by Anne Douglas
‘I’m damned if I’ll give him a tip, Ellie! He doesn’t deserve one, the way he spoke to me.’
She looked across the café to where two young waitresses were taking trays of meals from a hatch. ‘Anyway, my betting is that he won’t serve us again. He’ll ask one of those girls to see to us.’
And Isla was right. One of the waitresses did serve them, while Damon was nowhere to be seen, but Isla still could hardly eat her lunch for wondering why he had come back and hoping she didn’t already know.
After their meal, Isla decided to try to see Boyd. She didn’t want to tell him, but was sure he should know that Damon was back in town. He’d be alarmed, of course, thinking what Isla had been trying not to face, which was that Damon would try to see Trina. And wondering, too, if she would agree to see him? Surely not? Hadn’t she chosen Boyd? Hadn’t she been glad to see the back of Damon, who was so volatile, so dangerous?
Arriving at the gym, Isla felt strangely helpless; there was so little she could do to help here, except give Boyd her message and leave things to him. Only, of course, he was busy, his gym full of patients, some requiring help, so that he could only shake his head at Isla and say this wasn’t the best time to chat.
‘I’m sorry, Isla, as you can see I’ve got my hands full at the moment. What’s up, anyway?’
In spite of his unwillingness, Isla pulled her brother out of earshot of his clients.
‘All I want to tell you is that I’ve just seen Damon. He’s got a job at the new café in the High Street. He says he doesn’t want to see you, but I thought you should know he’s here.’
Boyd’s face had paled. He seemed incredulous.
‘Damon? He can’t have come back here. He wouldn’t. You remember, he said he never wanted to see Trina again, and this is where she is.’
As he hastily looked back at the patient he’d left, Isla guessed Boyd was trying to convince himself that Damon really didn’t want to see Trina again. But he would know in his heart that if Damon was back, it could only be to see her. Why else would he come?
‘All he said to me,’ Isla murmured ‘was that he didn’t want to see you again.’
‘And we know why,’ Boyd said grimly, turning back to her. ‘But even if he has come back to see her, it won’t do him any good. She won’t want to see him. She said so, Isla, and she meant it.’
‘Yes, Boyd, I know.’
‘And if he does try to see her, he’ll have me to reckon with, because I won’t let him bother her, and that’s for sure.’ Boyd ran his hand across his brow. ‘But thanks for telling me about this, Isla. Forewarned is forearmed, eh? Now, I’ve to get back to Mr Donaldson.’
Forty-Seven
As soon as he’d closed the gym at the end of work, Boyd went round to the kitchen to try to speak to Trina. It was not a good time to look in when patients’ dinners were being served, and Mr Paul would probably throw him out, but if he could just fix up a meeting with Trina, it would be all he wanted.
Just as he’d expected, the place seemed to be in chaos – organized chaos, of course – and Mr Paul was storming around, giving orders, while his staff were hurrying to obey. Only Trina herself seemed to be unmoved. When she saw Boyd, she raised her eyebrows and jerked her head towards Mr Paul, who was inspecting his Duchess potatoes just out of the oven, but at the look on Boyd’s face, she came gliding over to see him.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she whispered. ‘You’ll get shot, coming in at this time.’
‘I have to see you, Trina. It’s very important. Meet me at the back vestibule as soon as you’ve finished here.’
‘I want to wash my hair tonight, Boyd. Can’t this wait?’
‘No, I must see you. Please be there.’
‘Boyd Scott, what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?’ Mr Paul suddenly hissed, appearing at Boyd’s side. ‘Get out – now – do you hear me?’
‘Yes, Mr Paul. I’m sorry, Mr Paul—’
‘Trina, get your serving dish for the potatoes and make it snappy!’ the chef ordered, as Boyd left the kitchen with a last beseeching look at Trina. He was pretty sure that she wouldn’t let him down; she’d come to the rear entrance and he could tell her that Damon was back and she must prepare herself for trouble. Who knew what that fellow would do, now that he was back in Edgemuir?
The November evening was dark and chill, not the time to go walking, but Boyd, fastening his jacket and putting on his cap, couldn’t face going home, to pretend everything was all right when he had a terrible feeling in his stomach that everything could soon be all wrong. What to do? He let himself out of the hydro, leaving behind its warmth and comfort to face the wind that had risen and was gathering strength, and found himself making for the hills. Not a good idea in the darkness, but he didn’t care where he went, as long as he was back by the time Trina’s duties were over and he could see her and speak to her.
Up and up he went on a well-worn path, stopping once or twice to look back at the lights of the hydro and the town, glad of the wind against his face, eager to be struggling with nature rather than his thoughts, until he knew it was time to go back. Mustn’t risk Trina going to meet him and leaving because he wasn’t there. Oh, God, no!
He began to hurry, slipping down the hillside, lucky to stay upright in the wind, so grateful, when he reached the rear of the hydro, to find Trina just arriving, even though she was looking far from pleased.
‘What’s all this about?’ she demanded, as they moved into the back vestibule used by staff for coats and storage. ‘It’s freezing here and I’m not staying long, I can tell you.’ Taking a closer look at him in the poor light from a low-watt bulb, she frowned. ‘And what’s up with you, Boyd? You look as though you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’
‘I went up to the hills, waiting for you.’
‘At this time of night? You’re crazy. Just tell me what’s so important and then we can go.’
‘Trina, this is important. Damon’s back in Edgemuir – he’s working at the new café in the High Street. You have to watch out, in case he tries to see you.’ Boyd held her hands fast in his. ‘And you know what he’s like. If anyone’s crazy, it’s him, so you must be careful.’
She stared at him, her dark eyes wide, then looked away. Boyd, watching closely, waited for her to say something, but she said nothing.
‘You don’t seem surprised,’ he said at last.
‘Well …’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I was going to tell you. The other day, I was just doing a bit of shopping after we’d done the lunches when I bumped into Damon. In the High Street. Talk about surprise!’
For a long moment, Boyd couldn’t speak. He felt as though Trina had hit him, punched him with all the strength of a man, and though it was all imaginary, standing in front of her, he almost felt himself reeling.
‘Bumped into him?’ he got out, loosening her hands from his. ‘The other day?’
‘I really was going to tell you, Boyd.’
‘But you didn’t tell me.’
‘Only because – well, I thought you’d make a fuss.’
‘A fuss? Why wouldn’t I make a fuss? Think about what he did, Trina. Picked a fight with me, nearly lost me my job, called you all the names under the sun – now he turns up again and you think I shouldn’t make a fuss?’
‘The thing is, Boyd, he was so nice. Honestly, he was. And he’s sorry – really sorry for what he did.’
‘So nice?’ Boyd repeated. ‘Sorry? For God’s sake, Trina, why are you defending him? When you know what he’s like?’
Trina hesitated, her face very serious. ‘I know he can be difficult, but at heart he doesn’t mean to be, and I feel bad because it was just because of me that he caused all the trouble.’ She put her hand on Boyd’s arm. ‘You can understand how he felt, eh?’
‘Know what he told Isla, this good-at-heart fellow?’ Boyd asked grimly. ‘That he didn’t want to see me. So, he’s not apologizing to me, is he? He’s not sorry he came round to the gym and would have
beaten me up if I hadn’t knocked him out. All he wants, Trina, is to be with you again, and that’s not going to happen, is it?’
As Trina, not looking at him, removed her hand from his arm, Boyd snatched it back.
‘Look at me, Trina! Tell me you told him you wouldn’t see him again. You did, didn’t you? Because you’re with me now. You chose me, and you’ve said you love me, just like I love you. There’s no place for Damon in our lives and he’d best get the hell out of Edgemuir before there’s more trouble.’
‘He didn’t ask to see me again, Boyd.’ She gave a quick shrug. ‘So I didn’t have to say anything to him. Mind if I go now? I’d really like to get on with things.’ She ran her hand through her thick black hair. ‘Don’t get much time, you know.’
‘That’s all you have to say?’ Boyd asked quietly.
‘Why, what else is there? Let’s not get all worked up about Damon, eh?’ Reaching up, Trina pulled Boyd’s head down and kissed him lightly before stepping back to the door. ‘All right? I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, then.’
‘Wait.’
It was his turn then to kiss her, but though it was passionate and she responded as she always did, it brought him no pleasure. All he could think of was that she had defended Damon Duthie and that he’d never expected it of her. Not after the way Damon had treated her before he left the hydro. She’d been so shocked, so surprised he could behave like that to her, that she’d obviously believed it when she’d said she never wanted to see him again. And Boyd had been happy. But that was then – and now everything was different. So different he could hardly face it.
As he watched Trina hurry away from him and he began his own slow walk home, it came to him that what he must keep in his heart was hope. Forget that Trina had defended Damon. Just hope that nothing would come of the fellow’s return, and that Trina wouldn’t see him again. And that all would be for her and Boyd as it had been before this evening happened.
Was it some poet who had said, ‘Hope springs eternal’? Boyd knew for him it must be true. For without hope, he couldn’t see how he could endure what his life would be like.
Forty-Eight
The November days went by, and suddenly it was December and Christmas was looming ahead. Not that all Scots celebrated the festival, some preparing to concentrate on Hogmanay, and some firms not even closing for Christmas Day. This was not the case with Meredith’s Woollen Mill in Edgemuir which shut down completely for a two-day holiday, with the workers also being treated to a party organized by the management, something Nan particularly enjoyed and was constantly urging Isla and Boyd to attend.
‘Now, do you think you’ll manage it?’ she asked, when Isla had looked in one afternoon and was sneaking a peep at her mother’s Christmas cake, stored away in all its richness until it was time for it to be iced. ‘It’s not till the Wednesday before Christmas, so you’ve time to organize it.’
‘Depends what I’m doing then, Ma.’ Isla replaced the lid of the cake tin. ‘I’ll have to let you know nearer the time.’
‘And see if you can get Boyd to come. He’s been in such a mood lately, I hardly dare speak to him.’ Nan sniffed in disapproval. ‘It’ll be something to do with that girl I’ve never been allowed to meet. I suppose you’ll know all about it, eh?’
‘Not really, Ma,’ Isla answered uneasily. ‘He doesn’t confide in me.’
‘Aye, she’ll come between him and all of us, I reckon. But try to see Boyd, eh? Your dad and me’d like both of you to come to the do – it’s always a grand night out.’
‘I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see what Boyd says. Now, I’ve got to go.’
‘Like always,’ sighed Nan.
If only she could get Boyd to say something with any meaning, Isla thought on her way back to the hydro, but talking to him lately, she’d hardly managed to get a word out of him. It had been a case of: ‘How are you, Boyd?’
‘Fine.’
‘Seen anything of Damon?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘What does Trina think about him coming back?’
‘We don’t talk about him.’
Every time Isla had sought her brother out, there had been a similar exchange, which had been of no help at all and had only made her anxious that he was keeping something from her. Something to do with Damon, which did not promise well for future peace, but what could she do about it? Trina would never allow her access to her private life, which meant that with Boyd’s unwillingness to talk, Isla would just have to accept that their lives were their business and nothing to do with her.
Yet that was hard, when she and Boyd had always in the past been close enough to share their troubles, even if they’d had disagreements over them. Still, if she couldn’t bring the old ways back, Isla felt she might at least find out if Boyd wanted to go to Meredith’s Christmas party.
‘Oh, God, is it that time again?’ he groaned, when she asked him. ‘The last thing I want to do is spend time playing games at Meredith’s.’
He sighed and ran his hand over his brow, while Isla, studying him, thought that he looked thinner, even careworn. Could that be? Her handsome brother, always so fit, looking careworn? Or was some secret worry eating away at his health?
‘It’d please the folks,’ she said quietly.
‘Maybe.’ Boyd was shaking his head. ‘But I’ve got too much on my mind to go to that sort of do. I’m sorry.’
It was the nearest he’d got to admitting that there were problems for him, and Isla impulsively caught at his hand.
‘Boyd, won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s something. Maybe I can help.’
For answer, he jerked his hand away. ‘Isla, just leave it, eh? There’s nothing wrong – nothing that can’t be sorted out.’
‘If you say so,’ she said slowly. ‘But Ma says it’s very difficult to talk to you these days. That’s why she asked me to see what I could do.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll speak to her myself.’
‘All right, then.’
Heavy of heart, Isla made her way back to the treatment rooms, where she was surprised to find Noreen from Reception looking for her.
‘Letter for you, Isla – just come by second post.’
‘A letter? I don’t usually get letters sent here.’
‘Probably a Christmas card.’ Noreen, moving away, laughed. ‘From a grateful patient, eh?’
Her guess was correct. The large envelope she had handed Isla did indeed contain a Christmas card, a very handsome one, showing an artist’s snow scene, and the sender was, yes, a grateful patient. For so he had described himself in his Christmas message, in firm, strong writing.
To Isla, my wonder nurse, with best wishes for Christmas and the New Year, and heartfelt thanks from her most grateful patient, Mark Kinnaird.
Feeling her colour deepen and a smile begin to play around her mouth, Isla quickly put the card into her locker, glad that no one had noticed Noreen’s giving it to her. There was no reason why people shouldn’t know that Mark had sent her a card – patients often did send cards, and presents, too, at that time of year – but somehow she didn’t want to discuss Mark’s card with her colleagues. One thing was sure, though; it had raised her spirits, except for the sudden realization that she hadn’t sent him one. Was it too late? She didn’t even know his address.
‘Are you with us, Nurse Scott?’ she heard Staff Craddock calling, and, blushing harder, took her place with others to hear Staff’s order that everyone – ‘when they’d time’ – should lend a hand in putting up Christmas decorations in the main rooms of the hydro. There were boxes of streamers set out ready at Reception, and bags of holly, and the tree – kindly donated as usual by Dr Lorne – was already in place in the entrance hall. Miss Guthrie knew where the decorations were for that and she’d be getting them out tomorrow.
‘Do what you can, then, everybody,’ Staff finished brightly. ‘I know you’ll say you haven’t got time, but a lot of the patients
will be going home for holiday soon, which means there won’t be so much to do.’
‘So why are we decorating?’ asked Sheana. ‘I mean, if there’ll be no one but us to see what we do?’
‘Not everyone will be leaving, Nurse, and we must do our best for those who stay. Now, let’s get back to work, shall we?’
‘I still think it’s a waste of time,’ Sheana said in a low voice. ‘But roll on Christmas anyway, eh? I’ve got the two days off.’
‘So’ve I,’ said Ellie. Isla was about to say she only had Christmas Day when a tall, gangling young man wearing a waiter’s suit came wandering uncertainly into the crowd of nurses who were about to find their patients. This was Ben Ferryman, the replacement for Damon Duthie, a shy fellow not yet used to coming out of places he knew, though some thought he’d be glad to get away from Mr Paul’s hectoring even for five minutes.
‘Yes, what is it Mr Ferryman?’ Staff Miller asked briskly. ‘Are you looking for somebody?’
‘Er … yes,’ he answered cautiously. ‘Mr Paul’s sent me to find her, because she didn’t come to serve the lunches, but I don’t know where to look.’
‘Who didn’t serve the lunches? What’s her name?’
‘Miss Morris. We call her Trina.’
Trina? Isla’s heart missed a beat. She didn’t know why she should feel so suddenly afraid. What was so worrying about Trina’s not turning up to serve patients’ lunches, then? She’d probably gone out in the morning and mistaken the time, or something, and would just come wandering in and flutter her eyelashes at Mr Paul and get away with the sort of thing he’d blow others sky high for. On the other hand …
But Isla didn’t want to think of any other reason Trina shouldn’t be at her post.
‘Well, Miss Morris is certainly not here,’ Staff Miller told Ben. ‘In fact, I don’t think she’s ever even looked in on the treatment rooms. Not her sort of thing, I’m sure.’
There were nods from those around, Trina not being a favourite with the nurses. Far too full of herself. And not one who’d ever want to see sick people.
