Last of the Line

by John MacKay

  ‘That should tell you.’

  As Cal began to read, Mairi came round beside him.

  The letter was from a mother fussing over her daughter, concerned for her wellbeing so far from home. ‘Be sure to have warm clothes for the winter Canada is such a cold place.’ There was no punctuation and the spelling and grammar indicated an abbreviated education, but it scanned easily enough.

  Mary’s mother spoke of what was happening in the village, the harvesting of the corn and the death of an old woman. Friends of Mary were sending their love, she said. ‘Take care of yourself my dear. Your loving mother.’

  Frustratingly, there was no explanation of why Mary was in Canada, beyond a passing reference to her job.

  ‘I was beginning to think she’d maybe gone over to see some relatives, you know the way there so many over there. But she was working. How long was she there?’

  ‘Maybe she did both,’ suggested Mairi. ‘She might have gone to see family, but supported herself with a job when she was there.’

  Cal flicked again through the contents of the box. ‘None here.’

  ‘What about letters from Mary to her mother?’

  ‘There were some, but they all had British stamps. She probably wrote them when she was staying with us on the mainland.’

  ‘Well, well. It’s a mystery right enough,’ Mairi said with humour as she rose from a crouching position.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Just the fact that Mary has kept something to herself. We all have our little secrets don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, but even if she kept it to herself, you’d think my father or mother would have mentioned it.’

  ‘Maybe they did, and you just weren’t listening.’

  The evening was busy and emotional with the doctor and the minister and the villagers coming to pay their respects. Some he recognised vaguely from years before. All offered sincere condolences and spoke brief words of tribute to his aunt. Cal was the uncomfortable conduit for their expressions of sorrow. For some of the women, Mary had been a life-long friend. This was a sad time for them, and a reminder of their own mortality.

  ‘I still can’t believe Mary’s been taken from us so soon. She was a lovely woman, lovely,’ was a message repeated in various forms. Cal listened courteously to their whispered words of eulogy.

  Later, the minister held a service in the house. There were long prayers and the unaccompanied singing of the psalms. Church elders and some women, conscious of their rank as God’s converts, sat on the chairs in the living room with Cal. Mairi and others made do with standing in the kitchen and the hall. Cal would have preferred Mairi to have sat with him.

  When the sermon was over, Mairi came through offering tea and plates of sandwiches and cakes. She was accompanied by a middle-aged woman who smiled at Cal.

  After all the prayers had been proffered, people began to leave. There were older folk, men and women, in the traditional church garb of dark coat and hat. Others, ages with Mary, were less formally dressed, and there were younger people there too. This was not a gathering to say a sorrowful farewell to one who had lived a full life and whose time had come. There was shocked dismay that this had happened to someone who had so much more to give.

  At the end of the evening, Cal watched Mairi walking down the path arm in arm with what he assumed to be the last of the visitors. When he returned to the kitchen, he was surprised to find a woman he vaguely recognised was still there.

  ‘I’m sorry a’ghraidh,’ she said, trying to pull on a raincoat. ‘I’m forever at the cow’s tail.’

  ‘There’s no need to rush,’ he assured her. ‘Let me help you. Forgive me, but I didn’t get your name earlier.’

  ‘Kate-Anna. I was a friend of your aunt. We were pals at school.’ The final sentence was wistful. ‘And I remember you growing up. She was always so proud of you.’

  ‘I’m going to miss her.’

  ‘Won’t we all, a’ghraidh, won’t we all?’

  Kate-Anna leaned down by the side of the table and lifted a handbag, which she hung from her forearm, and headed towards the door.

  ‘We’ll see you again at the funeral,’ she said by way of farewell.

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’

  ‘No, that’s very kind, but I’m as quick to walk.’

  ‘Just before you go,’ said Cal suddenly, ‘I came across something today that’s made me curious.’

  She smiled indulgently at him.

  ‘I was going through some of Mary’s papers, just to check if there was anything needing to be dealt with.’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself. Mary would have made sure everything was in order. That’s how she was, everything had its place.’

  ‘Well yes, but I came across something that just didn’t seem to fit.’

  ‘Are you waiting for me Kate-Anna?’ said Mairi, coming back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll drive you in the road,’ she said brightly. Turning to Cal she added, ‘Well, that seemed to go okay. You’ll have known most of the faces if not the names. That lady at the end, Mairead, she was–’

  ‘I was just talking to Kate-Anna here about Mary,’ Cal interrupted.

  ‘Best friends, weren’t you Kate-Anna?’ said Mairi.

  Kate-Anna smiled. ‘My yes. We were girls together, and old maids together too.’

  She was emerging more clearly from Cal’s memory, a regular presence in the house, a greeting over the phone.

  ‘You’ll know then. About Mary in Canada?’

  Kate-Anna failed to hide her surprise.

  ‘Years ago,’ persisted Cal. ‘She stayed there for a while.’

  ‘Well now,’ began Kate-Anna, ‘I’m not sure about that at all.’

  ‘You don’t remember Mary being in Canada?’

  ‘Well you know a’ghraidh, it was a long time ago.’

  Sensing the older woman’s unease, Mairi stepped in. ‘Oh Kate-Anna, maybe she wasn’t there. Who knows? Let’s get you in the road.’

  Kate-Anna needed no persuasion and made to leave.

  ‘Goodbye. Thank you for coming,’ Cal said feebly.

  As Kate-Anna moved to the door, she turned her head, but avoided eye contact with Cal.

  ‘She’s at rest now,’ she said pointedly. ‘At peace.’

  7

  ‘SHE KNOWS SOMETHING and she didn’t want to tell us.’

  Cal had remained at the table going over and over the brief conversation with Kate-Anna. As soon as Mairi stepped through the door on her return, he started talking.

  ‘What did she say to you?’

  ‘Nothing. Well, nothing about that.’

  ‘So what’s the big secret?’

  ‘Why does there have to be a secret, Calum? Maybe there’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘If there’s no secret why would Mary say nothing about living in Canada? You’d think it might have come up some time, but I never heard her say anything. Not her, not my parents, nobody. And then her lifetime pal, who must have known and who looks like she’s never told a lie in her life, pretends she doesn’t remember.’ Cal sat with his arms spread open, his case made and unarguable.

  ‘Suppose she was in Canada,’ began Mairi.

  ‘There’s no suppose about it.’

  ‘Just supposing she was,’ continued Mairi, mild irritation entering her voice. ‘Maybe she didn’t like it, maybe she had bad memories, or sad ones. What matters is that she didn’t want to talk about it. So let it be. That’s how she wanted it.’

  Cal was too intrigued to notice Mairi’s exasperated tone.

  ‘What could be so bad that she didn’t talk about it? Ever. You’d think it might have merited a passing mention. Even the mere fact of it.’

  ‘Not everyone wants to blab y’know.’ Mairi was leaning against the stove, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. ‘It’s the big thing now to tell everything about yourself. On daytime telly that’s all there is, people moaning about their troubles. Well, not everyone’s like that. Some prefer to deal with diff
iculties privately, in their own way. And I’ll tell you something, I think that’s more dignified.’ Mairi’s face was flushed.

  ‘Okay,’ Cal said in a conciliatory tone.

  ‘And anyway, maybe she did tell you and you don’t remember.’

  ‘I’d have remembered that. But then, why would she tell me? I didn’t even know she was ill. Maybe I could have helped her.’

  ‘Could you?’ asked Mairi pointedly.

  Cal was taken aback. ‘What d’you mean?’ he asked defensively.

  Mairi hesitated. ‘She didn’t want to tell you she wasn’t well. “Don’t trouble Calum, he’s so busy.” I heard that often. And what would you have done anyway? Would you have come? Probably not. So what would be the point in worrying you? That’s how she thought. It was only when she knew the end was close that she let me call you. If she couldn’t even tell you she was dying, why would she tell you anything else?’

  ‘She didn’t think I’d care,’ Cal said. It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘This is all getting too serious and things are sad enough just now,’ responded Mairi, lifting her voice. ‘I’m sure there was nothing more to it than she’d forgotten. It was a long time ago. And here we are, beginning to imagine some great mystery. I’m already at the stage I can’t remember what I did yesterday.’

  Mairi set about tidying up cups and plates, carrying them to the sink and running hot water into a basin. Cal remained where he was, lost in thought.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was speaking out of turn there,’ she said, clattering the dishes into the basin. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it wrong, though. You just said what I know deep down anyway.’ Cal rose to take a dish towel from the bar of the oven and went over to stand at Mairi’s side.

  ‘It’s been a long night. You’ll be glad to get back to the hotel,’ she smiled.

  ‘I’ve got some thinking to do.’

  ‘You’ve been thinking too much, that’s the trouble.’

  ‘Why don’t you come up with me for a drink?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s where I’d want to be seen tonight. Besides I have things to do at home. But thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you. You’re keeping me right in all of this.’

  Mairi’s hand touched his arm comfortingly.

  Cal left her and drove through the darkness to the hotel. It took some getting used to for a city boy, the world confined to the arc of the car headlights.

  He dined on herring, the hubbub of the bar spilling through into the dining room. He hadn’t eaten the fish since leaving home. His parents had loved herring and potatoes, their Saturday treat. Cal loathed it, the bones, the fish heads stuffed with oats, the salt nipping any cuts on his fingers. The meal was filling and more enjoyable than he remembered, but he still hated the bones.

  He bought a bottle of Macallan malt at an inflated price from the lounge bar to take up to his room. The barman gave him a pint tumbler full of ice cubes to go with it.

  Only now did he feel the tension in his neck. He ran a hot bath, poured a good measure of whisky over some ice and soaked in the tub. His mind burrowed back in time, sifting through old conversations and episodes for any clue or hint about Mary’s past that he might have missed.

  There was family in Canada and the United States, he knew that, distant ties with people whose forebears had gone before, but he was sure there had never been any mention of Mary being over there. More than that, when he’d first holidayed abroad with his friends, he remembered her joking that Glasgow was far enough for her. The longer he dwelt upon it, the more convinced he was that her time in Canada was never referred to. Such disciplined silence could only have been deliberate. What was there to hide?

  Cal knew he would never sleep if he continued to turn things over in his mind. He lay on the bed and hopped through the television channels, settling on the news. By the time the newsreader repeated the headlines at the close of the programme, he realised that he couldn’t remember anything about the stories he’d been watching. The images had flickered in front of him, but they hadn’t penetrated beyond his eyes. He had continued turning over the puzzle of Mary like a jewel, examining its every facet. And he would do so all night.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. Maybe he could find something at the house that might clear things up. He hadn’t looked for anything more after finding the box. He pulled on his clothes again and left the room.

  A small group of local teenagers were sitting on the drystane wall that formed the perimeter of the hotel. Too young to get a drink in the bar, they hovered in the hope that a friendly drinker might be willing to get them some tins of beer if they gave him the money.

  They watched Cal go to his car. In the city he might have been a little intimidated, but there was no air of malevolence about the group.

  ‘That’s some motor, cove,’ a boy called.

  ‘Yeah,’ Cal smiled in acknowledgement.

  ‘Don’t see many of them here.’

  ‘Couldn’t carry many peats in that,’ joked another.

  ‘It’s not really suited to these parts,’ said Cal.

  ‘Oh, I dunno,’ the first youth said as he approached, admiring the car. ‘You could get some speed on that out the Barvas Road.’

  ‘Have a look if you want,’ invited Cal, bleeping the alarm off and opening the door.

  The boy walked over quickly and leaned in, his eyes darting over the console, the steering wheel and the gear stick.

  ‘I’ve seen you driving about. You’re from the village. Mary’s house.’

  ‘That’s right. She’s my aunt. Was my aunt.’

  ‘It’s a shame what happened,’ continued the boy, still inspecting the car.

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘Yeah. We all did. Everyone knows everyone here. She was great. When we were kids we’d go to her house and she’d give us sweets.’

  ‘How did you know I knew her?’

  ‘I saw you. Anyway, like I said, everyone knows everything here. And my ma, she knows you.’

  The boy was confident enough to sit in the driver’s seat, placing both arms firmly on the steering wheel. His friends drew closer, looking in the windows.

  ‘Your ma?’

  ‘Aye, she’s been at the house with you.’

  ‘Mairi’s your mother?’

  ‘Aye.’ He replied as if Cal should have known.

  ‘And what’s your name?’

  The other boys immediately responded with a deluge of insulting nicknames.

  ‘Colin,’ he finally managed to say.

  ‘I’m going back in the road if you want a lift?’

  Colin looked at Cal in delight and confirmation.

  ‘Shift over.’

  Cal lowered himself behind the wheel as Colin pulled himself into the passenger seat.

  ‘Anyone else going our way?’

  Cal didn’t give anyone time to answer, gunning the engine and thrusting the car into reverse in a fluid movement. He heard Colin laugh excitedly, but he also heard more stones thudding against the wheel arches. The boy would have seen him wince if he hadn’t been looking out at his pals. Too late for the show to stop now, thought Cal, as he whipped the steering wheel round and roared out of the car park onto the main road.

  Colin whooped as they accelerated along the straight, the speedometer needle jumping ten miles per hour every second. They swept up the steep brae and almost leapt over the brow, Cal twisting the steering wheel as the road became a series of twists between hill and rock. His foot jumped from brake to accelerator as if tapping in time to music.

  At one sharp turn the rear of the car slewed round, but almost immediately held the road again. Cal knew it was the car and not the driver that had saved the situation. They powered onto a straight, past the church and the school, over the bridge and into a tight seventy degree turn onto the village road.

  Man and boy were exhilarated, Colin clearly loving every minute of it. Then came a blind bend which was a
challenge beyond Cal’s driving ability. He took the wrong line going into it and felt the rear go again. He screwed the wheels violently to compensate, but the momentum was too much and the offside tyres left the road, tearing through the grass to spin on air over the drainage ditch. There was a sickening grinding noise as the underside scraped on the road surface, and then the car came to a thudding halt.

  Colin thumped against the passenger door and Cal was thrown in the same direction. There was momentary silence, broken by Cal exhaling loudly through his mouth. He jumped and went round to the nearside, his face contorting with apprehension. In the dark, he could see no obvious damage to the car. The left rear wheel was overhanging the incline, but the body remained on the level. He pulled open the passenger door. Colin was rubbing his shoulder and upper arm.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘No,’ said Colin, ‘I’m fine. What about the car?’

  ‘Off the road. Can you get out?’

  Cal leaned over and pulled open the door. Colin emerged, still holding his arm, and sidled along the lip of the ditch. The two of them stood behind the car and took in the situation.

  ‘It looks steady enough. If I give the engine a blast it should be enough to get it out.’

  ‘We could get a tractor,’ suggested Colin.

  ‘No. I don’t want anyone else involved. Wait there.’

  Cal got back into the driver’s seat, re-engaged the gears, gunned the engine and jolted back on the clutch. Three wheels span instantly, then gripped the ground, shooting the car forward in a protesting discord of torn earth, stones and scraping metal. He had to wrench the steering wheel hard and stamp on the brakes to avoid plunging off the road on the other side.

  Colin ran back up to the passenger side and got in.

  ‘Just got away with that, eh?’ Cal asked unnecessarily. ‘Is your arm alright? Should I be taking you to a doctor?’

  ‘No, it’s okay, just a bit sore. It’s okay, really.’

  Cal started the car moving again. ‘Maybe this is why there aren’t many of these cars up here.’

  There was no response.

  ‘You’d better not be laughing,’ he warned with a trace of embarrassed humour.