To Be Continued

by James Robertson

  Smash!

  Smash!

  Smash!

  I peer down into the peaty, salty, weedy water of Loch Glas. I suppose if I am looking for anything I am looking for whisky. But if it’s there at all it’s a bit too diluted for my taste.

  The old store looks as if it could still keep a few things dry, at least temporarily.

  I sit down and wait for Corryvreckan to finish.

  Eventually he collects the cardboard, carries it back to the car and dumps it on the back seat. Then he approaches me. There is a righteous sweat on his brow and a righteous gleam in his eyes.

  ‘Well, so you are here,’ he observes. ‘And is it this that you are going to write about in your newspaper?’

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘You know,’ he says.

  ‘Tell me why I shouldn’t.’

  Corryvreckan looks at me as I imagine a clan chieftain might once have looked at an ignorant visitor from the Lowlands before dispensing justice according to the old ways.

  ‘I am covering someone’s tracks,’ Corryvreckan says. ‘I am trying to save him from himself. I want him to have another chance.’

  There is something so ludicrously heroic about him as he stands before me and says these words that it makes me feel small-minded, and smaller than he is, and not just because I am sitting down.

  I rise. ‘No, Corryvreckan, I am not going to write about this. I can’t deny it would make great copy – there is something deeply ironic about a Highlander pouring contraband whisky into the sea and chucking the empty bottles into the wreck of a boat – but your secret – MacLagan’s secret – is safe with me.’

  He looks at me with contempt or pity or it could be relief or gratitude or a bit of all four.

  ‘Would you be wanting a lift back to the house?’ he asks.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘It is no trouble. I am going that way myself.’

  ‘Thank you all the same, but no. It’s a fine day. The walk will do me good.’

  ‘You are right about that,’ he says.

  I watch the yellow car make its way back along the shore of Loch Glaineach until it is out of sight, and wonder how many times it has made that journey, back and forth in all weathers, day and night, and how often a modern boat may have come up Loch Glas empty and gone away full. I wonder about the arrangements that must have been made, the texts sent and received – if a signal were to be had.

  At the very moment that I think this, I become conscious of a vigorous movement in the pocket of my jacket. It’s as if something is alive in there. I reach in and extract my mobile phone, which has been dormant for days. The screen has come to life and the message EMERGENCY CALLS ONLY is displayed across it, but suddenly this vanishes. The thing goes into spasm, leaps from my hand and throws itself to the ground where it shakes and moans as if in a state of religious hysteria. This goes on for half a minute before ending in a series of beeps. Perhaps the phone has had a vision, or a message from God. More likely there has been a momentary alignment between an orbiting satellite, the top end of Loch Glas and a bunch of digital signals floating in the ether.

  When I pick the phone up its screen is displaying nine new messages, none of them from God. They have been sent over the previous three days and the senders are, in order of appearance: Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Beverley Brown, Sonya, Ollie, Beverley Brown, Ollie and Sonya. They read as follows:

  Douglas urgent u call me asap. Have tried 2 phone but either u r switched off or no reception call me asap Sonya

  Douglas where hell r u? Phone me urgent Magnus in accident need u here Sonya

  Where r u FFS? Magnus in hospital car crash when u get this phone me S

  Dear Mr Elder, I don’t wish to alarm you and there is nothing to worry about, at least not at this stage as I am sure everything will turn out all right but could you possibly give me a call when you receive this message? As I say nothing to worry about but I would like to update you on the situation. Thank you so much. Yours, Beverley (Brown)

  Douglas if u r deliberately ignoring me because I didnt let u have car then stop it now & call me. Car not issue now anyway as write-off. Magnus in hospital call me immediately u get this S

  Douglas my old mucker how are you doing well you seem to have stepped right in the middle of a big coos shite my man give me a call on the mobile when you get this not on the office line dont worry ive not said anything and looks like you might walk away with clean shoes but lucky it was me on the desk when the story came in and what a story it is bloody hell theres been nothing like this since that cash dispenser went on the blink in hawick there were queues around the block that time how did your interview go anyway give us a call have kept your name out of it so far ollie

  Hello again, Mr Elder, I am not sure if you received my last message but I would be very grateful if you could telephone me so that I can update you on the situation regarding your father. I did contact your partner (?) Ms (?) Strachan and asked her to pass on the details but she seemed quite distracted and perhaps she has not done so? We are of course quite concerned as rain is expected but we are doing everything we can in the circumstances and at least we now know where he is!!! Yours with best wishes and in hope of a speedy resolution, Beverley (Brown)

  Douglas have you seen todays front page not bad eh dont know if you are still in the wastes of you know where but give me a call and i will fill you in on the details i assume you are happy with my name on the story well im pretty sure you wouldnt want yours on it for obvious reasons speak soon ollie

  DOUGLAS IF U DONT CALL ME IN NEXT 24 HRS I WILL KILL U. MAGNUS IN COMA BROKEN LEG I NEED UR SUPPORT U BASTARD

  Having fired off this barrage of incomprehensibility, the phone goes comatose. I pick it up but the effort has clearly been too much for it. Briefly it displays one last message – BATTERY EMPTY – and then expires.

  My batteries, by contrast, are fully charged. I set off for Glentaragar House at a run.

  MORAL RETRIBUTION

  My first port of call when I get back is the house telephone. However, when I lift the receiver a mocking hiss issues from the earpiece, which no amount of rattling the equipment can dispel.

  I hurry upstairs and find Poppy with Rosalind in the latter’s sitting room.

  ‘Douglas!’ Poppy says. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Out for a walk. Look, your telephone –’

  ‘Good morning, Douglas,’ Rosalind says, giving me one of her bright smiles. ‘Did you sleep well?’ And I swear she almost winks. What have these two women been saying to each other?

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You too, I hope. Look, your telephone –’

  ‘– is dead?’ Poppy says.

  ‘Again? How tiresome!’ Rosalind says. ‘Very well, thank you.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Poppy asks me.

  ‘Something has come up. Several things, in fact. I have to leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘If I could speak to one or two people I’d have a better idea, but none of them sounds good. I’ve had a lot of messages.’

  ‘Messages?’ Rosalind says. ‘You of all people, who are so dismissive of the esoteric!’

  ‘On my mobile phone,’ I explain. ‘I was down at Loch Glas when they all came through, but now the phone has run out of juice and your landline is out of order and I need to get back to Edinburgh.’

  Poppy looks at the clock. ‘You’ll be lucky now to catch the afternoon minibus to Fort William,’ she says. ‘And even then you might not make the connection with the last train south. You might have to spend the night in Fort William.’

  ‘You’ll be much more comfortable here,’ Rosalind says.

  ‘I can’t wait that long. I’ll have to borrow Corryvreckan’s car.’

  ‘Nobody but Corryvreckan drives Corryvreckan’s car,’ Poppy says. ‘Anyway, that would leave us completely stranded. We wouldn’t know how long you were going to be away. Or even if you were coming back.’

 
Neither would I, I admit. I contemplate sneaking down to the courtyard and taking the car anyway (assuming that it made it back up the track from the loch, and assuming that Corryvreckan, like MacLagan, leaves the keys in the ignition – an assumption that worries me as it suggests I am beginning to think like everybody else around here) – but if I do that, is not moral retribution bound to follow in the form of a flat tyre or a complete collapse of the suspension?

  ‘If Corryvreckan could drive me to a main road, I’ll hitchhike from there.’

  ‘What kind of way would that be to treat a guest?’ Rosalind says. ‘Anyway, we’re enjoying your company. We like you, Douglas. Don’t we, Poppy?’

  Poppy’s smile is even brighter than her grandmother’s. In fact I think she’s about to burst out laughing.

  ‘This is serious,’ I say.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Rosalind says. ‘Why don’t we all go to Edinburgh?’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Poppy says, standing up so promptly that I suspect them of subterfuge and collusion. ‘I’ll go and tell Corryvreckan, and pack a few things for you, Gran. Nothing fancy, just the essentials.’

  ‘I haven’t been in Edinburgh since the miners’ strike thirty years ago,’ Rosalind says, also rising. ‘How exciting!’

  ‘But –’ I start to protest.

  ‘If you’re worried about Sitka, don’t be,’ Rosalind says. ‘She won’t even notice we’re gone.’

  ‘I’m not the slightest bit worried about Sitka.’

  ‘Good. Poppy, will you leave food out for her?’

  ‘Yes, and for the hens.’

  ‘So you see, there’s no need to concern yourself, Douglas,’ Rosalind says.

  I try again. ‘But –’

  ‘But what?’ Rosalind says. ‘We can be ready to go in half an hour.’

  ‘Forty minutes at most,’ Poppy says. ‘We can stop at the hotel and you can make your calls from there, if the phone’s working. Then we can drive on, and be in Edinburgh this evening. You can tell us all about the things that have come up on the way. It’s clearly the best plan of action. And, my darling, what’s more –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘– it will be an adventure.’

  3

  * * *

  A RELIABLE NARRATOR

  There was no sign of life at the Glen Araich Lodge Hotel when a little yellow car pulled up outside the front entrance, some time in the afternoon. A strange collection of people emerged from that car. The driver, a tall, thin individual with a deerstalker crammed down upon the ears, wore a predominantly green suit of Harris tweed, a once-white shirt and a knitted tie the colour of dead bracken. He seemed aloof and separate from the others, and kept glancing around as if expecting a surprise at any moment. He was sixty-two years of age.

  From the front passenger seat came a bird-like creature brandishing a thin walking stick upon which, however, she did not heavily depend to maintain her upright position. Her head, brown as an old nut, was topped by a light application of cloud-like hair, and pink, round spectacles accentuated the blueness of her eyes. She was of small build, probably owing to shrinkage, and made to look even more diminutive than she was by a bulky black woollen coat. In one day she would become a centenarian, although an uninformed observer would probably have estimated her to be ten or fifteen years younger.

  The third occupant, from the back seat, was a woman considerably less than half the age of the avian one. Larger in size but by no means gross, she had fair, wavy hair that fell over her eyes as she bent forward on leaving the car. Her nose was straight and long, an observer might think disproportionately so for the rest of her face, although someone less critical might think its shape almost classical. She wore a thick grey jumper speckled with other colours, and a pair of blue jeans tucked into brown boots, and moved with a grace and litheness that marked her out from the rest of her companions.

  Close behind her came a second man, precisely fifty years and ten days of age. He was of middling height and average collar and shoe size, but was thicker around the waist than he might have been. He wore black trousers of a cotton twill material and a tweed jacket louder in pattern and colour than the suit of the driver. He wore no hat, had a fairly sparse covering of hair on his head and an anxious expression on his face. He had not much to recommend him as a possible athlete, warrior, hunter-gatherer or manual labourer: indeed, the thick belly and a slight stoop suggested a largely sedentary life. It was evident from the glances exchanged between him and the woman with the big nose that they shared a considerable mutual affection.

  The names of this quartet were, in reverse order, Douglas Findhorn Elder, Coppélia ‘Poppy’ Munlochy, Rosalind Isabella Munlochy and Corryvreckan. The author of the present section of this narrative has noted their ages in approximate or specific terms, as humans seem to find this interesting, although, frankly, the author couldn’t care less.

  A fifth character was travelling with the party, though in a discreet manner. Ostensibly a companion of the said Douglas Findhorn Elder, he was used to being ignored or even forgotten owing to the latter’s preoccupation with a number of matters, not the least of these being Poppy Munlochy. Occasionally resident in a pocket of the Elder jacket, this fifth columnist also availed himself of other nooks, crannies and means of getting about in order to witness as much of the action as possible whilst still maintaining his low – indeed, all but invisible – profile. In addition to his acquaintance with Douglas Elder, he was known to the other three travellers on a one-to-one rather than collective basis: he had interviewed Rosalind, had had a working breakfast with Corryvreckan, and had appeared in a dream (as she thought) to Poppy. His name was Mungo Forth Mungo, and he belonged, according to human taxonomy, to the species Bufo bufo: that is to say, he was an uncommon toad. He was a very fine example of his type – large, jowly, brownish-backed, creamy-breasted and well covered in warts – and had no notion as to his age in years except that it was probably greater than he or anybody else might guess. He was, and is, the author of the present section of this narrative, his principal motives being to act as a reliable narrator, recording and offering an objective point of view on events and, occasionally, by judicious and subtle intervention, to influence them. Now read on.

  Douglas Elder tried the front door of the hotel and found it unlocked. He glanced at Corryvreckan, as if to ask his permission to enter, but Corryvreckan simply shrugged and walked towards the collection of outbuildings across the courtyard. The two women followed Douglas into the hotel but they emerged within a few minutes and began to wander around, passing comments on the poor condition of the paintwork and of the nine-hole putting green.

  After some time Douglas came out. He had been making use of the telephone. He invited Poppy and Rosalind to accompany him to the outbuildings, which they did. Corryvreckan, having apparently left by another exit, appeared round a corner while they were inside, and waited by the hotel, looking quite relaxed and even self-satisfied. He was seen to inspect the building, perhaps assessing it for some purpose as yet unknown. A few more minutes passed, and then the entire party reassembled and fitted itself back into the yellow car.

  Conversation ensued. As Corryvreckan drove slowly along the narrow road, a substantial amount of information was shared among the company. First, it was acknowledged that the entire remaining stock of Salmon’s Leap 10-Year-Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky had vanished from the location where Douglas said he had seen it (and where the present author can vouchsafe it had certainly been) three days earlier. Not a bottle, not even so much as a nip, remained. Poppy indicated that this was a great relief to her, and Douglas agreed. Corryvreckan concentrated on the road. Rosalind said that she had never heard of a whisky called Salmon’s Leap and that she suspected it of being an impostor. Douglas said that she was correct in her scepticism and that if he never saw another bottle of Salmon’s Leap, or of another whisky called Glen Gloming, he would on the one hand not be sorry while on the other hand he would miss their subtle and enchanting flavour
s. Corryvreckan, when asked if he could provide an explanation for the disappearance of the whisky, denied all knowledge of its existence and suggested that Douglas must have dreamed or imagined it. Douglas expressed anger that his memory was thus doubted, and made a terse remark at a low volume concerning the strength of Corryvreckan’s grip on reality. Poppy instructed Douglas to calm down, reminding him that without Corryvreckan they would be unable to continue the journey to Edinburgh. Corryvreckan apologised for his previous comment and described Ruaridh MacLagan, the hotel manager, as a ‘bad lot’. If he had been up to his ‘old smuggling tricks’ perhaps he had seen sense at last and disposed of every last drop in the nearby river. Douglas asked Corryvreckan if he knew why the hotel was shut up and what had become of MacLagan. Corryvreckan said that he had not seen the latter for several days, and that like the whisky he might well have disappeared for good. What then, Douglas inquired, would happen to the hotel? In Corryvreckan’s opinion it would probably be left to go to ruin if a purchaser could not be found. He hoped that it was well insured as it was just the kind of place that, in the event of a fire, would burn to the ground long before any appliances arrived to extinguish the flames. In fact, he had been looking around and could see a number of locations where a fire might very easily start for no apparent reason.

  Poppy then asked Douglas to relay to the company the contents of his various telephone conversations – if he had no objections to doing so. He had none. He had first contacted the residential Care Home where his father, Thomas Ythan Elder (aged eighty-three), was incarcerated, and had spoken to the governor or manager, one Beverley Brown (age unknown). After some hesitation, Ms (?) Brown had admitted that the said Thomas Ythan Elder had made a bid for freedom on Wednesday afternoon. An element of premeditation or planning must have been involved, as he had put on clothing suitable for the outdoors, including stout shoes, gloves, scarf, coat and hat. A fire exit, normally alarmed in order to prevent just such an escape as had been effected by Thomas Ythan Elder, had been left ajar by a member of staff to facilitate the indulgence of a surreptitious, or fly, cigarette, and it was by this route Mr Elder must have left. His absence was not noticed for nearly two hours when it was time to summon him for his evening meal. (At this point Douglas wryly referred to the home as the Don’t Care Much Home, which name shall be used in the present narrative henceforth as the author is ignorant of the correct one.) A search of the building was immediately instigated and the open fire door discovered, but not Mr Elder. Police and other services were then alerted, and Ms Brown attempted to contact the younger Elder, without success. The elder Elder’s whereabouts remained a mystery for nearly twenty-four hours.