‘Good crowd,’ said Clare, busily arranging seats for their party at one end of a long table. ‘OK, kids, this is our base. You can wander off but if you go outside stay in the car park. If you want us, you know where to find us. That OK with you, Ellen?’
‘Er, fine,’ said Ellen. She still found it difficult to remember she was the one in charge of the children. She noticed Angus looking around with lowered head, and cursed herself for forgetting that not everyone in Dunmuir was friendly. She determined to keep an eye on him, to see how he interacted with the other youngsters – if at all. ‘Remember what Clare said,’ she repeated to the Moffat children, but mostly for Angus’s benefit. ‘Don’t wander off.’ She took their shrugs for agreement, and turned to the more interesting topic of what everyone wanted to drink.
The hall had rows of trestle tables down each side, with the central area cleared for dancing. A bar was being run from the kitchen hatch at the rear. It was doing very good business even before the band had tuned up.
Callum and Lucy stayed nearby for the time being, sipping the cokes which they still considered a luxury. Ellen felt guilty for going against her sister’s wishes every time she gave in to them, but couldn’t bring herself to believe that fizzy drinks were the fount of all evil. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Angus had asked only for water. She looked around for him now and saw, to her surprise, that he was talking to the man with the fiddle.
‘Who’s Angus … Sam talking to?’ she murmured to Callum.
‘Dunno.’
‘That’s his guitar teacher,’ said Lucy. ‘Don’t you remember?’
Ellen vaguely recognised the man, although she had only met him fleetingly. Usually she dropped her nephew at the gate, and was in such a hurry when she picked him up that she did no more than pay and depart.
‘I get the impression Angus is quite musical,’ said Clare, twirling her hair through her fingers. ‘Jess always said he was keen.’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Ellen doubtfully. She had to remind him to practice, but once he started he could play the guitar for ages. Whether he was any good, she couldn’t have said. She tried to recall whether her brother-in-law had been musical. She would have to ask her mother.
‘I’m going to learn the clarinet when I’m eight,’ said Lucy. ‘Mum said.’
‘Did she? And what about you, Cal, don’t you want to learn something?’
‘No way.’ Having finished his drink, Callum slid off his seat and departed to join a crowd of his friends near the door. Ellen wondered why she didn’t worry about him. Somehow, his answers always seemed disarmingly honest. He didn’t want to learn a musical instrument because it was hard work, and he wasn’t interested. That was all there was to it. There weren’t many things that interested Callum – football, golf, computer games and television. Ellen felt a rush of affection for him. He wasn’t a difficult boy to please.
‘There’s Kit,’ said Clare, raising a hand to wave with a jingle of bracelets. She gestured to the empty seats at their table, but he merely raised a hand in acknowledgement and moved on. Ellen wondered which of the girls in his group was Devon, and decided it was probably the one with shoulder length dark hair and heavily-made-up eyes, who kept herself glued to his side. She was pretty, but very young. She giggled a lot.
Ellen found herself glancing over at Kit’s table more than once. It was only natural to be interested. She presumed the rest of the group were from Kit’s vet practice. There was another man about Kit’s age and two older men, both wearing the ubiquitous tweed jackets of the rural over-fifties. She presumed the women with them were their wives.
Despite what Clare had said there seemed to be an awful lot of people paired off, and Ellen felt self-consciousness at having no partner of her own.
Angus knew as long as he saw Jason Armstrong’s gang before they saw him, he was OK. They didn’t scare him. They’d mocked him from afar at school the last couple of weeks, but they hadn’t dared come near. Old Fletcher must’ve put the wind up them, they were cowards really. In a crowd like this they couldn’t do him any serious damage, but he knew better than to let them corner him. Even as he chatted to Grant McConnell, his guitar teacher, he kept a wary eye on the hall.
‘I keep telling you, you should have a go,’ said Grant, proffering the fiddle. When Angus didn’t take it he put it to his chin and played a short jig, then held it out again. ‘See?’
‘Naw, I think I’ll stick with guitar.’
‘You should try both. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’
Angus shrugged. He’d love to try the fiddle, but what was the point of starting now? His Aunt Ellen was going to drag them off to Edinburgh soon, and the way she kept going on about money there was no way she’d buy him a violin even if he asked.
‘Hey, Simon.’ Grant accosted a gangly, curly-haired youth who was moving past. ‘Si, this is the boy I was telling you about.’ Grant turned to Angus. ‘Simon’s set up a band and he’s looking for someone who can actually play guitar, not just pretend to.’
Angus looked down, letting the hair flop over his eyes. He vaguely recognised the older boy from school, and was sure he wouldn’t want anything to do with a lowly first year.
‘Are you Angus Moffat?’ said Simon. ‘I’ve been meaning to look you out but you know how it is.’ He smiled. He had a round, friendly face, only slightly marred by acne. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got your guitar with you now?’
Angus felt a stir of excitement, and for the first time in weeks didn’t even notice that someone wasn’t calling him Sam. All he said was, ‘Naw, haven’t.’
‘Never mind. How about we set up a time …’
‘I’ve got an old acoustic guitar in the van, if you want,’ said Grant McConnell, off hand. He dug into his pocket. ‘Here’re the keys. I’d better go, looks like I’m wanted on stage. And don’t forget to bring those keys back!’
Before he had time to think, Angus found himself following Simon out of the hall.
‘Now, which is his van?’ asked Simon cheerfully, looking around the car park.
‘I think it’s that white one,’ said Angus. He wondered how Simon knew Grant, but didn’t like to ask.
Grant’s van was an ageing transit, useful for carrying about all his musical instruments. He was the sort of person who could play just about anything, which he did when and where he liked. Angus envied him bitterly.
The two boys settled themselves in the back of the van, with the doors ajar, and Simon began to explain about his band. ‘We’ve been going a couple of months. Three of us. You’ll know Ed and Mark from school. I’ve been doing lead guitar and vocals but it isn’t working, it’s difficult doing both. That’s what I was telling Grant and he said you’d be able to take over the guitar, if you were interested. What do you say?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Angus, fingering the acoustic guitar nervously.
‘You’re a bit young, like, but Grant says you’re good. Why don’t you play something for me?’
‘Like what?’
‘I dunno. How about “Word Up”, d’you know that? Thought you would, it’s one of Grant’s favourites.’
Angus started slowly, but once he got into the rhythm he forgot his nerves and let the music take over.
Simon grunted. ‘Not bad. D’you know the chords for “American Idiot”? Good. Right, I’ll sing it and we’ll see if you can keep time.’
Angus was amazed at the teenager’s confidence, that he could start singing just like that. He had a good, strong voice, too. It was great to play along to him. Angus never liked singing himself, for all Grant’s encouragement. To his surprise, he realised he might really be able to do this.
They had worked their way through four or five songs when the rear doors of the van swung open with a bang and three pale faces peered in. ‘Oooh, look who it is, thought I saw little orphan Annie creeping oot the hall.’ It was Jason Armstrong.
‘Who are you? Get lost, we’re busy,’ said Simon, scarcely looking roun
d. Angus followed his lead and ignored the boys, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to play now. His hands weren’t quite steady.
‘Found yourself a bum chum, have you, Annie?’ continued Jason. His cronies laughed hysterically.
‘I said get lost,’ said Simon.
Jason swung on the door, not caring when it veered back and jarred the hinges with a crash. His friends sniggered. ‘Come on, give us a tune then. How about a nursery rhyme, isn’t that your level?’
‘Go away,’ said Angus, through clenched teeth. How had he been so bloody stupid as to get himself stuck out here? What happened if Simon went off and left him? Even if he stayed, Jason had a big enough crowd with him to take them both on. And there was hundreds of pounds worth of equipment in this van. He could feel the sweat breaking out.
‘We just want a little tune, come on, you were happy enough to play for your boyfriend, weren’t you?’
Simon tried to stand up but was hampered by the low roof. ‘Clear out,’ he said, advancing to the door. ‘Go on, scoot.’
‘Oooh, think you’re a fucking tough guy, do you? Just ’cos you’re in Third Year doesnae mean shite.’ Jason stepped back from the door with surprising agility for his bulk, and swung it in as Simon leant out. It hit him on the head and he sat back, stunned. The gang needed no further invitation. They swarmed forward, one elbowing Simon as they passed, another pulling out a keyboard and dropping it on the tarmac. Jason himself advanced on Angus.
Chapter Fourteen
Ellen sank back into her chair with a sigh of relief. Three dances in a row was about her limit. She fanned her face and took a long drink of lager. She had persuaded a mightily embarrassed Callum to do the Dashing White Sergeant with her, and after that she had had no difficulty finding partners. Clare had been right. Everyone was friendly, all they wanted was to have a good time.
Clare returned to the table after the next dance, her face as pink as Ellen’s felt, and threw off the lacy cardigan she had been wearing, showing the bangles and rather a lot of bare flesh. Her party dress, as Lucy called it, consisted of two tiny straps and tiers and tiers of green and gold silk. She made Ellen feel very plain in her pink and black.
‘I’m not fit enough for this,’ shouted Clare happily. ‘Didn’t used to need to take a breather.’
‘You’re doing better than me.’
‘Hardly.’ Clare gazed around the room, checking up on her daughter and taking in the new arrivals. Lucy and Grace were doing what they considered to be a Gay Gordons in one corner, Callum was drinking more coke and eating crisps with his friends in another. Ellen couldn’t see Angus, but he had been talking to an older, curly-haired boy not long ago. She had been pleased to see him mixing.
‘I thought Kit might have come over and said hello,’ said Clare.
‘I’m sure he will,’ replied Ellen, although she was far from sure. Since she had visited his caravan to ask his advice on selling the Craigallan stock, they hadn’t spoken. He still helped Angus morning and night, but he didn’t approach the house. She presumed he was holding it against her, but what on earth did he expect her to do? Her heart sank as she remembered what she had lined up for tomorrow.
An agricultural specialist was coming to value the property in the morning. A cattle auctioneer was coming out to look over the animals in the afternoon. She hadn’t dared mention any of this to Angus. Even the thought of that made Ellen’s good mood evaporate.
They sipped their drinks in silence for a while. When the band took a break Clare said, ‘Reasonable turn out, isn’t it? All leading lights of the town, as well as plebs like us.’
‘Are they?’
‘Yeah. That table over there is teachers from the school, and you see that pretty blonde woman, that’s Eilidh Gilmour, one of the local doctors. Mmm, and it rather looks like she’s pregnant. I hadn’t heard that. Suppose we shouldn’t be surprised, she and Patrick have been married over a year. And then there’s the vet contingent. And the two tables over there are local farmers.’
Ellen glanced across and thought she saw Mrs Morton, the head teacher at Kinmuir. She turned away quickly. Mrs Morton had thought it was an excellent idea for Ellen to join the Parent Council and she was still trying to work out a good reason why not.
She said, ‘Mrs Jack’s not here.’
Clare pulled a face. ‘Thank goodness. Stupid woman came and asked me if I knew Grace had been playing out in the rain last week. Of course I knew! I encouraged her, she’s not going to melt, is she? I just hate the way that woman talks to you, so sincerely, because she’s really got your best interests at heart. What does she know about children?’
Ellen smiled grimly and recounted her problem with the cows.
Clare giggled and said, ‘She’s a silly cow herself. She should spend more time worrying about that husband of hers and leave us alone.’
‘What’s her husband like?’
‘Don’t know, nobody ever sees him. I suppose Dr Gilmour must have done, I’ve noticed her going in and out of the house. He must be really ill.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Ellen wondered if she felt most sorry for Mrs Jack or the unknown husband.
‘Kit says it can’t be easy for her. That was when I criticised her fat little dog. Ugly overfed beast. Kit never has a bad word to say for anyone.’
Except me, thought Ellen, but didn’t say it. She knew he didn’t approve of what she was doing. She sighed.
Clare changed the subject with a suddenness that was typical of her. ‘See anyone who takes your fancy?’
‘Er, no,’ said Ellen.
‘Come on, you should make an effort. Didn’t I tell you I think the time is right for a change for me? And I rather like the look of that fiddle player. Don’t suppose you know if he’s married?’
‘No, I don’t. All I know is his name’s Grant and apart from Kit Ballantyne he’s the only person on this planet that Angus likes talking to.’
‘Grant, is it? Seeing he’s at the bar just now I might just get us another round. Same again, is it?’
‘Clare! He’s only a babe, can’t be more than thirty.’
‘But sweet with it,’ said Clare, heading off.
Ellen laughed. She wouldn’t have had the nerve herself, but it was fun to feel like she was part of the wider world. She gave Kit another covert glance and was embarrassed when he turned and caught her eye. She looked quickly away.
Kit knew that he should never have let Devon talk him into bringing her to the ceilidh. He was under no illusions about her intentions, nor about his own, but sometimes he was just too damned soft to say no. Now he had her stuck limpet-like to his side, and everyone was leaving the two of them alone, as though he wanted to keep her to himself. He tried to catch Alistair’s eye as he and Deborah went off to chat at another table, but to no avail. His friend just winked and departed. Some friend.
‘Tell me more about this house you’re having built,’ said Devon, smiling invitingly. She really did have the most stunning eyes, and a lovely, voluptuous mouth.
Shame it was all too ready to pout, which it did when he said, ‘Some other time maybe. Talking about houses, that reminds me I really must go and have a quick word with my neighbour about, er, shared access. So if you’ll excuse me, I won’t be a moment …’ He made a quick getaway, before Devon decided to join him.
He had seen Ellen and Clare sitting on the far side of the room and thought how much happier he would have been with them. Clare in her bright gypsy dress, and Ellen so cool and neat in a plain blouse and trousers, there was no similarity between the two, except that they were both good company. He started to think about how lucky he was with his neighbours, (as long as you forgot about Mrs Jack) but that brought him all too quickly to the memory of Jess and Sam. He didn’t want to go there.
‘Are you on your own?’ he said to Ellen, finding that Clare had disappeared by the time he made his way across the room.
‘Yes.’ She smiled at him, a little wary. ‘Clare’s gone to get drinks,
were you looking for her?’
‘Not really. Just for some adult conversation.’ He slumped down in one of the empty seats and wished he had brought his drink with him. He waved and caught Clare’s eye and gestured her to bring him a pint.
‘I hope you’re not thirsty, she might be a while,’ said Ellen.
‘Why? The queue’s not too bad.’
‘She’s trying to chat up that cute fiddle player. The trip to the bar was just an excuse.’
He groaned. ‘And there was me thinking I’d timed it just right for a decent drink. Only wine at our table.’ He stretched himself back in the seat and prepared for a long chat. He didn’t really mind about the beer. Ellen gave him another small smile. ‘I’m surprised you came over at all,’ she said. ‘I get the feeling I’m out of favour.’
‘Why should you be?’ Kit was surprised. He had been upset at the thought of her selling Craigallan, but after all, it wasn’t his business. Who was he to give advice to others?
‘We haven’t really spoken since I asked you about selling the stock, so I thought …’
‘I’m not saying I think you’d be doing the right thing if you sold, but it’s your decision.’
‘Yes, it is.’
Kit sighed. So she hadn’t changed her mind. He said lightly, ‘Well, at least if we’re friends again I won’t feel bad about using your bathroom facilities occasionally.’
‘You’re more than welcome.’
Kit couldn’t tell from her cool tone whether he was welcome or not. He decided to leave that topic for the moment. ‘How’s Angus getting on at school? I’ve been trying to sound him out, by the way, but no luck so far.’
‘Thanks. He says he’s all right, but I’m still not sure. I’ve got an appointment with the head teacher next week.’
Kit looked around the ugly hall with its high-level windows and scuffed walls. ‘And how are you enjoying a night out Dunmuir-style?’
Sunshine Through the Rain Page 13
