STOLEN BAIRNS: Scottish Fiction

by Anne Bone

  ‘Molly, I think we could entertain the whole of Torry and still have some over. And if that sky doesn’t stop throwing that snow out of it, we could be sitting here tonight trying to make some indent into it. ‘Cause if it doesn’t stop snowing, then as it stands, I don’t expect Jason and Mr and Mrs Bellows will make it, and maybe more folk won’t make it along the road.’

  ‘Now lass, dinna you worry yerself about a bittie of snow. The main roads will keep open and if I know your Jason, he will be out digging a pathway out of the track to make sure he gets here. After all, he’s the one who’ll be giving you away. He won’t miss that even if he has to walk all the way,’

  Molly was almost right. Mr Bellows got his tractor out to push the snow up the track to allow them enough room to manoeuvre the Land Rover up the driveway. Once they arrived outside Harbour View there was a large sigh of relief that they had made it.

  At one thirty the taxi arrived. The driver was also relieved, as he did not think he would be able to make it along the road. But he knew too that this particular fare had an important engagement to make at the Registry Office, so he had set out early to slowly make his way along the road.

  Marty was the next one to sigh his relief as he awaited his bride and was rewarded with the sight of her smiling face as she arrived in the hallway of St Nicholas House, her arm linked tightly through her brother’s.

  The short civil ceremony was over in fifteen minutes and just as the couple was emerging out of the grey rather unattractive building the skies cleared and the sun shone on the white snow sparkling just as though there were a million small diamonds shinning. Marty and Beth took this as an omen. It was signalling that the storm had ended and they were embarking on a new life. They hoped that this would truly be one of beauty and light and pure as the driven snow.

  The reception, which followed was a happy and relaxed affair. The smart waitresses added a sense of formality to what was a very laid back event. A couple of glasses of bubbly followed by a few drams of amber liquid caused the guests to unwind, chat and pronounce that this was one of the best weddings they had been to for a long time. They toasted the couple and genuinely wished them the very best of luck for their future.

  Des and Jane had arrived when the party was in full swing. They both accepted a drink, telling everyone they were off duty for the day and, therefore, allowed to partake in alcoholic beverages. When Des hugged the new Mrs Paton, he whispered into her ear that he hoped and prayed that one day soon they would find her children.

  Beth nodded, not trusting herself to say any words. This was a day she had promised herself when she would not allow the pain of her loss to surface. This day was for Marty, she wanted him to remember it not by tears of grief, but if there were any tears then they should be of happiness and hope for the future.

  At 7 o’clock the taxi arrived again outside the brightly-lit house, this time to collect the newlyweds and take them to the station where they were to catch the train to Edinburgh. Their now well-fuelled guests, who slipped and wobbled on the icy path, giggling all of the time, escorted them down the pathway at Harbour View. Neither Beth nor Marty missed the giggles which permeated from Aunt Molly as she was saved from falling over by the steady hand of James McFall, who seemed to clutch her more tightly and for longer than was absolutely necessary. Although, as they commented later, it was not as though Aunt Molly minded this attention. They would have to remember to remind her of this when they returned home in two days’ time.

  Chapter 25

  It took just over a fortnight after Beth had returned from her honeymoon for her to decide that she would be tackling her campaign to raise the profile of her missing children. Des and Jane had not been able to come up with anything more about the whereabouts of this evasive couple.

  Beth had not been too certain about how to kick start her campaign, but had read enough newspapers now to know that she needed their help to get the message out. She started by writing a letter outlining her situation and, by going to the library, she was able to get all of the addresses of the major daily and Sunday newspapers. She sat the whole of one day in the dining room busily typing the letter over and over, using just two fingers. By the time she had finished she was sure she would be able to re-type it at any time with her eyes tightly closed.

  She had gone over the letter the night before with Marty and Molly. They were both impressed by what it said and how her message had been conveyed. The letter had ended, ‘I would be very grateful if you could print this letter and by doing so lead to me being reunited with my children, I will be forever in your debt.’

  The next day when she posted the twenty letters into the postbox she offered up a silent prayer that one of these would land on someone’s desk who would help her.

  It did not take long before the first telephone call arrived from a reporter on the local paper. Could he come and speak to her? He was interested in what she had to say in her letter and wanted to find out more details. Beth was delighted and arranged for Marty to be beside her when the young man arrived. A photographer accompanied him; they would need a picture of the couple.

  She began to tell her story to him, outlining the events of how she had believed that her children had been adopted and had since discovered that this was not the case. She told of how, so far, Grampian Police had been unsuccessful in locating this couple or her children. Marty told of how he had witnessed the distress and raw grief of his beloved Beth and how they needed help.

  The story appeared in the following day’s paper. This was followed by telephone calls from another couple of journalists, one from a national daily paper. Molly was relieved when she realised that it was from one of the more serious newspapers, as she still could not help feeling a bit worried that this exposure of Beth into the public arena would backfire. She loved this young girl so much she did not want anything to deaden that sparkle in her eyes again.

  The interview with the journalist from The Times was quite different from the one with the local paper. This woman seemed deeply interested in the events which led up to the children being taken. She spoke for a lengthy period on the telephone asking numerous questions. Thirty minutes after the call ended she rang back again telling her that her editor had agreed they would follow the story up and could she arrange to come and visit her in Aberdeen?

  Beth did not need to think about the answer. ‘Yes, of course, when?’ The date was fixed for two days later, by which time Daphne James had also spoken to DS Des Groves and arranged to meet with him and his colleague when she arrived in Aberdeen.

  Daphne James was an excellent investigative journalist. She loved her job; it was a vocation, not a job. At thirty-one she was single and a modern woman. Her male colleagues had accused her on many occasions of being a ‘hard-nosed bitch’ who would sell her own mother for a good story. She would agree that there were some elements of truth about this statement. She needed to be hard-nosed in this business; especially, as a woman, she needed to be tough to compete against her mainly male colleagues.

  The expectation had been when she first joined the paper that she would cover the nice warm woolly stories leaving the more interesting and challenging stories to her male colleagues. She had fought and proved to her editors that she was more than able to research, interview and then write about some of the most controversial and taboo subjects in the country. So when Beth’s letter dropped onto her desk she sniffed a story, which would uncover more than the words that had been badly typed onto this flimsy blue paper.

  Beth opened the door to greet the tall slim woman who was dressed in clothes which oozed quality and expense. The woman had sharp features; it was almost as though you could feel the sinews in her face arrange themselves into what was supposed to be a smile, but the so-called smile only had the effect of sending a shiver down Beth’s spine. She was not sure about this woman.

  Daphne was invited into the sitting room which was warmed by the blazing coal fire. She removed her coat and sat down in the ar
mchair. She attempted the smile again when she accepted the offer of a coffee, but only just managed to hide a grimace from the taste of such appalling coffee. It was, she was sure, that horrible camp coffee, the liquid atrocity which claimed it was coffee. Her taste buds were already fighting to retain the liquid; they were so used to the sophisticated real coffee which usually Daphne drank in great quantities.

  Daphne was astute enough to realise she would not get anywhere if she offended these people. She had never been as far north as this before and she was in unknown territory. She began her interview slowly, asking the young woman open questions, gaining her confidence. Three hours later she had the story. The whole story about this young woman’s dreadful and horrific childhood, and the life she had endured with her disgusting parents. She was warmed by the story of the two youngsters falling in love and the rescue, which brought Beth to where she was today. Above all, she had the story of what lengths parents will go to abuse their child. Selling their grandchildren. She had gained just a sliver of the sense of the pain and despair which this young woman had suffered on losing her children.

  My God, what a story, she thought.

  Beth had been almost mesmerised. She had not really fully realised how much she had revealed. What she did know, was that there was a million miles of difference between the interview she had had with the journalist from the local paper and the one she had just had with this pinched-faced woman.

  Molly happily called a taxi to take this woman out of the house. She did not like her one little bit. She had airs and graces and she had noticed the way she sniffed her coffee when it was handed to her. Who did she think she was?

  Daphne shook Beth’s hand. She was on her way to meet with DS Groves she told her and would be staying at a hotel tonight and travelling back to London tomorrow. She would phone her, she told her, to update her on the story.

  Daphne sat back in the taxi to make the short journey from Torry to Police Headquarters. She had an overriding feeling that this story was going to be big. She also felt something beginning to seep through her senses. It took a couple of minutes for her to understand and acknowledge what it was. It was compassion. She did not usually allow herself to experience this type of emotion. Somehow, she could not help it. What had happened to this girl was wrong. It should not have happened. And where for God’s sake were these children? Who had them? She realised that she also needed to know and would begin the search.

  Little did Beth realise, but she had just recruited her first Captain in her battle to find the children.

  Chapter 26

  The story appeared in The Times a week later. It covered the centre pages, and not only was there a full account of the interview Daphne had with Beth, but she had done the business in ensuring she had covered every aspect of the story. Beside the article there was a very nice photograph of Beth and Marty. They looked very solemn and very young.

  Des and Jane have been interviewed. Daphne had also managed to track down a couple of local villagers in the glen, who had made the comment that Fred and Doris Menzie were indeed a bad lot, and everyone had always wondered what really happened about Beth and her bairns. Beth was presented as nothing more than a child herself, an abused child. Daphne stated that questions should be asked of the authorities, about who and how they had allowed this child to suffer so much.

  Daphne had managed to get information relating to Maureen Davenport. She had had a very interesting conversation with her past neighbours, one of whom had produced a photograph of her.

  When Des and Jane read the article they had mixed emotions, they were both relieved and hopeful. First they were pleased that they had some national publicity and hopeful that it might just produce a lead. They were a bit annoyed though that she had managed to track down another photograph of Maureen Davenport. This is something which they believed they should have had sight of before they saw it in the newspaper; it was a much clearer and more recent photograph than the one they held. Anyway, they hoped that if there was any new information resulting from this article that they would hear about it directly, and not have to read about it again in the newspapers.

  Molly was not so sure about the article. She worried about how it portrayed Beth. She felt it made everything seem seedy. Also she considered, perhaps it was seedy, except that now the whole of the country would know about what had happened to the girl. Marty tried to reassure her by saying that as far as Beth was concerned, at least she felt she was doing something positive.

  In the following few days there was a flurry of activity. Some of the activity, unfortunately, was less than positive. Sadly, one of the less than serious Sunday papers decided to follow it up. They did not telephone first, but just appeared on the doorstep of Harbour View. Beth had been out at the time and Molly was jolly pleased that she had been. When she told the reporter that she was not available she had expected them to leave. This was not the case, much to Molly’s annoyance.

  Molly thought they were extremely rude and told them so in no uncertain terms. Who did they think they were, peering through her letterbox, making comments and asking her age? What did it matter how old she was, it was none of their damn business? ‘Away you go, before I call the Bobbies,’ she told them.

  On the next Sunday the story appeared. The reporter had plagiarised much of what Daphne had written, but had also used language which even Beth and Marty agreed made the story seem seedy.

  Even more irritatingly, they had been out to Cairn View and had interviewed Doris and Fred, who presented a different account. They claimed that none of what happened was due to them, as they had been hoodwinked by this couple. They were desperate for news of their darling grandchildren. ‘No,’ they had stated, ‘it was not true that they had been terrible parents, they had done their best, however their daughter, apparently, she always was a bit wayward. In fact, she had got pregnant when she was just fourteen. They had done their utter best to support her.’ Doris was quoted as saying that she had tried her best to guide her wayward daughter, but she was always wanting sex and she would take no telling from her mother, she was just so promiscuous, even seducing a much older business man when their backs were turned. Doris was pictured in the paper, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

  WAYWARD… When Beth read this she felt the anger rise from the bottoms of her feet and travel up her body until it reached her head where it exploded in a red-hot spiral of fury. She threw the paper across the room and ranted and raved calling her ‘loving parents’ every swear word she could, many of which had been taught to her by the two people who had the audacity to describe themselves as caring responsible parents. HOW DARE THEY!

  Marty tried to console her, although he could quite easily have driven to Cairn View, put a large bomb under the building and happily watched as it disintegrated into a thousand pieces. He equally hoped that the same reporter would appear at the door again, he would like to sort him out too.

  Molly did not quite know what to do other than make a large pot of tea. She mumbled under her breath, now sure that her predictions had been right. She knew going public and to the press would be a bad thing. What had it achieved? Nothing… other than to distress her lovely Beth and allow those terrible people to tell lies.

  By Sunday evening and after a long walk along the cliffs Beth had calmed down. She felt exhausted and had had time to reflect that she had been naïve. She should have realised that this could happen. While Daphne and the local press had been factual, the more sensational side of the story would be what people would remember. She now wondered whether anyone would bother to pass on any information, after the way Doris and Fred had portrayed her. They might just think that her children would be better off with the couple, rather than this brazen hussy that she had been painted out to be.

  Beth did not sleep much that night. She tossed and turned and Marty did his best to comfort her. He told her that everyone who knew her also knew what had really happened, and also knew that none of it was her fault. None of this
had any effect on his darling girl, as when the morning eventually arrived Beth and Marty were totally exhausted.

  Marty was pleased it was Monday and at least he would not have to worry whether his lack of sleep would lead to someone’s bad hair day. It was his day off, he at least could roll over and sleep for a while longer.

  Beth could not settle, eventually she arose and joined Molly in the kitchen. Molly handed her a mug of tea and tutted when Beth replied she was not hungry and did not want any breakfast. She was just about to begin a rant and a nag to try to persuade her to eat something when the telephone interrupted her flow.

  She answered, ‘Oh hello, Des, yes she is here.’

  Beth was beside her and grabbing the receiver from her hand before anything else could be said.

  ‘Yes, Des. Has something happened, is there news?’ The words were said with a tangible taste of fear and hope. She listened then, listened intently at what was being said. Des told her that they had had several calls from a number of places in the country from people who thought that they knew where the couple were. ‘Yes, it was good news,’ he told Beth. ‘But don’t get too excited yet. All of these suggestions needed to be followed up.’ He expressed his hope that at least one of these sightings would prove positive. It was the best lead they had had for a while. He and Jane would be working on following these leads today. He would be back in touch as soon as he had something to tell her.