Scar Hill

by Alan Temperley

  Bunny took Meg into the outer kitchen for a dish of Molly’s rich milk with an egg beaten into it, and a helping of meaty chunks. Her babies, blind and helpless, spent half their time sleeping and the rest whimpering and snuffling into her belly for food. If they were to thrive she needed plenty of nourishment.

  While Meg was absent, Peter went down the hall and looked into the cardboard box. The puppies were enchanting. Very gently, feeling how fat its belly was, he picked up the black and white one and held it close to his chest. The puppy did not like it and mewed to be returned. He held it a moment longer, stroking its soft fur with the back of a finger. The action reminded him of Daisy, sound asleep in her cot upstairs, and how he had stroked her new-born cheek in just the same way. Baby girl and puppies. Births and deaths. He replaced the pup among its brothers and sisters and picked up one of the grey ones. What would Ben make of them all, he wondered.

  Leaving the cupboard door three-quarters shut, the way Meg liked it, he returned to the kitchen. On the way he paused and looked all round: at the paintings on the walls, up the well-carpeted stairs to the bedrooms, into the sitting room with its comfortable furniture. This was his home. He pinched the back of his leg to be sure it wasn’t a dream and in a moment he would wake to find himself on the run again, hungry and hunted by the police.

  46

  Four Miles on the Bike

  ‘YOU MUST KNOW Colin,’ Bunny said. ‘Colin McGregor, a lovely man. Lives down by the river. Drives the ambulance.’

  ‘He plays keeper for Clashbay Rovers.’ It was the Easter holiday. Peter sat on the sofa giving Daisy her midday bottle.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘He’s nice,’ said Peter, picturing Colin in his green paramedic uniform.

  ‘That’s what I’m saying. And so’s his wife. Used to be a staff nurse at the infirmary.’

  ‘Mairi,’ Peter said. ‘Mrs McKendrick’s daughter. ‘We stayed with her – Mrs McKendrick, I mean – when we first came up here. While Scar Hill was being done up.’

  ‘Yes, she told me.’

  ‘She was still at school,’ Peter said. ‘I was only little but she used to play with me and take me down to the beach. She was lovely.’

  ‘An absolute gem,’ Bunny agreed. ‘You’ll not meet a nicer young woman this side of Christmas. Daisy couldn’t have a more loving home. And they’re so keen for her to come.’

  Peter had known from the day he heard Valerie would not be returning that some time he would be having this conversation, or a conversation very like it. That didn’t make it any easier.

  ‘Mairi and Colin have both said – and they mean it – you’re to look in to see her any time you want. After all, you’re her uncle, the only relative she’s got.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Daisy lay in the crook of his arm, nearly asleep. Peter rocked the bottle. ‘And you’re the only relative I’ve got, aren’t you, Daisy?’

  Bunny watched them. ‘I’m really sorry, Peter. I know you want to stay together but I just don’t see how it can be done. Not if you’re going to stay in Tarridale.’ She drew a deep breath, she wanted this conversation no more than Peter. ‘I did say, right at the start, that I couldn’t be a mother to Daisy for ever. I’m fifty-one years old, and that’s just too old for a baby of what – nearly three months. By the time she’s ten I’ll be over sixty. She needs somebody younger. And Mairi’s got a little boy of two – Angus. He’s such a nice boy, he’ll be like a big brother. They’ll grow up together.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know if I should really tell you this, but Mairi can’t have any more children. That’s why they’d love to have Daisy come to stay.’

  Would Daisy be happy among strangers, Peter wondered, then realised they wouldn’t be strangers at all. Colin would be her dad. Mairi would be her mum. Angus would be her brother. Mrs McKendrick would be her gran. He would be her Uncle Peter.

  If Valerie hadn’t been killed in the accident, he thought, she’d never have stayed on in Tarridale. Daisy would have been taken off to live somewhere down the country, some flat, maybe like the place they’d stayed in when he was little. He’d only have seen her a couple of times a year. Instead of a proper dad like Colin, there would have been a succession of Valerie’s boyfriends – for why should Matt have lasted any longer than the others? When you balanced one against the other, Daisy would have a much happier and more settled life here with Mairi and Colin. It hurt to think of her going even that far, but it was only just beyond the village, he would see her all the time. When she was a bit older she could visit him at Three Pines and play with the animals.

  ‘I know it sounds selfish,’ Bunny said at length, ‘but I’ve had three children of my own and brought them up. I’ve been a good wife and helped my husband’s career. You can’t imagine the years I’ve spent sitting on committees and the magistrate’s bench. If I had a pound for every time I’ve sat at some ridiculously expensive dinner, or made polite conversation at a cocktail party and longed to be back home in a comfy sweater like this, I’d be – well, as rich as my very rich ex-husband. Now I want to do what I want. Which means living up here a million miles from London and getting on with my paintings and stories. I’m just delighted to have you here, Peter, we’re going to get on like a house on fire, but I simply can’t go all the way back to looking after babies.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Peter nodded. ‘I understand, really.’

  The next morning he took some money to buy lunch and cycled down to the village to see friends and kick a ball around. The bike was a brilliant success. He was quite good at wheelies by this time, and the ‘Hardrock’ had so many gears that riding home up the long Sandy Brae was no problem.

  Bunny had asked him to be back by four and when he arrived he found cakes on the table and Mairi and Colin McGregor visiting. Colin, a big sandy-haired man in jeans and an Aran sweater, held Daisy on his knee. She was tugging at his finger, fascinated by his wedding ring. Angus, their young son, lay on the floor and pushed his toy tractor around, making an engine noise with his lips. As Peter came into the room Daisy recognised him. Her face lit up in a smile. The others smiled too and Bunny made the tea.

  They visited a second time, although Peter missed them, and a few days later Bunny drove Daisy and himself to their house by the river. Unlike Scar Hill and Three Pines, this was a new house built of brick. They called it Teal Sands. Colin had made a neat garden with lawns and flowerbeds and a fence to keep out wandering sheep, where daffodils bloomed beneath a twisted crab apple tree. A picture window gazed across Strath Teal; another faced down-river towards the broad white beach and the ocean. Peter knew the house although he had never paid it particular attention. It would, he saw, be a beautiful place for Daisy to grow up. A room had been made ready for her with nursery wallpaper, a white cot and a chest of drawers. Mairi prepared lunch while Peter made friends with Dixie, their young cocker spaniel, and went out with Angus to give Ben and Jasper a run.

  Next afternoon they went again. Peter carried Daisy into the house, sound asleep and wrapped in a white blanket. He gave her a kiss and handed her carefully to Mairi. Colin stood behind. They came away after a few minutes, leaving Daisy in her new home.

  The time had been chosen carefully because Peter had to go straight to school, where the changing rooms had been opened for a Sunday football match. He scored one goal, prevented another and went to a friend’s house for tea. Bunny picked him up at nine o’clock.

  In the days that followed he missed Daisy keenly. Bunny advised him not to visit too soon, to give her time to settle in. When he did call ten days later, cycling down after school with the April wind making his eyes water, the house smelled of baking and he found Daisy playing with a pretty rattle with flying ribbons. Already she looked bigger and somehow different in trousers and a baby-blue top he had not seen before. When he sat beside her she smiled up and gave a little gurgle, then transferred her attention to the rattle.

  ‘She seems settled in,’ he said.

  ‘She was a bit restless th
e first day or two,’ Mairi said, ‘but she’s fine now. Just a lovely little girl. And Angus is so good to her. We were afraid he might be a bit jealous but he’s not at all. Keeps fetching her things to play with.’ She nodded. ‘Go on, pick her up. It’s only a few weeks since you were looking after her all by yourself.’

  So Peter hoisted her into his arms but Daisy struggled. She didn’t want to be picked up. Her face crumpled. He recognised the signs, in a moment she was going to start wailing. Quickly he set her down again. At once her face cleared. She shook the plastic rattle.

  The house was unusually peaceful. He looked around. ‘Where’s Angus?’

  ‘Oh, he’s out the back. Got some idea of digging a pond for the frogs to come and lay their eggs.’

  She went to the kitchen and returned with a Diet Coke and two new-baked currant scones spread with butter and jam. ‘I’d give you a slice of fruit cake but it’s just out the oven.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  Mairi nibbled her lip. ‘It’s probably a bit soon to be talking about this, but Colin and I were thinking that sometime in the future the right thing would be for us to adopt Daisy. You know, so we’d really be her mum and dad.’ She looked anxious. ‘It wouldn’t affect you or anything, you’d still be her Uncle Peter.’

  He had talked to Bunny about it. It would give Daisy the security she needed. It was the right thing to do. He had one question:

  ‘That means she’d take your name, doesn’t it? She’d be called McGregor.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Daisy May McGregor.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Mairi said. ‘We thought it would be nice to leave her family name in there as well.’

  ‘You mean Irwin?’

  ‘Well, that’s what her mother was called, and her granddad, of course. We know how much he meant to you. So Colin and I thought we’d leave her name as it stands on the birth certificate and just add ‘McGregor’ at the end. Probably drop the ‘May’ because it would be such a mouthful. So she’d be called Daisy Irwin McGregor’

  Peter could not keep the smile from his face.

  ‘People will call her Daisy McGregor, of course, but the ‘Irwin’ will still be there. I don’t think we should take it away, especially with you living just up the road.’ She was relieved to see him so pleased. ‘So is that all right?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great.’

  He took a bite of scone and looked down at the little girl beside him. She had abandoned the rattle and was playing with her toes. ‘Come here, you,’ he said and lifted her onto his knee. ‘Daisy McGregor. Are you going to be a good little girl? Are you?’

  A puzzled, concentrated look came into her face. Peter knew it well. ‘Oh-oh,’ he said.

  Mairi laughed. ‘Give her here. Go on, you finish your scones. I’ll just be a minute.’

  She disappeared into the kitchen and Peter heard her talking to the baby as she took off the nappy and wiped her clean.

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ she called through. ‘Look on the sideboard. Colin left you a couple of tickets for next Saturday’s game. If you’re not doing anything, he’ll pick you up with one of your pals. About twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s great!’ Peter found them in a small brown envelope. ‘I’ll ask Gerry.’

  He wandered into the kitchen.

  Mairi fastened the fresh nappy and got rid of the dirty one. Happy to be clean, Daisy waved her arms and legs on the table.

  ‘Oh, you are wicked.’ Peter tickled her tummy. ‘Just a wicked little girl.’

  Daisy giggled with delight. A river of bubbles ran down her chin. He wiped it away and rubbed his fingers with a towel.

  Angus came in from the garden. He wore rubber boots and was covered in mud.

  ‘Don’t you dare, Angus McGregor,’ his mother said firmly. ‘You stand right where you are until I get those boots off you. Are you going out again?’

  He shook his head and dropped the old tablespoon with which he had been digging. Spatters of mud flew across the kitchen.

  Mairi stripped him from his filthy clothes. In jersey and underpants he climbed on a chair to get a scone.

  ‘No, you’ll spoil your dinner.’ His mother pushed them out of reach. ‘What a child! Here, you can have an end of this lopsided one. And that’s all you’re getting.’

  She swung Daisy to her shoulder. ‘Sorry Colin’s not here,’ she said to Peter. ‘He had to go out just before you came. Young chap the far side of Brathy had an accident with the tractor. Nasty from the sound of it. Might lose his arm.’

  Peter told her about his own accident, his twisted ankle and how nearly the back wheel had rolled over him.

  ‘You were lucky.’ Mairi had worked in Accident and Emergency. ‘Terrible injuries with tractors. I remember a boy of sixteen …’

  They chatted and soon it was time to go.

  ‘Tell Colin thanks for the tickets.’ Peter walked out the door into the sunshine. ‘If he gives me a ring when he sets off, we’ll meet him at the gate.’

  Mairi stood holding Daisy. She had her rattle again and wasn’t the least bit interested in her departing uncle. He planted a kiss on her cheek and pulled his bike from the wall. ‘Thanks for the eats.’

  ‘See you soon.’ Mairi raised a hand. ‘Bye, Peter.’

  Angus appeared behind her clutching the rest of his scone. When he saw Peter had spotted him he smiled naughtily. Peter shook his fist. Delightedly Angus scampered back into the hall.

  He rode away, wobbling as he found the right gear, and looked back from the road. Daisy had thrown her rattle into a flowerbed. Mairi was bending to retrieve it.

  It was four miles home, mostly uphill – one mile to the village, three to the five-bar gate. Ben had waited for the school bus but no Peter had dismounted. Now Peter shouted and the big dog came galloping up the track from Three Pines. Doubly happy after his disappointment, Ben bounded around him.

  ‘Who’s my best pal?’ Peter crouched and rubbed his whiskery grey head.

  The sun had set. Far to the west, beyond Scar Hill, the after-glow shone above the mountains.

  Peter remounted and freewheeled down the short track.

  ‘Hello, there.’ Bunny was shutting the hens up for the night. ‘Just be a couple of minutes.’

  The kitchen glowed golden. Through the window he saw paints and paper spread on the table. A smell of steak pie drifted to meet him. Peter pushed his bike round to the shed and went into the house.

  Also available from Luath Press

  Tales of the North Coast

  Alan Temperley

  ISBN 0 946487 18 9

  PBK £8.99

  Seals and shipwrecks, witches and fairies, curses and clearances, fact and fantasy – the authentic tales in this collection come straight from the heart of a small Highland community. Children and adults alike respond to their timeless appeal. The stories in Tales of the North Coast were collected in the early 1970S by Alan Temperley and young people at Farr Secondary School in Sutherland. All were gathered from the area between the Kyle of Tongue and Strath Halladale, in scattered communities wonderfully rich in lore that had been passed on by word of mouth down the generations. The selection provides a satisfying balance between intriguing tales of the supernatural and more everyday occurrences. The book also includes chilling eye-witness accounts of the notorious Strathnaver Clearances, when tenants were given a few hours to pack up and get out of their homes, which were then burned to the ground.

  Tales of the North Coast is illustrated with vigorous linocut images produced by the young people under the guidance of their art teacher, Elliot Rudie.

  I had open-heart surgery last year, when I was eleven, and the healing process hasn’t finished yet. I now have an amazing scar that cuts me in half almost, as if I have survived a shark attack.

  The Bower Bird

  Ann Kelley

  ISBN 1 906307 98 9

  (children’s fiction)

  PBK £6.99

  ISBN 1 906307 45 8
<
br />   (adult fiction)

  PBK £6.99

  Gussie is twelve years old, loves animals and wants to be a photographer when she grows up. The only problem is that she’s unlikely to ever grow up.

  Gussie needs a heart and lung transplant, but the donor list is as long as her arm and she can’t wait around that long. Gussie has things to do; finding her ancestors, coping with her parents’ divorce, and keeping an eye out for the wildlife in her garden.

  Winner of the 2007 Costa Children’s Book Award.

  It’s a lovely book – lyrical, funny, full of wisdom. Gussie is such a dear – such a delight and a wonderful character, bright and sharp and strong, never to be pitied for an instant. HELEN DUNMORE

  Inchworm

  Ann Kelley

  ISBN 1 906817 12 X

  PBK £6.99

  I ask for a mirror. My chest is covered in a wide tape, so I can’t see the clips or incision but I want to see my face, to see if I’ve changed.

  Gussie wants to go to school like every other teenage girl and find out what it’s like to kiss a boy. But she’s just had a heart and lung transplant and she’s staying in London to recover from the operation.

  Between managing her parents’ love lives, waiting for her breasts to finally start growing, and trying to hide a destructive kitten in her dad’s expensive bachelor pad, Gussie makes friends with another cardio patient in the hospital and finds out that she can’t have everything her heart desires...

  A great book. THE INDEPENDENT

  This is definitely one of my top ten books. You have to read it, and it will stay with you forever! TEEN TITLES

  The Burying Beetle

  Ann Kelley

  ISBN 1 84282 099 0 PBK £9.99

  ISBN 1 905222 08 4 PBK £6.99

  Meet Gussie. Twelve years old and settling into her new ramshackle home on a cliff top above St Ives, she has an irrepressible zest for life. She also has a life-threatening heart condition. But it’s not in her nature to give up. Perhaps because she knows her time might be short, she values every passing moment, experiencing each day with humour and extraordinary courage.