouble. You just give me a knock if you need anything else. A wee drop brandy, if you have such a thing, give him that.’
Eleanor knew better than to give David brandy. She and Claire made up the sofa bed, and David got into it when he had had as much of the soup as he could manage. Eleanor helped him take his shoes and jersey off. He could not bend easily, or raise his arms above his head. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he murmured each time she did something for him. ‘What it is to have sisters. Should have kept away from all other women, eh?’
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