‘Aye well,’ Jock said, when at last there was a pause. ‘I’ll be on my way.’
‘There’s plenty time yet.’ Rattray was aflame with patriotism now. ‘You can’t go yet, Jock.’
‘I’m tired now.’
‘Och, come off it. We’ll no let you go.’
For the first time Jock raised his voice.
‘I said I was finished,’ he said, and they shuffled away to let him through.
The pianist began again and they turned back to him, and forgot about Jock. But the proprietor was standing in the hall, hanging his head, and Jock stopped beside him.
‘Was there any damage last night?’ ‘Och, no, Colonel Sinclair.’ ‘I’ll pay if there was any damage.’
‘I wouldn’t think of it, Colonel. Let’s just forget the whole incident.’
‘Aye,’ Jock said. ‘Let’s forget it,’ but Rattray had followed him by then.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘I’m fair enough.’ He started to walk away, then he turned and he pulled a crumpled pound note from his coat pocket. It was the same one he had tried to give the head waiter.
‘Would you do me a favour?’
Rattray was enthusiastic. He seemed to have grown taller as the evening wore on. He was looking down at Jock.
‘I’d walk the bloody plank for you.’
Jock blinked. ‘That’ll not be necessary the night.’
Rattray thought that was funny; he grinned and laughed and repeated it.
‘You’re a one,’ he said.
‘A-huh. Will you go to the theatre and pick up Mary Titterington, and give her supper?’
‘What, Mary Tits?’ Rattray opened his eyes wide. Jock just waited. Rattray said, ‘Is she good for it? Eh?’ And Jock closed his eyes. His fists closed tight.
‘Will you give her supper?’
‘Christ I will.’ Rattray gave a vigorous nod that was almost a bow.
‘You’ll find somewhere?’
‘Christ, I will.’
‘Well, here’s a pound to you.’
‘I’ll no’ take your money.’ His hackles rose.
‘You will. And you’ll say I’m sorry. Will you mind that?’
Rattray put his head on one side.
‘Here, here. Is she expecting you? Is she? She’ll no be pleased to see me, eh? Why don’t you go along yourself, Jock?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Christ, man!’
‘A-huh.’ Jock stood still, with the pound in his hand.
‘O.K. boy. If that’s what you want. Alec Rattray’s no the lad to reason why.’
‘Good. And you’ll mind to say sorry?’
‘I will.’
‘And you’ll get her a good supper?’
‘Nothing but the best, Jock.’
‘Then here’s your money. Now away you go.’
SEVEN
THE ORDERLY OFFICER was inspecting guard, and Jimmy Cairns was the only one in the Mess when the telephone rang. He was in the billiards room, playing a pointless game of snooker with himself. It was rather cold there, and only the lights over the table were switched on, but once he had begun the game he could not make up his mind to leave it. It was the old story of the bath growing cold. He was too uncomfortable to move. But the Corporal came for him, and he went to the box in the hall to answer.
Two minutes later he was on the telephone to the guardroom, now shivering with an excitement which he was unable to suppress. At last MacKinnon came to the telephone. He knew the voice perfectly well but he double checked.
‘MacKinnon?’
‘Speaking.’
‘This is Jimmy. Look, come back here as quick as you can, laddie. There’s been an accident.’
‘What’s happened?’
Jimmy looked over his shoulder, although there was nobody near. The hall was cold, light and empty.
‘Don’t let on to anybody. It’s serious.’
‘Right.’
‘I’ve just had a ’phone call. An officer has been found shot.’
‘God. Who?’
‘The Colonel,’ Jimmy said. ‘Now get cracking, laddie.’
* * *
Not much longer than half an hour after that, MacKinnon, feeling half excited and half frightened, hurried down the cobbled roads, then branched left over the snow-covered grass in the park. The fog was quite thick in patches, but he could just make out the lights by the old footbridge and he could hear the river running by. All the way across the open ground MacKinnon felt afraid and he kept glancing about him. He tried to force himself to march slowly and he put his hand on the firm leather of his belt, because it gave him courage. But belt or no belt, he was cold with fear when he reached the lamp and he started, as we start when we dream that a seat is withdrawn from under us, when he suddenly observed the dark figure on the bridge. The man was standing with his hands in his coat pockets, staring at the water beneath. He wore a long coat, and he seemed to be frozen there, until suddenly he took a step forward to the parapet, and spontaneously MacKinnon called out, ‘Guard!’
When the face was turned to the lamp MacKinnon immediately recognised Jock.
‘Who’s there?’ The voice echoed in the fog.
‘Colonel, it’s me – MacKinnon.’
MacKinnon had never seen Jock look frightened before. Even when he had replied it still seemed to take Jock a moment to recover himself, then he turned as MacKinnon walked forward. As he recovered he grew more angry, and it was an anger born of fear.
‘What the hell are you doing out here at this time?’
Almost guiltily and still looking very pale, MacKinnon drew closer.
‘Sir, I was coming across to your house.’
‘Are you Orderly Officer?’ Jock shouted at him, shouted this question and all the others.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then what the bloody hell are you doing out of barracks?’
‘Captain Cairns said, sir …’
‘I don’t care a … I don’t bloody care what anyone said. D’you know your orders, boy? Do you?’
‘Yes, sir.’ MacKinnon stood rigidly to attention.
‘I’ll have you on a charge, d’you hear me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jock moved forward.
‘You’ve no right out of the barracks gate. You’ve no right at all. Sneaking about the fields at this time. Did you say you were looking for me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jock looked at him, but he did not speak for a moment. His fingers were moving in his pockets but otherwise he held himself quite still.
‘The Adjutant sent me, sir. There’s been an accident.’
Jock was quiet again. ‘A-huh?’
‘Colonel Barrow’s been found shot, sir. Adjutant got a ’phone call.’
Jock scowled at him. The news did not seem to surprise him. It seemed to have no significance for him at all. Worried by Jock’s stillness, MacKinnon continued:
‘It’s true, sir. Shot himself dead.’
Jock looked at the boy as he might look at a guard coming to take him away.
‘Barrow Boy,’ he said at last. ‘No. You can’t be right.’
‘Yes, sir. It’s true, sir.’
‘Aye, it’s true. I can see that. I can see fine it’s true.’ He moved a few steps and pushed the snow with his toe. It was cold that night and damp. Their very bones were cold.
‘I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you like that.’
MacKinnon did not move.
‘If Captain Cairns sent you, you were in your rights.’ Then, ‘Christ Almighty,’ he said wearily. ‘Here’s a carryon. Poor Barrow. Poor wee man. Did you ever hear the like?’ He gave a funny little shrug and a noise came from him which MacKinnon supposed to be a laugh.
‘I’m sorry I surprised you, sir.’
‘You didn’t surprise me,’ Jock snapped.
‘Sir.’
Jock looked down at the water. ‘Aye, well, and I suppose it had to be somebod
y,’ he said at last.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You look like a ghost, laddie. You’ve a face like a scone.’
MacKinnon still stood to attention.
‘Are you feared?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Of the spooks?’
‘No, sir. Of you.’
Jock did not laugh at that. He looked hurt and he put his head on one side. ‘Of me? You say you’re scared of me?’
‘I think I should be getting back, sir.’
‘No, no.’
‘I am Orderly Officer, sir.’
‘Jimmy’ll take care of that.’ Jock waved the objection aside. ‘The great James Cairns’ll look after that. Aye. He’s a great one for fixing things. Who telephoned him anyway?’
‘Some farm, sir.’
‘Where? Where did it happen?’
‘By the bank of the river, sir. So I understand.’
‘Aye, by its bonny banks. And only about an hour ago. Is that it?’
‘About that, sir.’
‘Did you take geography at the school, MacKinnon?’
MacKinnon nodded, but Jock did not care to cross-examine him further.
‘This water,’ he said sententiously, ‘passed him by. It is the same river flowing under our feet. It is the same water.’
MacKinnon nodded even more vigorously.
‘Fancy that!’ Jock said lightly, suddenly. ‘Och, we’ll away out of here. It’s a lonely place, the bridge, neither one side of the river, nor the other. Why the hell haven’t you got your coat on?’
MacKinnon panicked a little.
‘I … I … Haven’t I, sir?’
There was an instant as MacKinnon waited for the shout. When Jock really shouted loud a little foam used to form at the very corner of his lips, and MacKinnon suddenly felt he could not bear it. Then the instant passed away, and Jock was not shouting into his face.
He had stepped back and he was chuckling.
‘Christ Almighty. I nearly started at you again. Poor laddie. Oh, laddie, don’t look like that. Don’t look afraid of me. If you knew me better you would not be afraid. Eh? Tell me, what happened to your coat?’ He asked quietly and gently, but MacKinnon still did not relax. He looked wary and bewildered.
‘In the excitement I forgot it, sir.’
Jock smiled at him kindly. ‘That’ll never do. Whatever the excitement you’ve got to remember to eat and keep warm. That’s the sign of a soldier. It’s only the neurotics that forget to eat. D’you know what a neurotic is?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Maybe Barrow was a neurotic.’
MacKinnon grew braver. ‘Not exactly, sir.’
‘No. Not exactly. Just bottled up, I suppose. Never bottle up your feelings, laddie. It’s against the Queen’s Regulations mind, if you don’t bottle yourself up. D’you know that? If you want to be a Colonel, laddie, bottle up. I didn’t bottle myself up, then I’m no a Colonel. Not the real MacKay. But I’m no drowned in the deep river.’
‘Sir,’ MacKinnon said.
‘You’ll come up to the house. You need a dram.’
MacKinnon hesitated. He looked at Jock anxiously with his big faun’s eyes.
‘Aye, you will come. And you’ll no tell them you found me on the bridge. They’ll say I’ve taken to the poetry if they hear that.’ He looked hard at the boy. ‘You won’t say anything about that, will you?’
‘Not if you’d rather I didn’t.’
‘Then you won’t.’
‘Righto.’
Jock was still standing half towards him and half away.
‘How did he do it?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Did he do it through the head?’
‘Through the mouth.’
‘Oh.’ It was a cry of genuine pity. Jock screwed up his face. ‘Mercy me.’
He gave no explanation for the state of the house. There were no fires lit, but every light was burning and every door, including the front door, was open wide. MacKinnon did not like to ask why, and Jock just said, ‘Come on round. We’ll switch off the lights.’
He closed the front door behind him and he led the way upstairs, where they started to turn off the lights in the bedrooms, to close the cupboard doors and the drawers. All this MacKinnon took, if not for granted, without comment, but when Jock took off his greatcoat and flung it on the bed in his room he could not conceal his surprise. Jock was in full Mess dress. He was in the bright scarlet tunic with gold braid, his best kilt and dress sporran. He was wearing a stiff white shirt and all his medals lay in a single line across his chest. It was an outfit that MacKinnon had never seen worn, although the officers used to wear it for dances and special dinners before the war. There is perhaps no dress so splendid. Jock looked at him, then looked away again to push in a drawer. He said, by way of apology:
‘There’s a ball at the Welcome. I was in there earlier. Maybe I’m a bit overdressed.’
‘It’s terrific, sir,’ MacKinnon said with wide eyes, and Jock glanced at him in the wardrobe mirror. He was pleased by the effect and he gave a bashful smile.
‘D’you think so?’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Honestly, sir.’
‘Aye. It’s an expensive luxury, mind you. And I never get the chance to wear it. The whole thing cost me a couple of hundred pounds, would you credit it?’
MacKinnon gave an open smile, and Jock liked the flattery. He braced back his shoulders and pulled the tunic down so it lay smoothly.
‘D’you think it fits?’
‘It’s perfect. At least I think so, sir.’
‘A-huh. Does it suit me?’
‘I’ve never seen you look better, sir.’
‘Aye? Is that a fact?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Och, I’m glad of that. I thought I was never going to get the chance to wear it. But I’m glad it’s good.’
MacKinnon swallowed. He said, ‘You’ll get the chance now, sir. Soon we’ll be back to full dress. You’re the Colonel again now, sir.’
Jock thought for a moment and then he nodded slowly. ‘Aye, so I am.’ He said, ‘C’mon, let’s get the place shipshape. With my daughter away, it gets a wee bit out of hand.’ The room was as untidy as it could be. A bomb might have dropped there. Clothes, dirty and clean, dressing-gown, shirts, half the contents of the drawers, were strewn about.
‘I’d better fix a corporal from the Mess to come across and look after you in the morning, sir.’
‘Aye, that’s a good idea.’ Jock was surprised by the suggestion. ‘You’re getting used to the Mess now, aren’t you? You never used to open your mouth.’
MacKinnon blushed. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘It was your grandfather wasn’t it, was Colonel?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
The boy was a far cry from being Colonel, but the link amused Jock. ‘A-huh. Are you used to whisky yet?’
‘I’m getting used to it, I think.’
‘D’you like it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jock shook his head and laughed. ‘Och, c’mon then. Out with the lights. We’ll leave this to the Corporal. We’ll away down and have a dram.’
MacKinnon took a single to each of his Colonel’s double whiskies and they got on very well. Jock had never talked to him before as if he were a man, and MacKinnon grew in confidence.
‘There was one thing, sir.’
‘Aye, laddie.’
‘The Adjutant said to tell you he was awaiting orders about a file of papers the Assistant Adjutant was holding.’
‘What’s this?’ The very word paper made Jock screw up his eyes.
‘About a corporal being struck, sir, in a hotel.’ Mac-Kinnon looked at him with his big brown eyes, and slowly Jock caught on. Then he began to chuckle.
‘It’s an ill wind, laddie, that blows no one good. Aye, and they’re quick enough, some of these laddies. Jimmy Cairns’ll have more in his skull than most of us’ll ever guess. That was quick of him. D’you know what it
’s all about?’
‘We all have some idea, I think.’
‘The Colonel struck the Corporal, and the Colonel it was that died … You can tell the Adjutant from me that he’s to keep these papers in the meantime. He’s no to forward them to Brigade.’ Jock laughed quite loudly, and Mac-Kinnon, less frightened of him now, began to laugh too. ‘I thought they’d gone,’ Jock said. ‘I thought the report was away. It must have been something that damned fool Rattray said.’
MacKinnon swallowed. He looked hardly more than fifteen, like a midshipman at a pirate’s table. He nodded and he said suddenly, ‘Yes, Rattray is a damned fool isn’t he?’
Jock looked at him astonished. The boy never usually said boo to a goose. Then he smiled at him. He was genuinely surprised and pleased by him.
‘Christ, laddie, the whisky suits you. It does,’ and he poured him another. MacKinnon gave a little swagger of his head, and he took a large gulp that burnt all the way down.
‘All that bloody Scottish Nationalism,’ he said strongly. ‘Why, that’s tripe and onions.’
‘Tripe and onions? Is it? Aye, maybe you’re right.’ Jock shook his head and he began to laugh again. MacKinnon just smiled broadly at him. Then, looking at the tumbler in his hand, Jock suddenly grew more serious.
‘Do I look tired?’
‘You look all right, sir.’
‘I’ve never been so tired. I’ll never be so tired again, until the day I die. You wouldn’t understand it, laddie. But when you’ve a battalion, and when you’ve a child, and when you’ve friends you’ve fought with … Och, I’ve been carrying it, the whole thing, for five years. And I thought I knew about it. Maybe Barrow knew more than me.’ Jock saw MacKinnon frown as he tried to follow, and he smiled.
‘I understand, sir,’ MacKinnon said. ‘Really I do.’
‘No. But it’s good of you to try. Neither you, laddie, nor anyone else knows just what all these things mean to me. And in one day, in one day,’ he looked at the back of his hand, ‘with one swipe of the hand the whole thing busts.’
‘It must have been a shock, sir.’
Household Ghosts Page 16
