by Anne Bone
He watched his sister. She seemed to be in shock. This was not the time to admonish her for what she had intended doing. He got out of the bath, dried himself on a towel and then quickly dressed himself in dry clothes. He returned to the bathroom and instructed Beth to get out of the bath and dry herself. He then handed her her nightdress and told her to put it on. He turned his back while she did as he had asked.
Taking her up to her bedroom, he tenderly helped her get into her bed where he pulled the covers up to her chin. It was then he allowed his tears to fall. ‘Don’t ever do that again, Beth.’ He held her face in between his hands, ‘Do you hear me Beth? You have got to live. Don’t ever do that again. I couldn’t bear it Beth,’ he sobbed.
She had blinked at him and her eyes locked with his. Oh God, what had she done, how many more people was she going to hurt? This was her wee brother, the only one in the family who had ever shown her any concern; she could not hurt him.
Chapter 12
Jason did not share his knowledge of what really had taken place on the banks of the Don that stormy night. He knew that his parents were unpredictable and he somehow did not think that they would offer Beth any sympathy or understanding for what she did. He was worried that they might even make it worse, and start to goad her about being mad or something similar.
Jason was mature for his fourteen years, some would say too mature. He would find some way of looking after his sister and protecting her from any further harm if it was the last thing he did. He fed the rest of the family a story about why they were both soaking wet. He embellished it with some truth, that Beth fell in by accident and he managed to get her out. Then again, it was nearly the truth; he just left the bit out about her intentions.
The following morning Jason took a steaming mug of tea into Beth’s room. She sat up when she saw him enter. ‘Oh Jason, you don’t have to do that.’ She accepted the mug and sat back to drink it. ‘Thanks Jason, and thanks again, I am so sorry for nearly killing you as well as myself.’
And she sincerely meant it. In the early hours of the morning she had lain watching the moon, and then watched as the light began to increase as the sun came up. She had felt so guilty that even when she had been trying to rid the world of herself, it had almost resulted in taking another. Whatever she did seemed to turn against her, nevertheless she could not risk hurting her Jason again. She would have to stay alive. How she was not sure, but she would.
Jason sat on the edge of her bed and looked at her from under his long fringe. ‘Dinna do a’thing like that again, promise me Beth.’ He was relieved when he saw her head nod. ‘What would happen if your bairns come back, and if you were dead then what would they do?’ This statement was made as a last resort, to try to give her something to live for.
‘I dinna think they will be coming back Jason. But I promise you I will not try and do a’thing to myself again.’
It was from that day, Beth made a pact with herself, she would have to live, perhaps that was her punishment, to live everyday knowing what a terrible and bad person she was.
Some days were worse than others. Christmas and New Year were included in this and although these days were never particularly jolly or exciting in the Menzie household, last year, Stevie being there had made it different. The whole household had been lighter, and she wondered where he was and whether Santa had brought him lots of presents.
Although the 15th March and 21st April were different. On these days she could not function at all. The children’s birthdays. She tried to imagine what they looked like. Stevie, two years old and wee Lucy, a year. Would she be walking, would Stevie be chattering? On these days she dragged herself around the house, doing the bare minimum. Once she had sorted things out for the family she took herself off to her bed, where she crawled beneath the covers, hid her head and herself from the world, just waiting for the sun to go down and for the next day sun to rise, when she would get up.
Beth did not cry any longer. She thought she may have damaged her tear ducts from all of the crying she had done in the first few months. She did not think that there were any more tears which she could shed. If someone had posed the question about how she was feeling, she would have not been able to answer, and the numbness that penetrated her body and soul overrode any ability to explain. There were some occasions when she found herself standing in a room and it was as if she was watching herself, as if she was sort of out of her body. It was really weird when it happened and on at least one occasion she pinched her arm to bring herself back to normal, or as normal as she could be.
She still had terrible nightmares. She would dream that she could see her bairns and would shout and wave at them. She would chase them across a meadow and they kept disappearing in the long grass, then reappearing. She would run and run and then, just as she caught up with them, they would turn and she would see the most grotesque faces staring back at her. She would wake up soaked in sweat, her heart beating so fast she was sure it would leap out of her chest and explode into a thousand pieces.
Sometimes she was sure she was going mad.
Beth now hardly ever left the croft. She did not feel safe leaving the house, she did not want to see people looking at her, and she would write lists of messages for her father and the boys to buy. She let her hair grow longer and longer until it was almost at her waist. It was matted and knotted as she just forgot to brush it any more. Jason would remind her to have a bath once a week and she would do as he bid. She would lie in the bath water letting it soak into her body. She would dip her head in the water and rub some soap into it. When she got out of the bath she would rub herself dry with a coarse old towel. Sometimes she rubbed her skin until it was red and sore, but somehow this was ok, it was just another way she had of reminding herself that it was right that she should be punished.
Watching the television was part of Beth’s daily routine. At least her eyes stared at it, “watching it” was one way of describing what took place in Beth’s head. If she was asked to describe what she had just watched she would not have been able to tell anyone. She watched but did not absorb anything. She might as well have been watching a bowl of goldfish, then again it filled the hours.
Filling the hours, for what, until when? Probably, forever.
Fred would get annoyed and lose his patience with his daughter. He would shout at her, ‘git yr’self sorted out girl. For fuck’s sake, it’s like living with the waking fucking dead. What with you and her,’ he would point at Doris. ‘It’s like having two fucking statues either side of the fire, fucking grotesque statues at that.’ When he got no response from either of the women, he would turn and swear again, march out and disappear down to the Coach and Horses where he could moan to anyone who was prepared to listen about what a terrible life he had.
Ted and David ignored both women. They would appear at mealtimes, sit at the table and wolf down whatever was put in front of them. Then they would leave the table and disappear either to their bedroom or into one of the outside steadings where they kept their stash of illicit goods. Cigarettes and beer.
Jason, by this time, tried to ignore his brothers and would try to help out in the house. He would help wash the dishes and even managed to help with the cleaning and cooking. His main objective though was just making sure that his sister was ok and reminding her to do things like bathe and change her clothes.
Cairn View Croft could have been described as the most depressing and unhappy home on Donside. The house and its occupants sick and run down. It was almost as though there was a hazy black mist floating just above the building, penetrating the roof and seeping deep into the walls, it was as though this poisoned air surrounded and gradually penetrated and overwhelmed each of the occupants.
Chapter 13
The anniversary of the children’s disappearance came and went: 19th June 1977 would be a date engraved on Beth’s soul. She dreaded the first anniversary and was not sure how she was going to get through it. She ended up spending most of the day in
bed, just staring at the ceiling waiting for it to pass. She was seventeen years old, but she looked and felt more like she was fifty.
She slouched around the croft feeding the hens and sorting out the garden. She had taken to gardening and found that this somehow helped her when she found herself immersed in anger and frustration. Digging the overrun vegetable patch gave her an outlet to vent her rage and despair.
Jason had been responsible for providing some of the seeds and plants for her to grow. He had slipped some packets of seeds into the shopping trolley unnoticed by his father, and this provided a crutch which had started her off. Now it had become a sort of obsession with her. Every daylight hour she was no longer in front of the television, but in the garden waging war on any weed which dared poke its head above the ground.
All through the summer of 1978, Beth struggled both with the overrun garden and with herself to stay alive. The garden flourished, although, it could hardly do otherwise given the level of energy and care which was thrown at it. The neat rows of potatoes, cabbages, peas, carrots, turnips, leeks and onions all stood to attention, with not a weed or a blade of grass impeding their growth. It was almost as though the plants were terrified of offending their gardener, so they had no other option other than growing straight and tall.
At one time, Jason had brought home a couple of packets of flower seeds, but Beth had instantly disregarded these. She thanked Jason, however she had no intention in growing anything of beauty. She could cope with seeing the vegetables flourish, but flowers, no.
The family all benefited from the lovely fresh produce which was slowly harvested by their guardian. Beth did not answer Fred when he suggested to her that he could sell some down at the mart. The look she gave him had the same effect as if she had given him a wallop over his head with a large sledgehammer. He never asked again, but just retreated, thinking to himself that she was definitely going mad and he would be wise not to turn his back on her.
The summer days began to become shorter and September brought with it some wet and windy days. This, however, did not prevent Beth from spending time out on her knees, her hands in the damp earth. She would wrap her head with its long matted hair in an old towel and don one of her father’s waterproofs to spend hours just pottering around. If anyone observed this strange figure they would not in a million years suspect underneath lay a girl of only seventeen.
Beth was totally absorbed in her activities that she did not notice the man watching her. The man had made his silent approach to the croft, and he now stood partly hidden behind the old stone steading. He had approached silently, his footing unsure, his whole body ready to flee if he was discovered.
He stood and watched the person who was so engrossed in digging in the garden. He was not sure who it was who was hidden under the odd array of garments. While he watched it became clearer who the figure was. His mind was confused as he watched, some of the movements the figure made increased his certainty that he knew who it was, the way the head moved, the delicate manner in which she stood to gaze at her work. But this could not be the beautiful Beth; this creature looked as though she was some down and out tramp who had dropped in from her travels to do a bit of gardening. This creature looked as though she was an old woman, not his beautiful young lover.
He decided that he must take a risk and approach the figure. He crept along the wall of the steading until he came to the edge of the vegetable plot. He said her name. ‘Beth, Beth is that you?’
At first there was no response. Beth took no notice, and then she heard her name called again, louder this time. She looked up, drew her muddy hand across her eyes to clear her vision from the rain which drizzled down her cheeks. She thought for a moment she must be imaging or dreaming. Standing there, his back against the stone wall, standing tall, his black hair soaked from the rain was Marty.
‘Marty,’ she whispered.
She stood and slowly made her way across the garden ignoring the plants, stepping on them in her trance-like progress. When she had almost reached him she stood blinking and trying to focus, drinking in the reality of the man who stood in front of her, his arms stretched out encouraging and willing her to enter into them.
She slowly made her way to him. He did not flinch when his eyes focused on this dirty unkempt woman whose skin was grimy and grey. He did not show any signs of disgust when his nose caught the smell of her unwashed clothes. He tried not to show his shock as he felt her matted hair between his fingers. He wiped away the dirt from her face and looked into her eyes. The eyes which once had been bright, alert, clear, were now blank… dead. If eyes are windows of the soul, then this soul was lost.
Beth did not say a word, could not say a word. Did not know how to say a word. She just stood, allowing herself to be embraced in the arms of this man. This man who had fleetingly appeared in her dreams in the middle of the night, but less and less as the months had progressed.
He led her around the wall and through the door of the steading. At this point he was past caring whether he was discovered by Fred or anyone else. He could not believe the state of Beth. Something tragic must have happened and he was going to find out if it was the last thing he ever did.
He sat her down on an upturned log and crouched down next to her, so that he could make eye contact.
‘Whatever has happened to you my darling Beth?’ He watched her, as she seemed to fight with herself to find the words to reply to him.
‘They took my bairns.’ She did not look at him while she said the words; her eyes were fastened onto her feet. She dared not look at him. She dared not look at him, how could she when she had lost his child.
‘Bairns, was there more than one? What happened Beth tell me… what happened to our bairn?’
‘Stevie,’ she breathed his name. ‘Stevie, and then Lucy, they took them.’
‘Who took them, Beth, who took your bairns?’
‘My father gave them to a couple… they’re adopted… better for them. Well, must be better… better than me. It’s my fault.’ The words were in a flat tone without emotion.
It was the tone and the content of the words which decided Marty that he was going to take some dramatic action. He was not sure what the proper story was, but he knew that something terrible had happened to Beth. He knew that her father and mother were not caring for her. He would take her away from here.
‘Beth, Beth, listen to me, can you hear me?’ He held her face, forcing it up so that she had no option but to look at him. ‘Beth, I am going to take you away from here. Come with me, Beth. Will you come with me, Beth?’
Marty stood again and reached his hand out towards her. She took it and he helped her to her feet. Slowly, as if she was still in a trance, she allowed Marty to lead her out of the steading and along the track towards Hillside Farm, where he had parked his second-hand Mini Cooper. He unlocked the passenger side and helped Beth into the seat.
‘Beth, stay there, I’ve just got to go and let Mrs Bellows know what’s happening.’ Marty moved quickly towards the back door of the farmhouse, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Beth stayed just where she was. He knocked loudly and the door was opened by Mrs Bellows.
‘Oh, Marty, you are back, did you see the lassie?’’ she asked.
‘My God, I saw her alright, Mrs Bellows, she’s in a terrible state. I don’t know what’s happened, but she’s in a real mess. I’m taking her back to Aberdeen with me. She’s over sixteen so they can’t do anything, although just in case they come asking, she’s coming willingly.’
‘Oh son, I did wonder, I’ve heard rumours that she was a bit unhinged, but I didn’t want to worry you when you called this morning. Are you sure you are doing the right thing son what will your Aunty say?’
‘Aunt Molly will give her a welcome, don’t worry yourself about that. Look, Mrs Bellows, I better get going.’
Mrs Bellows walked with Marty back towards the car and when she saw the state of the poor girl she was visibly shocked. The last time sh
e had seen the lassie she was a smiling bonny young girl who had been pushing her two bairns in the small pram along the road towards the village. She had heard the gossip that the bairns had gone to live with some relative somewhere and had been sort of surprised, as the young lassie had seemed to dote on her babies. Now, looking at her, she did not know what to think. Those Menzie parents had a lot to answer for though, as it was obvious from the young lassie’s appearance that she had not been given any care or attention for some time.
She tutted all the way back into her warm cosy kitchen after she had waved off the young man whom she had taken a liking to when he had stayed with them two years ago. She had often wondered what had happened and why he had left in such a rush. When she had opened the door this morning and found him standing on her doorstep she had been rather surprised.
She had listened while he told her that he had come to find out what had happened to the young Menzie lassie. He had also given her an account of why he had left in such a hurry, but now, at twenty, he felt stronger and more able to face Fred Menzie again. She had not felt it was her business to inform him of her knowledge that, as far as she knew, the lassie had got herself pregnant by someone else and the bairns had been living with a distant relative somewhere. No, she had thought it better if he heard from the girl herself about the events.
