by John MacKay
‘She’s full of mischief, that one,’ chuckled Mairi, but he could sense an undertow of embarrassment.
‘Mum, can we go?’
It was Colin, who had overheard the whole interchange and was evidently displeased.
‘Do you have to? Now?’ asked Cal.
‘I’ll need to get them home. It’s been a long morning.’
‘Who did they travel with?’
‘Roddy. They went with Roddy.’ She continued when she saw the inquisitive look on his face. ‘He’s from the village. He was next to Colin with the cord at the graveside.’
‘What was his connection with Mary?’
‘She was close friends with his family,’ she shrugged. ‘He’s a nice man, Roddy. He takes Colin fishing and sometimes helps me with work in the house.’
‘Finlay’ll love that.’
She smiled shyly.
‘Why don’t you come back with us?’
‘No. It’s okay.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tomorrow most likely.’
‘Will you be back?’
‘I don’t know. There’s the house to be emptied. Maybe I can find out more if I do it. I’ll call you.’
‘So this won’t be the last time we see you?’
‘You won’t get rid of me that easily.’
Mairi looked to the floor and then stepped towards him and hugged him.
‘It was good of you to come. She knew. She knew you were there.’ Mairi was crying.
Cal put his arms around her waist.
‘Isn’t it me who’s supposed to thank people for coming?’
She looked at him, her eyes moist.
‘Thank you for calling me and for looking after her,’ Cal said sincerely. ‘For everything. Thank you.’
When they released each other, he saw Emma and Colin behind her, the youth staring hard at him. Another figure, Roddy, was waiting for them at the door. Colin went ahead and began talking to him. It was clear to Cal how comfortable they were with each other.
The room was empty now except for the waitresses clearing up. Mairi and her children left with Roddy. She paused and turned to wave, trying to hold back the tears. Cal stood in the middle of the room and watched her go. Alone again.
22
AS CAL PULLED off his shoes in his hotel room, he realised he was still wearing the suit he had borrowed. It lifted him to think there would be a reason to see Mairi again before he left, although he sensed he would gain little from it. It was apparent that his attraction to her was not reciprocated, although he clearly inspired some affection or emotion in her. Her tearful goodbye told him that.
He had to acknowledge that his feelings for her were different from the usual predatory mode. It was something about simply being with her, sensing her near to him that excited him. It was much more than the animal impulse of assessing a willing sex mate. It wasn’t love, not yet, although it might become so. He could only guess at that because he had never been in love. He had felt this about two other women before, but those relationships had never developed because he feared the limitations they would impose. He had reassured himself that he hadn’t been ready, unsettled that his emotions had taken him so close. This time, though, he felt more comfortable. It was unforced, natural. But there was nothing coming back. Nothing that was the same, anyway.The suit was still damp and he folded it over a chair beside the radiator. Removing the shirt was a relief and he lay on the bed in his shorts.
The minister had asked him what his plans were. He could easily make the evening ferry, but that was not what he wanted to do. He didn’t want to dash away with things unsaid and loose ends left untied. And he had to collect his car from Mary’s house. Her letters were still scattered on the bed in the upstairs room.
There was no rush. His body relaxed and he drifted off to sleep.
The sun had followed the storm clouds and it was bright outside when he woke. The light and his refreshed mind brought clarity of thought. Mary was not his mother, he knew that now. Mairi had made sense when she said it was the only fact which had evidence to support it. He had not been adopted. His parents were truly his mother and father.
It perturbed him how ready he had been to accept that they might not be. That hadn’t hurt as much as it should. He should have had more resistance to the idea. His mother, so proud of him and so dear. Even as she struggled painfully in a fight she knew she would lose, her eyes would light up when she saw him and she would speak only of what mattered to him and his future. She had given everything for him and yet he had questioned her place so readily. His betrayal hurt now. It really hurt. And his father. Despite the tensions between them, the fact was that his father had always been there and had been willing to sacrifice his own dreams for his boy. Maybe he resented it at times, but he had done it and his son had not been grateful. He would be now.
Cal resigned himself to thinking that he would never know who Mary’s child had been. A child she had given birth to and then given away, keeping only a few precious memories. If it had been only that, then he could have accepted the child would always be unknown to him.
What if the child had been raised on the island? Snippets of information and snatches of conversation slipped in and out of his mind like objects picked over by torchlight in a darkened room. They began to connect, forming fuller pictures that asked more questions. Why had Roddy been one of the cord-holders? Why was his connection to Mary deemed any more than that of other men of the village, who would had known her for a lot longer?
And what of Finlay? A difficult, isolated man, whose grief had been so intense. Mary had chosen him to be among the few who lowered her to her final rest. And Mairi had said he knew the house better than she did. He worked Mary’s croft for her. And there was the way he wanted the house for his own. Cal had connected that with Mairi, but perhaps it had not been that at all.
And then there was Mairi’s late husband, an orphan who had moved across the island to a village with which he had no connection.
Cal tried to keep his imagination in check. It had already guided him to conclusions that had been embarrassingly wrong. He must focus on his own future. The past was just that.
On that thought, he ordered a taxi from reception, freshened up and put on his own clothes and then sat by the window, waiting.
From his city apartment he could look right into people’s lives in the buildings opposite. Below were the streets and cars, the windows and lights of the domestic and commercial packed together. There was always something happening, something to see, the bustle of the city. He could set his watch by looking outside. The early rush, the mid-morning lull, the build-up through the afternoon to the mad scramble of evening. He could even take a good guess at what day of the week it was from the hustle below.
This view was altogether different. The mutating light, the movement of the water of the loch, the birds and wildlife oblivious to his presence. Constantly changing and yet somehow timeless.
Cal drifted in thought until the ringing of the room phone made him jump. His taxi had arrived. He draped the suit over his arm and went downstairs.
The driver had expected a fare to town and sped along the roads, anxious not to miss a more lucrative fare. Cal was at Mairi’s house within five minutes. Her car wasn’t there and he wondered if the journey had been wasted. There was every chance that the place would be unlocked, in the island way and he would be able to leave the suit inside. But without her being there, the journey was still worthless.
He saw no sign of activity, but knocked on the side door to make sure he didn’t surprise anyone. Not expecting a reply, he turned the handle and the door opened. He placed the suit over the back of a chair. As he turned to go, he thought he should leave a note and looked around for a scrap of paper, but nothing caught his eye. As he considered what to do, the inside door opened abruptly and young Colin stood looking at him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded belligerently.
�
�The suit. I was bringing it back.’ Cal gestured to the chair.
‘The suit. My dad’s suit.’
‘Your dad’s suit.’
‘So you’ve done it.’
‘Is your mum in?’
‘No.’
There was no more information forthcoming.
‘Well, d’you know where she might be?’
‘Nuh.’
‘Could I maybe write her a note?’
‘Tell me. I’ll tell her.’ Colin’s tone was still sharp.
‘Colin, what’s making you so angry with me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You spoke clearly enough this morning.’
‘So you know.’
‘Not really. You’re angry that Mary died and that your dad died. I know that. What I don’t get is why that’s my fault.’
‘I didn’t say it was.’
‘Well, it seems like it.’
‘I told you. I don’t like people trying take my dad’s place.’
‘Come on,’ protested Cal. ‘How d’you figure that?’
‘His suit. Trying to show off to me with your car. My mum. You’re never away from her. And then you claim your Mary’s son.’
Cal rubbed his forehead with his hand.
‘That was a mistake,’ he said sheepishly.
‘Some mistake.’
‘Your mum’ll explain. If you’re interested.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Alright Colin, you think you’re a straight talker. Let’s see if you can take it as well as give it out. I don’t want to replace your dad. I never knew the man. Your mum? She’s been great. Without her I wouldn’t really have known what to do. And yeah, your mum’s a good looking woman. But that’s it. No Colin, there’s only one guy in here trying to replace your dad, and that’s you. Don’t try and be him or what you think he was.’ Emma appeared behind her brother and Cal could see the concern in her face. ‘I’ve said enough and you’ll not listen anyway. There’s your dad’s suit. Don’t worry, I’ll not be back.’
He strode out of the house. Despite his anger, there was something to be admired in the way the boy had stood up for his father against another adult. Most kids his age would have been reduced to impotent silence. Would he, Cal, have been the same? He doubted it.
He and Colin had hit it off that first night and it was a pity that it had gone sour. That had all come from the boy seeing Cal in his father’s suit. And was he so wrong? Cal had no interest in being a father to someone else’s children, but he did have an interest in their mother. It was only natural Colin would resent it.
He re-ran the conversation in his head as he went up the brae to Mary’s house. There was really no way back. Why should he care anyway, when would he ever see him again?
The house had a despondent air. The long grass was bowed and lifeless, beaten down by the earlier rain and the wind shifted without vigour. Cal walked round the path to the door, the conversation with Colin still in his mind. Something the boy had said niggled him and he was trying to remember what it was. Then as he pushed the side door open, it came to him. Suddenly, Cal knew.
23
THERE WAS STILL a little warmth in the kitchen from the fire that Mairi had lit that morning. Not much, but enough to keep away any chill. Cal packed more peats into the stove. He was getting more adept at it now.
Everything made sense and fitted together. He had decided earlier in the hotel that he would let it all go and live for tomorrow, but now he needed to speak to Mairi one more time. If he remained here, he would see her coming home and could intercept her. She must know. She would have to tell him. Her house was out of sight from the kitchen, but he could see it and every car coming in the road from upstairs.
He bounded up to the bedroom where he had left the letters scattered on the bed, gathered them up carefully and put them back in the box along with the identity tag and lock of hair, then returned it to the top of the wardrobe. He no longer had a claim to them.
An hour later there was still no sign of Mairi’s return. His limbs were getting stiff from sitting by the window and he got up to get the blood flowing again. He went round the house making sure everything was in order. It was an upsetting experience. It was the little things that hit him. The women’s magazine in the rack by the television, the packet of biscuits in the cupboard, the mail that had arrived that day, that would never be answered. Mary was gone now and in time the only physical mark left would be her gravestone at the cemetery. That was the one place he wanted to see again before he left. It seemed pointless to keep waiting for Mairi. He would see her at her place and if that meant speaking to her in Colin’s presence, then that’s what he’d have to do.
The breeze had picked up and the storm clouds were gone. The sun was falling to the western horizon. The end of another day. People were returning to their domestic condition – be it happy, sad, loving, longing, content, frustrated. And tomorrow they would rise to another day of the same. But here in this place, at this house, the sun was going down on the end of era. Nothing here would ever be the same again.
Another family might establish themselves and the place may come alive again, but it would be different for those who had known what had been before. And when time took them away, then nobody would remember. All around him on this ancient land, civilisations and generations had lived and died and the lives they had led, the customs and ties that had bound them, were lost and unknown.
There were enough physical clues for the archaeologists to understand how they might have lived. They could piece together a picture of how they provided for themselves, something of their rituals; there was evidence of their deaths. But no one could ever really know their lives, who they were, their loves and sorrows.
The records could not explain why a mother had killed her baby, only that she had. One could guess at the character of the young man who fled across the ocean to evade the law and married the daughter of a Native American tribal chief. One could guess, but could never really know, and nobody who did know was left to tell. The war memorial listed the names of the dead from foreign fields, but not of the blighted lives of the mothers and the sweethearts who were left.
Further back there were no records, except perhaps tales that had become legends to tell of the endurance of the young man who returned to his girl, of the mothers raising families alone when their man did not come back from the fishing, the disruption of the families forced out of their homes, the heroism of the farmer dying before marauding hordes to protect all that was his.
The records would show that this day Mary MacCarl had been buried, but tell nothing of who and what she was.
Cal was now driving away from the house, moved to seek a view of where she lay for perhaps the last time. Driving east with the sun behind him, the road and moor were cast in a palette of soft tones. The road was empty. He was chased by the mad dog again as he roared by, then his route took him round to the west. Before him hung the sun, golden above the sea. Cal tried to keep his eyes on the road, but they were constantly drawn to the beauty before him. It was only when the way dipped towards the shore and the sea was hidden that his full attention returned to the road ahead. There was another car parked beside the cemetery. It was Mairi’s.
Cal had not expected to find her here, but then why wouldn’t she be?
He walked through the cemetery and saw her at Mary’s grave, crouched next to it with her back to him. It looked as though she was examining the cards on the bouquets that had been laid on top of the mound.
‘Mairi,’ he called, but his voice was thrown away by the sea breeze. The cellophane around the flowers crackled.
‘Mairi!’ he shouted more loudly, but again she didn’t hear. It wasn’t until he was almost level with her that he saw she was actually tending to the grave next to Mary’s. She turned round, startled.
‘Oh Cal! You gave me a fright.’
‘I was calling, but you couldn’t hear me. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh Mairi,�
�� he murmured, opening her arms to console her.
He glanced at the stone on the grave she had been tending. The inscription surprised him and his neck muscles flexed involuntarily as he tried to stop himself doing a double take. The name said ‘Colin Nicolson’ and the dates fitted.
‘Your name’s Nicolson isn’t it?’
Her head nodded once against him.
They stood for a time in mutual consolation, the wind buffeting them and the ocean falling onto the sand below. Then, Mairi pulled away, searching in her pocket for a handkerchief. Cal placed his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes.
‘I know Mairi. I really do know now. And you do too.’ He knew he was right. ‘I didn’t even try to find out. I’d let it drop and then it came to me. It’s been staring at me the whole time. Colin, your Colin, was Mary’s baby.’ He watched her hair dancing about her bowed head. ‘You tried to make it so obvious to me and I was so caught up in my own ideas that I didn’t see it. He was adopted, he chose to stay over beside her and they were close. But it wasn’t until young Colin said to me today that I’d taken his dad’s place at the funeral that it clicked. And now I see that she’s buried beside him. I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve made it worse for you.’
Mairi took his hand in hers and began to walk him towards the perimeter of the graveyard.
‘I didn’t know Nicolson was your name,’ he went on. ‘Otherwise I might have noticed it before. I didn’t even see it today at the funeral. I never asked.’
At the fence they looked out to the Atlantic. The water frothed and fizzed up the shore and then slipped back, smoothing the sand. They stood together watching the sun touch the horizon. Cal gave her space to speak, but she wasn’t ready yet. And he was in no hurry. With the wind pulling the hair off her face and the golden light lifting her dark eyes and colouring her skin, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Eventually he asked, ‘Why couldn’t you just tell me?’
