‘So you did know, then?’ Sorley Mor asked Black Rock quietly. ‘Father Mick here said no one had heard you tapping away.’
‘No, I never know when it’s family,’ Black Rock said in a perfectly normal voice, ‘but I knew this day would come sometime soon, so I’ve had the coffin ready and waiting for her for years now.’
Chrissie looked away and put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. She met Rose’s eyes and started her off, too, and Rose dug a packet of tissues out of her bag and handed one to her mother-in-law.
‘What a weird bunch the MacEwans are, Rose,’ Chrissie said, wiping her eyes. ‘Here’s your box, what’s your hurry? I wonder if old Auntie Tam knew it had been lying there waiting for her all that time?’
Batty, seeing Chrissie dabbing at her eyes, put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t take it so hard, Chrissie,’ she said.
Chrissie, finding herself inches away from the conical breasts, was overcome afresh. ‘Maybe we should leave Father Mick here to get on with his business,’ she said, directing a meaningful glance in the priest’s direction. Then she grabbed Sorley Mor and Gannet by the elbows and ushered them out of the room. ‘This is immediate family only,’ she said.
They headed for the kitchen, leaving Father Mick with Black Rock, Haffa, Batty and Maddy, then Chrissie and Rose held on to each other and laughed till they cried.
‘He had her coffin ready for her, just waiting for the off!’ Chrissie squealed.
‘Ach, now Chrissie,’ said Sorley Mor, ‘there’s no need to be laughing.’
‘He must’ve measured her up one time while she was asleep,’ smiled Gannet.
Chrissie and Rose looked at each other and started laughing again.
‘Think if she’d woken up while he was doing it,’ giggled Chrissie. ‘What would he have said?’
‘Now Chrissie, show some respect,’ said Sorley Mor.
‘I wonder if he consulted her on design and decoration?’ Chrissie said, tears streaming down her face as she held her sides. ‘Maybe he slipped a coffin catalogue in with the Christmas ones and asked her to pick her favourite!’
‘Ach, now Chrissie,’ Sorley Mor repeated, with similar effect to the last time.
Chrissie and Rose were lost, totally unable to control themselves.
Gannet watched them, smiling gently to himself. ‘Aren’t women grand?’ he asked admiringly. ‘Nothing gets them down. They can even have a laugh in the midst of death. I think that’s grand. I think it must be something to do with the fact that the key of life is within them, they can laugh at it because they understand mysterious things about life and death that men never will.’
Chrissie and Rose looked at Gannet then at each other, and collapsed laughing once again, as Gannet smiled even more affectionately at them.
Just then Batty burst into the kitchen. ‘Mother’s a saint, a saint!’ she screeched.
‘Aye, she was a nice woman,’ Sorley Mor said in a suitably sad voice.
‘No, no, she’s a saint now,’ Batty repeated, crossing herself with a rosary held in her hands. ‘Father Mick anointed her on her left hand: that’s the hand nuns get anointed on. It means she’s a saint!’
Everyone in the room looked at each other in turn, then Chrissie and Rose hid their faces in fresh tissues again.
‘Don’t be sad!’ shouted Batty. ‘Mother’s not gone; she’s become a saint. Come and see her; she even looks different!’
They followed the excited Batty to the sitting room once more, where Maddy, Haffa and Black Rock were waiting with Father Mick, who was placing his various bits and pieces back in his pockets.
‘Looks just the same to me,’ Chrissie whispered to Rose. ‘What about you?’
‘Just the same,’ Rose agreed. ‘In her coffin, dead.’
At that Chrissie shook with laughter, tears flowing over the now sodden tissue she held over her mouth and nose. She reached out to Rose, waving a hand in request for a fresh tissue.
‘Ach Chrissie,’ said Batty kindly. ‘I always knew you were fond of her. You don’t show it much, but you have a tender heart.’
Just as Chrissie thought she might have to sit down, Haffa jumped to his feet and put the radio on. It was Saturday, and on Saturdays Bobby MacLeod and his accordion band played Scottish country dance music on the BBC. As the first notes came through, Haffa started to dance round the coffin in a lively if disjointed way. ‘Look,’ he shouted, kicking his legs high. ‘Look at me! I’m dancing!’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t,’ said Sorley Mor uncertainly.
‘But my knee,’ yelled Haffa, twirling on his toes like a ballet dancer, ‘my knee’s cured! Mother’s cured my knee now that she’s a saint. It’s a miracle! That knee has been the bane of my life for years, sure, you know that, and now Saint Mother’s cured it!’
At that his sisters fell to the floor and started reciting Hail Marys in a frenzy, as Haffa continued to dance around his mother’s coffin. Black Rock, with nothing better to do, sat down in an armchair in the corner of the room and started singing along with Bobby MacLeod.
‘Well,’ whispered Chrissie, turning to Rose, ‘at least he’ll be able to dig his mother’s grave deep enough, now that she’s miraculously cured his knee. He won’t have to throw his father over the dyke to make room for her!’
‘For God’s sake say something,’ Sorley Mor ordered Father Mick.
‘What the hell good do you see that doing?’ the priest asked.
‘Did you tell them their mother was a saint now?’
‘Of course I didn’t!’
‘Well you must’ve told them that nonsense about nuns being anointed on the left hand, and what the hell’s the connection between nuns and saints anyhow?’ demanded an exasperated Sorley Mor.
‘No, I did not,’ said Father Mick furiously. ‘Why do you assume this has to be my fault? They told me that’s how it happened, and I didn’t see any reason to start debating theology with them, that was all,’ said Father Mick. ‘I just grabbed the nearest hand and slapped the oil on and Batty said, “That’s the hand nuns get anointed on, isn’t it, Father?” and I sort of muttered something back that she took as a yes.’
‘But is it?’ Gannet asked. ‘I don’t remember ever hearing that.’
‘Well,’ said the priest defensively, ‘any hand is the hand nuns get anointed on, so strictly speaking it wasn’t untrue as opposed to true, if you see what I mean. And if it brings them a little comfort in their hour of need,’ he continued, in a pious voice.
‘Ach, be quiet with that rubbish, now. Look at the state of them,’ Sorley Mor said, as they watched the four surviving Black Rocks singing, dancing and praying around their mother’s ready-made coffin.
‘Well, it was a throwaway mutter, how was I to know they’d make such a big thing out of it? You can’t blame me because your relatives are all insane.’
‘Well you’ll have to tell them you’ve made a mistake,’ Sorley Mor protested, ‘or we’ll never hear the end of it.’
‘No fear!’ said Father Mick. ‘Besides, it wouldn’t do any good. It’s in their minds now, nothing will shift it.’
By this time Chrissie and Rose had given up and were standing back, their faces hidden in tissues, in that peculiar stage of mirth that looked like grief, unable to glance at the bizarre tableau before them without being overcome by another wave of tears.
‘Good job it wasn’t Batty with the bad knee,’ Chrissie whispered.
‘Why?’ Rose asked breathlessly.
‘Well, if she was the one dancing around she could have someone’s eye out with those breasts – probably both eyes, when you come to think of it!’
Rose wondered if they would get control of themselves ever again, and then that thought set off another bout of laughter.
‘The only one who looks normal is the corpse,’ Chrissie whispered. ‘Gannet’s got that daft look on his face, Sorley Mor and Father Mick are fighting, Black Rock’s singing, Bobby MacLeod’s playing the accordion, Haffa’s dan
cing in circles, and Batty and Maddy are on their knees praying!’
‘And we’re laughing!’ Rose sobbed, thereby sending Chrissie off again.
As they were leaving an hour or so later, fully composed as long as they didn’t make eye contact with each other, Chrissie looked at the road.
‘It’s colder now,’ she remarked. ‘Look at the frost on the road. Rose, you take it easy on the way back, now. Don’t you listen to a word any of them say about how they’d go faster.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ smiled Batty serenely as Rose turned the key in the ignition. ‘Nothing can harm you now.’
‘Why?’ asked Chrissie before she could stop herself.
‘Saint Mother will look after you now,’ replied Batty, crossing herself, joining her hands and looking heavenwards, her face shining with faith and fervour.
Rose started the Land Rover, drove down the road till they were out of sight of Black Rock, then she had to pull over to the side until she and Chrissie stopped laughing.
‘My God, Chrissie MacEwan,’ said Sorley Mor reproachfully, ‘but I never thought I’d see the day when you’d laugh at the death of one of my family.’
‘Shut up!’ squeaked Chrissie, throwing her head back and laughing freely for the first time. ‘My, but that feels good.’
On the other side of Sorley Mor, Rose was giggling, her head on her arms across the steering wheel, unable to move.
‘And look what you’ve done to this pure lassie here,’ said Sorley Mor. ‘You’ve corrupted her, woman.’
‘Will you women for God’s sake pull yourselves together!’ yelled Father Mick tetchily.
‘It’s all right for you, you’re inside. Gannet and I are freezing our ba …, our socks off in the back here.’
‘Your socks, aye,’ said Chrissie, ‘at least we can be sure you have them.’
‘Ach, Chrissie,’ complained Sorley Mor.
‘ “My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose”,’ warbled Gannet.
It soon became clear that Sandy Bay was doing more to his house in Kepping than putting in two more bedrooms with his cousin providing new stairs to connect them to the lower part of the house. Other things were noticed and discussed.
‘I saw him with my own eyes,’ Sorley Mor told Chrissie, following her from big room to big room as she worked about the house. ‘In Hamish Dubh’s he was, buying a plastic vegetable rack if you please!’
‘Maybe he needed one,’ Chrissie replied, pushing him out of the way.
‘What on earth would he be wanting with such a thing?’ asked Sorley Mor.
‘To put vegetables in it?’ Chrissie grinned.
‘Ach, away with you, woman. This is Sandy Bay we’re talking about! And not just any old vegetable rack either, it had to be a red one, and when Hamish Dubh didn’t have one he asked him to order it. Now,’ he slapped the back of a chair as he passed, ‘what do you think of that?’
Chrissie looked up at him and shrugged. ‘Why the hell would I know and why the hell would I care?’ she asked. ‘You know something, Sorley Mor? You’ve become awful keen on gossip since you cut down on trips away.’
‘I have nothing of the sort.’
‘Unless, of course, and this is something I’ve long suspected, the lot of you spend all your time at sea gossiping away like sweetie wives.’
‘You’ll not get at me like that, Chrissie MacEwan. I’ve been married to you far too long to be suckered by that kind of nonsense.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Chrissie smiled, ‘but all that leaves is that you’ve turned into an old sweetie wife since you stopped going away as much.’
‘All I said, woman, damn and blast—!’
‘Language, Sorley Mor.’
‘All I said was that Sandy Bay is taking an awful sudden interest in interior decoration, that was all. We are talking here about a mean sort of a man, a man who has always slept in his own chicken house during the summer when he has holidaymakers in the big house, rather than pay for a decent room somewhere, and now he’s going about spending money on plastic vegetable racks, and red ones at that.’
‘Vegetable racks, is that all the evidence you’re presenting?’ Chrissie asked with a knowing smile.
‘What do you know?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Who said I know anything?’
‘Chrissie!’
As with other occasions when his verbal skills had failed to produce the desired effect, Sorley Mor tried to make a sudden grab at his wife, which Chrissie evaded. She ran through the house, her husband chasing after her.
‘I only know,’ she said breathlessly, stopping and putting a hand up to call it quits, ‘that he’s been buying other things and he’s been going away to Inverness when he thought no one noticed and coming back with boxes.’
‘Boxes of what?’
‘That’s all I know, but if you’re asking the opinion of an expert—’ she wheezed.
‘I am, I am,’ he nodded seriously.
‘All the signs point to him having a woman.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Sorley Mor laughed out loud. ‘Sandy Bay’s never had a woman! Sure, who’d have him? Huh. Next you’ll be saying Gannet has a woman!’
‘I’m only giving my opinion,’ Chrissie shrugged, smiling smugly.
‘Sure, Sandy Bay’s no catch at all for any woman. He wasn’t when he was young and he’s well past young now.’ For a moment he looked thoughtful. ‘Have you any idea who she is?’
‘I didn’t say there was anyone, I only said all the signs pointed to that.’
‘But he’s forty-five if he’s a day, and he’s no oil painting, is he?’
Chrissie said nothing.
‘No, no,’ he said finally. ‘You’re making it up so that I’ll pass it on and look a fool, Chrissie MacEwan.’
‘Since when did you need my help with that?’
‘You just want me to go down to the Inn and announce it to everybody, and then I’ll be a laughing stock, that’s what you’re up to.’
‘Fine.’ said Chrissie. ‘Maybe he just suddenly needed a vegetable rack, and two new bedrooms and a set of stairs, and a lot of boxes from Inverness, then.’
It was June and Ocean Wanderer had been in harbour for three months. All her minor repairs had been attended to, she had been freshly painted and there was a notice in the Fishing News advertising her for sale. They had no idea what she would fetch, but that didn’t really matter. The real money, as Sorley Og had mentioned, was in her fishing licence.
Over the years the amount and variety of fish she was allowed to catch had steadily increased. The more she caught, the more she was allowed to catch. It had been decided that one more trip was needed because they were low on the sand eels allowance, and if they didn’t catch their quota the amount of the deficit would be deducted from next year’s licence, making it that much less valuable to a prospective buyer.
There was a great deal of excitement within Acarsaid about the Wanderer’s last trip, and Sorley Mor had decided that he and Gannet would be aboard for the historic event. The present crew had retired to the Inn to become sentimental: Sorley Mor, Gannet, Stamp, the two engineers, Stevie and Eric, Sorley Og, young Pete. Also there, of course, was Father Mick. As they entered Sorley Mor said loudly ‘You’ll be sticking to the mineral water, Eric?’ and glared a warning look around the assembled Inn regulars, a look that said, ‘This man becomes violent on booze and he’s not a dancer’, then he got the drinks in for the rest of them. As it happened, the non-drinking, non-dancing Eric looked like a man with a problem; he had just had a run-in with the law.
‘It wis three in the mornin’,’ he complained. ‘Who wis aboot at that time?’
‘But someone was?’ Sorley Mor encouraged him. These days the Skipper could understand Eric better because, he had convinced himself, Eric spoke properly – like him, in fact.
‘Musta been,’ Eric sighed. ‘An’ it was a thing Ah’ve never done in ma life afore, but it was three in the mornin’.’
‘A
ye, you said,’ said the skipper.
‘Ah mean, whit kinda … whit kinda—’
‘Now, now, Eric,’ warned Sorley Mor, looking round the Inn, ‘just you keep that temper of yours in check.’
‘Maybe someone walking their dog,’ Gannet suggested.
‘Mibbe,’ Eric replied. ‘Ah’ll tell ye this, Ah widnae huv done tae a fella human bein’ whit they done.’
‘So what happened, Eric?’ a voice asked from across the bar.
‘Ah did somethin’ Ah swear Ah’ve never done in ma life afore,’ said Eric earnestly. ‘Ah ran a red light.’
‘Dear God, man,’ said Father Mick, ‘I thought you were going to tell us you’d knocked someone down and killed them then driven off! A red light? Sure I run them all the time.’
‘Ye don’t have red lights up here,’ Eric reminded him innocently, and a snigger ran round the Inn’s clientele.
‘Aye, well,’ said Father Mick, ‘I have been known to go out of Acarsaid occasionally, you know.’
‘When?’ someone asked.
‘Show’s how much you know,’ blustered the priest. ‘Is that you, Sandy Bay? Aye, I thought it might be. Been buying any more bits of plastic recently?’
‘Anyhow,’ said Sandy Bay, ignoring the taunt with as much dignity as he could muster, ‘what happened, Eric?’
The Last Wanderer Page 28
