by John MacKay
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to leave her here on her own and frankly I’m not comfortable with a dead body in the house.’
‘I could stay if you want,’ she volunteered.
‘That’s good of you, but you’ve done enough.’ Turning to the doctor he said, ‘If you could ask them to take her away, I think that would be best.’
After the doctor had gone, Cal and Mairi sat sombrely at the kitchen table.
‘Will you be staying?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think so. I’ll need to wait until the hotel opens, but I think I’ll get a room there. Just, well, you know…’ He let his explanation trail off.
‘It’s probably best for you. It’ll get busy.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Cal groaned, ‘There’s all that to go through.’
‘Folk just want to pay their respects.’
‘Or they want to come and look holy.’
Mairi looked taken aback.
‘I saw it when my parents died. All these church people taking over the house, having their interminable services. Friends and family were different, but I hardly knew any of these people. I didn’t need it, to be honest.’
‘It’s just the way things are done. It’s what Mary would want.’
‘I don’t know about that. She didn’t care much for all that holier than thou crap.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s what she’d expect,’ insisted Mairi. ‘It’s the way things are done here.’
Cal saw a feistiness in her that hadn’t been apparent before. They were both so tired, emotions were not so easily controlled.
‘You’re right, of course you are,’ he said consolingly.
Through the kitchen window the first light of morning filtered in. Cal walked to the door and stepped outside, immediately enjoying the coolness around him. The hills were emerging from blackness. The sun’s light diffracted into individual rays. A new dawn, a new day. Time moves on.
He breathed in deeply and turned to see Mairi standing with a tissue pressed to her eyes and her shoulders gently shaking in silent sorrow.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just the thought of everything carrying on, but Mary not being here.’
Cal put his arm around her shoulder. If he said a word, he knew he too would weep.
Eventually, once he knew he could steady his voice, he suggested to Mairi that she go home. ‘There’s nothing to do now but wait for the undertaker.’
She shook her head and said, ‘I’d feel better waiting until she’d gone.’
While they waited, Cal learned more about the woman who had become such a companion to his aunt.
‘I don’t remember you here when I used to come.’
‘No, I’m not from the district. I came here when I married. Mary was one of the first people I got to know. I still remember her coming over with a gift and how welcoming she was.’
‘I didn’t hear her mention you, but then she never did say much about her life and I don’t suppose I asked.’
‘Well she spoke about you plenty,’ smiled Mairi. ‘She was always worried about you.’
‘I was her only blood I suppose. I didn’t give her the attention she deserved, but y’know how life can take over and you don’t see it. That’s a regret that’s going to stay with me.’
‘I think she understood,’ consoled Mairi.
‘How did you become so close to her? You’re different generations after all.’
‘She was just so friendly. And when Colin died, she was always there for me. She couldn’t have been nicer, coming down to see that I was alright, but not in an intrusive way. She would even take the kids over to town to give me time to myself. It was good for them to get away from the house and that was how I got my crying done. I was trying to be strong in front of them. She seemed to understand that.’
‘The one thing she definitely never spoke to me about was the cancer. Last time I saw her, she seemed fine.’
‘It was very aggressive. As far as I know she was only diagnosed at the turn of the year. Her courage was incredible.’
‘She should have told me.’
‘Would it have made any difference?’ asked Mairi. ‘I mean, what could you have done? She thought you had enough to deal with.’
‘You discussed it with her?’
‘I said she should tell you, but she wouldn’t. It was only at the very end that she told me to call you.’
‘She told you, or did you do it yourself?’
‘No, she wanted to see you. When she knew there wasn’t long left, she became anxious. I think she wanted to speak to you.’
He got up abruptly and walked back through to the bedroom where Mary was lying. The doctor had placed her arms by her side and removed all but one of the pillows from behind her head. He looked down on her sallow, lined face and placed his hand on her forehead, pushing back a stray grey hair.
Kneeling by the bed, he whispered softly to her.
‘You were special. I never said it, like so much else, but you were. You were the closest I had on earth and now you’re gone. I’ll never forget you, Mary.’
6
CAL WAS BOTH sad and relieved when the undertakers arrived soon after nine o’clock. He followed them into Mary’s bedroom.
‘You might prefer to wait in another room, sir. If you’ll just give us a few minutes.’
Cal went back through to the kitchen with Mairi.
The undertaker was as good as his word and he and his assistant performed their sombre task with due respect and dignity. Even so, the sight of the simple, dark coffin being carried through the house was startling. Somehow it seemed so much bigger than the small body that had lain on the bed. Mairi curled forward and wept sorely. Cal ran his hand across her shoulders in a feeble attempt at comfort. He followed her to the window to watch the hearse carry Mary away. Mairi turned to him for solace and he held her until her tears subsided.
‘If you want to get any rest at all today, you’d be better checking into the hotel now,’ Mairi advised as she pulled herself together. ‘Word will have got round already and people will be calling all day into the evening. It’s a lot to deal with.’
‘Would you mind being here to help? I don’t know most of them.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to check on things at home, but I’ll come back this afternoon. I’ll also let people know that there will be nobody here until later.’
‘I’m grateful for everything you’ve done,’ said Cal, suddenly feeling very weary.
The two of them walked through to the bedroom. The sheets had been pulled back on the bed, revealing a shallow imprint on the mattress where Mary had lain. Cal tugged them back into place and drew the curtains, returning the room to shadow. Then they worked their way round the ground floor, closing drapes and checking that everything was switched off.
Finally, they left the house, but Cal struggled with the lock. Mairi took the key from him and clicked it round, jerking the door handle with familiar ease.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ he offered.
Mairi pointed to a modern house just two hundred yards away. ‘You could, but I’d be quicker walking,’ she smiled.
They confirmed a rendezvous time and Mairi went off down the road. Cal slumped into the car. He had harboured a small hope of making it back to the city today and possibly salvaging the property deal, but he had to accept that as chief mourner he would be required to play that role over the next couple of days, not just at the funeral. He would phone Lisa to find out the state of play.
His priority, though, was to get some sleep. The hotel was two miles away and he covered the distance quickly, wincing when he heard loose stones chipping against the bodywork of the car. The sporting lines of the Audi looked at odds with the rustic landscape.
He pulled into the car park and walked into reception, watched steadily all the way by the receptionist, a middle-aged woman who looked as if she suffered no nonsense.
‘I’m sorry to hear about your au
nt,’ she said when he went over to book in. ‘She was a lovely lady.’
Cal showed his surprise.
‘Word gets around quickly in small places,’ she said in explanation.
‘Thank you.’
‘When will the funeral be?’
‘I don’t know. Hopefully that’ll be sorted out soon. Do you have a room for a few days?’ Cal was not in any mood to talk.
A few minutes later he was in his comfortable but anonymous room. Its principal appeal was the view it offered, out over a loch, moorland hills rising beyond.
Cal kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was firm and the stiffness in his back muscles began to ease. He flicked open his phone, found Lisa’s name in the directory and pressed dial.
‘What’s the point in calling me now?’ she asked instantly, her phone identifying who was calling.
‘It’s too late then?’ sighed Cal.
‘Of course it’s too late. They’ve been in and it’s all going through the agency now. It was too late the moment you took off. You haven’t a hope of getting it now, not at a good price anyway. What did you expect?’
‘I was hoping there might have been a delay or that you’d manage to stall them for a while.’
‘Stall them!’ Lisa was speaking in an angry whisper. ‘What planet are you on? I stuck my neck out for you, and this is the thanks I get. Do you know what this could have cost me?’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I could have done. I didn’t expect this to happen.’
‘You just didn’t think Cal, did you? Just forget it.’
‘She died, by the way,’ said Cal, forlornly.
‘Enjoy the funeral,’ she spat back and the connection went dead.
Cal looked to the ceiling and breathed deeply in and out, again and again and his eyes began to close.
He was woken by the rattling bleat of a sheep. As he lay letting his senses catch up, he felt his head thump, his system out of time. The sooner he got up and got some coffee, the better he’d feel.
He didn’t wash in the shower, just let the water pour over his skin. As he towelled himself down, he saw his face in the mirror looking tired, his eyes red. He dressed quickly and went downstairs to the restaurant, ordering a bar meal of baked potato and cheese. He dreaded meeting so many people he didn’t know, strangers who would know who he was. At least Mairi would be there.
There was rain in the air as he drove back to the house. Clouds hung over the ocean close to the cliffs; it was as if the horizon was at the end of the land. There was no familiar faint haze of smoke curling from the chimney. Today, although it looked the same from outside, he knew the house was empty and lifeless. Wind stirred the grass as he walked up the path. Mary had managed to maintain small flower beds of lupins and roses, but the grass had taken advantage of the time she had been ill.
As he walked round the leeward side of the house the wind stopped buffeting his ears. Mairi’s technique with the lock evaded him and he had to resort to a brute shove to open the door. The kitchen was cold, perhaps for the first time in decades.
Throwing his jacket over a chair, he went over to the stove and knelt down. There was a pale blue, plastic bucket beside it, half filled with small, broken peats. He tugged open the door of the stove and threw a clump of peat inside. A tidy bundle of old newspapers lay on the floor. He crumpled some pages into knots, placing them among the peats. A box of matches sat on the shelf above and he used them to light the paper, then rubbed his hands, hoping that the fire would take. There was a knack to it that he knew he didn’t have. He might have to repeat the process two or three times before he had a good fire going. He wanted to warm some life back into the house.
Going through to the living room, he pulled back the curtains and lit the gas fire that sat in the hearth. Heat surged out. He stood with his back to the fire and cast his eyes around the room. Yesterday this had still been someone’s home. A week before that, Mary had still been moving around it, opening doors, leaning on the settee for support, making soup on the stove, settling for the night in her bed. Now it was so still. Had it ever been so hushed before?
There was nothing to do but wait. He sat for a while, looking around absently. The dresser attracted his attention. He might find a drink for himself in there. He pulled open the two lower doors and looked inside. There was a selection of lace and linen tablecloths, some crockery (Royal Albert he thought), a few drinking glasses, a bottle of sherry and a half bottle of whisky, neither of which were full. Mary always had alternatives available for guests who liked something stronger than tea.
There was also a variety of boxes in different shapes and sizes. Some had string tied round them because they were too full for the lids to close properly. Stacked neatly in the back corner were two wooden boxes, one on top of the other. The top one was handsomely crafted. Cal manoeuvred it out, placed it on top of the dresser, and pushed back the delicate clasps. Inside, set in white satin, was a canteen of cutlery, stainless steel with mother-of-pearl handles. The style was old and heavy. A wedding present to his grandparents perhaps? Or had they possibly bought it themselves, in preparation for Mary’s big day? The set had never been used. Cal felt the tears press on his eyes again as he thought of Mary and the special occasion that had never come.
He closed the lid again and stooped to pull out the second box. It was heavily varnished, enhanced with beautiful carvings that appeared Eastern in origin. There was a small mortise key fitted into a lock at the front. Whatever was in this box had obviously been of value to Mary. He carried it to the settee and pulled over a small occasional table, placing the box on top. He twisted the key gently and it turned smoothly with a small click. The lid opened easily.
Cal was mildly disappointed although he didn’t know quite what he had expected to find. It contained an untidy assortment of typed and handwritten letters, newspaper cuttings, telegrams that were still in their envelopes and some old jewellery.
Remembering the whisky, he went to find a tumbler. He knew the kitchen fridge had a small ice box, but it had a thick beard of frost and he would have been surprised to find ice cubes anyway. He settled for water from the tap.
The whisky tingled on his tongue. He lifted a bundle of the letters, smelling the age from them, and leafed through them haphazardly. They were mostly addressed to Mary or her parents. His eye caught a child’s handwriting and with a start recognised it as his own. He pulled the notepaper carefully from the envelope and read ‘a big thank you to Auntie Mary for a wonderful holiday’.
There were birthday cards too, and letters in his mother’s handwriting. Beneath one letter he found a blue airmail envelope and wondered idly who it might have been from. He’d already flicked past it when his subconscious registered something unusual. He went back to the blue, tissue-like airmail letter and studied it again. It was the address that confused him. It had been sent to Mary, right enough, not to the house where she had lived all her life but to an address in Toronto.
‘Canada!’ he heard himself exclaim aloud.
Mary had never spoken of having left the country and nobody else in the family had ever mentioned such a thing.
Cal studied the envelope more closely. There was a bold, red ‘return to sender’ stamp on it. The smudged postmark indicated it had been posted in the 1960s. There didn’t appear to be a letter inside. Leafing quickly through the box, Cal searched for any others, but there was none. He turned the envelope over and over in his hand. He recognised his grandmother’s name and address in the box for sender’s details. The facts were there before him, but he was so confused that he couldn’t link them together coherently. Apparently, his grandmother had written a letter to her daughter, Mary, who was in Canada at the time. It didn’t make sense.
Cal placed the box back on the table and went through to the kitchen to check on the fire. The paper was smouldering, but the peats hadn’t caught. He packed in some chopped wood and added a couple of white Zip lighters.
/> ‘Having problems?’ Mairi had come in unnoticed.
She smiled as he started in surprise, and a stunning smile it was too.
‘I’m trying to get this damn fire going.’
Mairi crouched down beside him.
‘Let me have a look.’
She reorganised the structure of the fire, relaid the sticks, the paper, the lighters and the peat. Cal was close to her and tried not to look at her, but he found it difficult, taking in the freshness of her skin and the smell of her hair.
‘It’s all to do with the amount of air that’s getting in,’ she explained, oblivious to his interest. ‘So if we close the door and open this vent, that should do it.’
Mairi stood up and went back outside to pick up two grocery bags.
‘I went over to town to get some things for tonight. There’ll be quite a few coming.’
She busied herself emptying the contents, cakes and pastries, packets of biscuits, bread and sandwich fillings.
‘Let me pay you for that.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said firmly.
Cal watched her putting the shopping into cupboards and the fridge. Her sexuality was all the more alluring for being unselfconscious.
‘Did you ever know Mary to have travelled?’ he asked to stop himself from staring. ‘Abroad I mean.’
‘No,’ replied Mairi, checking a bash on a box of cakes.
‘She never spoke about being in Canada?’
‘No. Why?’ She continued what she was doing, but he had caught her attention.
‘I came across a letter that was addressed to her in Canada.’
‘Canada?’
‘Yeah. Come here, I’ll show you.’
Mairi followed Cal through to the living room and he picked up the airmail letter.
‘What d’you make of that?’
‘What does the letter say?’
‘There isn’t one in it.’
‘There will be. It’s one of those airmail letters that form an envelope when you fold it. They were cheaper to post.’ The blue envelope unfolded to an A4 size in her fingers. The page was covered in hesitant handwriting. Mairi gave it back to him.
