Last of the Line

by John MacKay

  This must be his great-grandfather. He had never thought of the man before, but standing here above his burial place, Cal tried to imagine what he would have been like. He must be one of the silent figures in the photographs at Mary’s house, possibly the one with the long white beard and bonnet cap. Cal recognised the names of his grandfather and grandmother inscribed on a stone near the newly dug grave. Mary was to be interred beside them. In a flight of romanticism he wondered whether somewhere they had already welcomed their ‘dearest daughter’ among them.

  With that thought, Cal realised that he was all alone in this world. Girlfriends might come and go and good times would be had with friends, but there was no lifelong bond, no one left who knew him over the spread of his life. Whoever Mary really was, now that she was gone, he truly was the last blood.

  14

  CAL WANDERED FROM the cemetery down onto the beach. It stretched for perhaps quarter of a mile, the sand smooth as ice, save for the occasional humps of hidden boulders. With the dead gathered behind him, there was no living soul in sight.

  How often did the tide sweep in and out unseen? What dramas of nature were played out here without witness? Cal had the oppressive feeling that he could be the only person on earth.

  He quickly made his way back to the car, avoiding the cemetery, walking instead beside the burbling brown river.

  Back inside the Audi he felt cocooned and safe. At least when he returned tomorrow, he would not be alone. As the car climbed away from the sea, his phone rang again. It was a voice message from Lisa. She was at his house, waiting for him to call. Down by the shore he must have been out of range of any telecommunication network.

  He pulled off the road into the quarry to phone her. Lisa answered quickly and he apologised for not getting her call. ‘I need you to find my birth certificate, but I’m not sure where it is.’

  ‘Your birth certificate? Why?’

  ‘Nothing dramatic, just something I need to check.’

  There were two likely places it might be and he had to accept that Lisa would be able to study his personal papers if she was so inclined. She might then discover everything he had told her about himself was not entirely true.

  He directed her to a drawer in his bedroom where he kept his passport.‘It might not look exactly like yours, it’ll be smaller and squarer,’ he told her.

  While she was rooting around in his drawer, he tried to visualise what else she might discover. She came back on the line quickly.

  ‘How do you collect so much junk? It’s not there. Just your passport and stuff.’

  That was disappointing. Now he would have to direct her to a folder of paperwork in his wardrobe, which contained bank statements and bills. She would see that more than a few were threatening red letters.

  ‘It’ll be under some clothes at the top,’ he explained.

  It didn’t take her long. ‘Your wardrobe’s tidier than your house,’ she observed. It was probably true too. He took great pride in his clothes, the outward appearance always seeming more important than anything else.

  ‘Flick through all the stuff in the folder. It’ll be an older bit of paper obviously.’

  ‘This looks like it,’ she said almost immediately. There was a moment’s delay as she unfolded it. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Okay. What does it say on it?’

  ‘Just your name and where and when you were born. That’s it.’ Then she giggled. ‘You’re how old?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, alright,’ he responded curtly. ‘That’s all, there’s nothing else?’

  ‘No, nothing apart from a signature at the bottom. It doesn’t even mention your mum or dad. Were you adopted or something?’

  Lisa had confirmed what he thought he remembered.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ve got another big favour to ask. The last one, I promise.’

  ‘What?’ Caution crept into her voice.

  ‘I need you to go to the registry office and see if you can get a copy of my full birth certificate.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘That place at the West End where they have a lot of weddings.’

  ‘Oh yeah. I was there for my pal’s last year. It’s beautiful, it really is. They’ve got this staircase…’

  ‘As long as you know where it is,’ Cal interrupted.

  He told her the information she would need, including his mother’s maiden name, and suggested she take his abbreviated birth certificate with her. He urged her to let him know the result as quickly as she could.

  ‘I’m grateful, Lisa, I really am. I know I’ve disappointed you over the deal, but this is important to me.’ He meant it, and she seemed to respond positively.

  ‘I’ll call you as soon as I have it,’ she promised.

  As he replaced the phone, he noticed the time. This day of discovery had passed rapidly and now hunger hit him. How long had it been since Mairi had brought him the sandwiches?

  As he drove back to the hotel, the light slipped away and the moor and the hills slunk back into the gloom. Cal used to be scared of the dark here. Not just the deep, deep blackness, but the sheer scale of the sky above, with stars beyond counting. To stand and stare into the night sky and lose yourself in the hordes of other worlds whose light took centuries to be seen was to realise how small and insignificant was man. It was overwhelming and intimidating. In the city, in the glow of the street lamps, you could insulate yourself. But on the islands, it bore down upon you. Some lauded the glory of night here, but Cal feared it.

  The warm, yellow light from the hotel played on the rippled surface of the loch as Cal turned into the car park. He felt relief at seeing human activity. Returning to his room, he succumbed to an all-consuming tiredness and fell onto the bed, removing only his shoes.

  He slept for less than an hour, but his body had needed it. As he showered and went over in his mind everything that had happened, it was no surprise. The fresh air had always knocked him out for the first couple of days after he arrived on holiday. Added to that, the disturbed night he’d had, the shock of nearly crashing his car, the people he’d met and most of all, the emotional turmoil of interrogating his own identity. A draining day altogether.

  He dined on scallops wrapped in salmon and assessed all the confusing information of the day. Mairi had made him wonder if he was over-dramatising. His doubts were compounded by her reluctance to be candid. His thoughts were disturbed by the waitress.

  ‘Mr MacCarl?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re wanted on the phone.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There’s a call for you at reception.’

  Cal walked through the dining room trying to guess who it might be. It was Mairi’s voice and he was pleased to hear it, despite himself.

  ‘There’s a gathering at the house again and they’re waiting for you. Will you be here, or will I tell them to carry on?’

  ‘Another one?’ His dismay was clearly audible.

  ‘It’s the way of things. Look, you just rest. You’ve got a lot on your mind.’

  ‘No, I should be there. Give me ten minutes.’

  Cal abandoned what was left of his dinner and returned to his room, cursing that his day was not over yet.

  It took him slightly more than ten minutes to get to Mary’s, and longer still to park the car. A line of other vehicles were pulled into the side of the road outside the house.

  The lights were on and he could see movement inside. Mairi must have opened it up and welcomed people. Should he have known, should she have told him? He came through the back door. A knot of people were standing in the kitchen talking quietly among themselves. One or two smiled at him, kind, warm faces that he knew he had seen before in Mary’s company. Among them was Kate-Anna.

  Mairi came straight to him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I thought you knew to come. The minister is waiting for you. He’s fine.’

  The atmosphere in the living room was altogether colder. The people
there were unsmiling and clad in the clothes of the church. Two women sitting on the settee were wearing hats. Cal had seen them for the first time at the service the night before, when they had occupied the same positions. The men were in sombre suits and two still had their coats on. The minister rose from a chair by the window.

  ‘Ah, Calum,’ he said, proffering his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cal said. ‘I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘You must forgive us our ways.’

  Most of the elders now nodded and smiled. One of the women, though, her greying hair pinned into a tight bun beneath her hat, continued to look at him sternly. He disliked her already. Why was she sitting so prominently in Mary’s room? Why was Kate-Anna not here, or Mairi?

  A seat near the door had been left empty and Cal understood that it was meant for him. The minister lifted his Bible. Looking around the room he said, ‘Shall we begin?’

  He led the prayers and read two passages from the Bible. One of the elders led the psalm singing.

  It was over within the hour and folk began to disperse. The minister asked him if he was prepared for the following day and encouraged him to call if he had any concerns. As Cal stood at the back door he saw Mairi and Kate-Anna talking at the far end of the kitchen. Eventually it was only the three of them left.

  Mairi went through to the living room, indicating with a movement of her head that Cal should follow. The older woman stayed behind in the kitchen, pulling on her coat.

  ‘We need to talk,’ said Mairi as she returned the chairs to their original positions. ‘Will you still be here after I take Kate-Anna home?’

  ‘I’ll take her,’ said Cal. ‘It’s on the road to the hotel anyway, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll do it.’

  ‘I want to do it. I want to speak to her.’

  Mairi hesitated. ‘Well, I’ll ask her.’

  ‘No, tell her. Tell her I’m taking her.’

  ‘What are you going to do now, Cal?’ Mairi’s tone was despairing.

  ‘Maybe somebody will tell me the truth.’

  ‘Oh Cal, will you not just let things lie?’ Mairi pleaded. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t open with you, but that’s no reason to think anything sinister is going on.’

  ‘Just let me speak to Kate-Anna. You owe me that.’

  Mairi shook her head. ‘I can only ask. If she doesn’t want to go with you, I can’t make her.’

  The last chair was back in place and the fire had been turned off. Cal waited for Mairi to go back through to the kitchen and then switched off the lights.

  ‘Calum’s going to take you home if that’s okay,’ Mairi informed Kate-Anna.

  She looked at Mairi in surprise.

  ‘It’s on my way to the hotel,’ Cal chipped in.

  ‘Of course, well that would be very kind,’ Kate-Anna said after a moment. ‘I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.’

  ‘It’s no bother,’ Cal reassured her.

  Just as he started to follow her out, Mairi asked quietly, ‘Do you have a suit for tomorrow?’

  Cal stopped dead. In the rush to leave the Edinburgh flat, he had thrown only a change of clothes into his holdall. Mairi must have guessed.

  ‘Don’t worry. I still have a suit of Colin’s. It might not be quite the style you’re used to, but it should fit. Come to the house in the morning.’

  Cal smiled in gratitude and thanked her. His resentment was going and the warmth was back.

  The moon was out, dappling the sea and tracing a luminous trail along the road. Silhouetted against it was Kate-Anna.

  This woman knew. And if Cal could persuade her to tell, finally he would know too.

  15

  CAL WALKED KATE-ANNA down to his car. To start the conversation, he apologised he was parked so far from the house.

  ‘Yes, there was a lot came.’ She spoke with the same strong accent as Mary. ‘And there’ll be more tomorrow.’

  She was ages with Mary and wore a plain, navy raincoat over a dark jumper, skirt and flat shoes. She took off her hat as they walked. ‘I only use this for the church,’ she explained.

  When they were getting into the car she misjudged the position of the seat and fell back with a small thud.

  ‘I’m not used to seats being so low,’ she laughed embarrassedly. Then she struggled to find the catch for the seatbelt. ‘I’m not doing very well, am I?’

  Cal tried to help, but it was an awkward situation and he didn’t want to pull the belt from her. Eventually she found it and sat back, clasping her hands on her lap.

  ‘I’m not used to these things,’ she said.

  ‘You’re fine,’ Cal reassured her, starting the engine and pulling away.

  As they passed the house, Mairi appeared walking down the path and waved.

  ‘She’s a lovely girl,’ said Kate-Anna.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Cal. ‘She’s been a great help.’

  ‘And she was to Mary as well.’

  Kate-Anna looked at the dashboard as Cal drove. ‘Well, this is a lovely car,’ she observed.

  ‘I’m not sure how suited it is to these roads though.’

  ‘This is really very good of you.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s on my way.’

  Cal agitated about how to broach the issue of Mary’s past. Kate-Anna had made it clear the night before that the subject was not up for discussion.

  For some moments they sat in silence, swaying gently in unison from side to side with the motion of the car.

  ‘I’m just at the cut off,’ Kate-Anna said. ‘You can drop me there.’

  Cal knew the opportunity was best taken while she was in the car. Outside, she could walk away.

  ‘I would really like to talk to you. About Mary. I know what you said, but there are things I need to know and I think you know what they are.’ He glanced earnestly at her.

  Kate-Anna sat for some moments and it was a relief to Cal when she spoke.

  ‘I’ll answer anything you want to ask as best I can.’ She directed him to her house, a single-storey cottage with barrels of flowers set on either side of the front door. ‘Come in for some tea.’

  Cal had to help her release the seatbelt.

  ‘Thank you,’ she chuckled. ‘I’d still have been here in the morning if I’d had to do it myself.’ He was encouraged by her humour.

  Force of habit made him click the remote alarm as they went through the gate to the house. The car bleeped and the hazard lights flashed.

  ‘Oh you’ll not need to do that here,’ she said. ‘There’s not a soul will pass by here tonight.’

  Kate-Anna walked through her front door without using a key. They went into her living room and she switched on a coal-effect electric fire. It was a tidy room with furniture that, although not old-fashioned, was certainly dated. ‘Take a seat and I’ll get the tea,’ she said removing her coat.

  It was already comfortably warm. Cal noticed a central heating radiator below the front window. The electric fire was superfluous, but the tradition of sitting around a glowing fire was hard to let go.

  ‘The peat fire was getting too much,’ Kate-Anna said from the kitchen. ‘It’s such a lot of work.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Cal acknowledged. ‘At first I couldn’t get the stove back at Mary’s to light.’

  She laughed. ‘There’s a knack to it.’

  Cal looked around. A framed seascape print hung above the fireplace and there were some black and white photographs among the contemporary colour photos of family groups.

  ‘That’s my nieces and nephews and their families,’ Kate-Anna explained as she came back through with the tea on a tin tray. There was a plate of chocolate biscuits, shortbread and buttered gingerbread.

  ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar,’ she encouraged, sitting on the edge of the chair next to the fire. ‘So what is it you would like to know?’

  ‘Last night you told me you had grown up with my aunt, that you’d been best friends all your life.’

&nb
sp; ‘We were.’

  ‘There are things she’ll have told you that maybe she didn’t say to anyone else.’

  Kate-Anna nodded. ‘Yes, she told me a lot over the years. And me her.’

  ‘You said to let the past rest.’

  She nodded vigorously.

  ‘I understand why you would say that, but I don’t think this is just about the past. This is about me.’

  A quizzical look came over Kate-Anna’s face.

  ‘I know that Mary lived in Canada.’ For added emphasis Cal repeated, ‘I know that. I’ve seen the letters my gran wrote to her.’

  ‘Well, these letters will probably tell you as much as I can.’

  ‘Not really. They raise more questions than anything else.’

  Kate-Anna took a sip of tea and looked down at the cup, holding it to her lap.

  ‘Yes,’ she began, ‘she went to Canada when she was young. Her and a friend. And you know, in those days that was quite a thing for a girl to do. But that was Mary.’

  ‘Why did she go?’

  ‘Why does anyone do something like that? The island life isn’t suited to everyone.’

  ‘I thought she always loved it here?’

  ‘I suppose she did, but you know what it’s like when you’re young. Life is a big adventure. I’m not sure she’d have thought about it on her own, but her friend was keen to go and Jean had family there.’

  ‘Do you remember her going?’

  ‘Oh my, yes. Well I remember her leaving here for Glasgow. Crying like two children we were. I didn’t know that I would ever see her again. And she was telling me that I would come over to see her in Toronto.’

  Now that she had overcome her reluctance to talk, the story began to spill from Kate-Anna. ‘Oh and her mother was so upset, and your grandfather, well, he hardly said anything. He didn’t want her to go, didn’t think it was right for a girl of her age. But in fairness to him, he didn’t try to stop her. Your own father, her brother, oh now he was different.’