SNATCHED BAIRN: Scottish Fiction

by Anne Bone

  Part 2

  August 1985 – 11 Months Later

  Jenni went through her usual ritual when leaving the flat, she checked that all the windows and doors were shut, and looked around to ensure that everything was tidy. The day outside was warm and sunny so she had no need for a jacket, but she picked up a light cardigan to take with her in case the weather changed. She locked the door behind her, rattling the door handle to make sure that it was locked. She had become less confident over the past eleven months, but then again, at least now she was able to leave the security of the flat.

  She made her way to the small mini car that was parked on the pavement outside of the flat, searching though her handbag to find the key to open the door, before sitting in the driving seat. She put the key into the ignition and the engine fired up. She was proud of herself that she had taken to driving as a duck to water. Four months ago, Marcus had persuaded her to take driving lessons. He had encouraged her by saying that if she had her own transport then she could leave the house whenever she felt able, without having to meet anyone she didn’t want to.

  The latter had been what had finally persuaded her. She could get into the car and drive off without having to converse with anyone she might meet. Once she had got into the driving instructor’s car, she had been an eager learner, and it soon became clear that she would be a competent driver. She passed her test first time, and Marcus surprised her by arriving one day driving a new Mini Cooper, which he advised was hers.

  It had taken her three months to find the courage to venture out of the flat, after that dreadful day when she had been given the news that Laird was dead. She had become a prisoner, and it was with huge support from Marcus and Beth Paton that she had finally managed to slowly take the first steps outside. She could still remember how terrifying it was, how she thought she was going to have a heart attack, her heart was beating so fast, and then the dreadful feeling she was going to pass out that overwhelmed her mind. She had had to try several times, until very gradually, with Beth beside her, encouraging with her soft voice, she managed to take some steps out into the fresh air. The air had hit her like a bullet, and the sounds, smells and open space made her feel as though she was on the edge of a crevice. She had persevered and allowed Beth to help her break through her fear and the uncomfortable reactions of her body until, very slowly, she had been able to take steps outside on her own.

  It had taken a great deal of patience, and time, for her to begin the slow healing process. She would never heal properly, she knew that. She still cried every day for her darling daughter, thinking about what she would look like and how she would be, finding herself staring at children of the same age, checking their faces just in case they were her daughter. She wouldn’t totally accept that Mary had gone; that would not take place until she had indisputable evidence. Until then, she was learning to go through the motions of life. There were times when she did smile. She tried hard to involve herself in the world, although it was a duller colour than the world had been, before September last year.

  Christmas had been a difficult time, but, at that time, she had still been in the depth of her emotional paralysis, so it had passed without her really acknowledging it. Her mum had stayed with her and chosen her over her dad. Her mum had admitted to her that her dad was difficult to stay with. What her mum had not shared with her, was that her father’s hypocritical and pious views had been expressed one time too many, and Christine had finally lost patience with his failure to understand or show any compassion towards their daughter. So spending Christmas in Aberdeen caring for Jenni was truly a more preferential option than staying at home.

  July had been the worst month, the 14th, Mary’s tenth birthday. The day had been spent hiding and weeping under Mary’s duvet. Marcus had wanted to take her away, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She knew that she needed to be in the one place where she felt close to her daughter, lying on her bed clutching her unwashed duvet. There was still a very slight smell of her daughter within the bedroom, but it was fading. She was aware that she couldn’t hold on to that forever, and would have to be satisfied with the photographs, toys and, more than anything else, memories. She could not help but go over and over in her head the details of the day she went missing. She had ranted and raved at herself and everyone else, but the one thing she couldn’t do was turn the clock backwards. If only, were words that tormented her and she truly believed that they would continue to, for the rest of her life.

  She found herself being irritated and impatient with people, especially when she met someone who would utter their platitudes of condolences. If they said the dreaded words like “time is a great healer” or even worse “your young, you’ll have more children” she would bristle and make herself scarce, as quickly as she could. She really wanted to scream at them and make it crystal clear that no amount of time would take the pain of loss away, it had nothing at all to do with her age and she didn’t want another child. No child would ever replace her darling Mary. She supposed that they were trying to help, but it didn’t help her one jot. It became easier to avoid meeting people so that she didn’t have to continually say she was “fine” when she wasn’t. Being able to drive and having her own car made a difference; she could actively avoid meeting people. She even drove out of town to do her shopping. Trying to be anonymous was more difficult than she imagined: she still experienced people nudging and nodding when they recognised her, and then she would get the pity stare. At these times she wanted to run, but she would hold her nerve and carry on, ignoring them. It was easier to avoid and took less energy.

  Jenni had managed to get back some of her creativity and had started to paint and draw again. She imagined that this was therapeutic, as she did feel a slight sense of peace once she picked up a paint brush. Over the last couple of weeks she had completed a couple of paintings that even she accepted were reasonable.

  The next few weeks were, she knew, going to be incredibly difficult, and she was absolutely dreading the first anniversary of Mary’s abduction. She had already been contacted by a couple of journalists who wanted to interview her about how the past year had been. She had told them very forcefully she had no intention of speaking to any members of the press. That terrible press conference was still haunted her.

  After the news had broken about Laird killing himself, the press had gone into a frenzy and they had almost taken up camp outside the flat. Thankfully, at that time, she had been rather out of it, her mother and Marcus had kept the curtains drawn and the police had helpfully put a guard on the front of the flat entrance to keep them out. It hadn’t lasted long, so she had been told, just long enough to be a nuisance before another story hit the headlines and they all raced off like a pack of hounds after new blood.

  The most positive thing to come out of the past year was how Marcus had changed towards her. He had been true to his word and had been alongside her, supporting her. It was so different from before. Now, he did spend several nights a week with her, and they were planning living together. This meant him leaving Veronica, something in all the years of their relationship that had never been broached. She had been amazed when he had told her that this what he wanted, and he was working out how to make it happen.

  The anniversary was in the uppermost of their minds and Jenni had agreed with him that it would be better if they were not in Aberdeen on the day. She didn’t need any reminders that it would be a year since she last held her daughter; it was in the centre of her heart every minute of every day. Everyone including her mum and Beth believed that remaining in the flat and in Aberdeen may just push her back so that she regressed; no one wanted that for her, herself included. So she had allowed Marcus to make arrangements for them to spend two weeks away. He had booked flights to Thailand, where they would spend the time on one of the islands. She had seen photographs of the beach villa that he had hired, and if only Mary had been with them it would have been perfect. She supposed that the two weeks away was one of the reasons why he was go
ing to make the move to leave Veronica.

  Jenni hadn’t been quite so agreeable when he first suggested that once they started to live together he would purchase a house for them. That would mean leaving the flat and she told him she wasn’t yet ready to relinquish the place where she felt closest to Mary. He had come up with a plan, suggesting that they would still keep the flat so she could return to spend time in it, but they could find another property where they could make a home together. He had implied that she would have free range of how it was decorated, and that money would be no object. She still wasn’t convinced and knew that he was working hard on her to change her mind.

  Jenni realised that she had reached her destination, a house in the north of Aberdeen, a house she had visited before. It belonged to Jeanie Longstaff, a spiritual medium. Jenni got out of the car and made her way to the front door of the small semi-detached house. Jeanie must have been watching for her. As she got to the front door it was opened and she was welcomed by a hug. Jenni followed the elderly lady into a small homely room at the rear of the house. The room was lit by one small table lamp and two candles which glowed on the small table that sat in the middle of the room, sending a sense of warmth through the room. Jenni sat in one of the armchairs while Jeanie made herself comfortable in the one opposite. Jenni knew the process: she would make herself comfortable and relax, while Jeanie closed her eyes and sat quietly for a moment.

  It didn’t take long before Jeanie made contact. Last time she had brought her Granny Dinnet through. She had been very accurate about a number of bits of information about the family, things that only Jenni would know, and so Jeanie had won Jenni’s trust, whereas some of the other mediums she had sought out had not. Today, the medium described a lady who Jenni recognised as her other granny, her mum’s mother. Jenni had spent lots of her school holidays with her granny before she had died just as Jenni was about to commence her secondary school. The way Jeanie described her gave no doubt that it was her, and Jenni felt the essence of her granny who she had loved so much. Jeanie communicated that her granny wanted to let her know that she knew about her pain, and that she also knew that there would be a time when she could be happy again, and not to give up.

  While the sitting was a positive experience, it hadn’t brought the one person through that would provide the evidence she needed. Jeanie had explained to her at their first meeting that she couldn’t conjure up sprits, so, if she had come hoping that Mary would come through this wasn’t the case. It could be many years before someone was able to come through and communicate, and Jeanie had no sense of Mary’s presence at all. When the sitting was complete, Jenni had mixed feelings. She loved the sense of her granny being able to come close from the other side and give her a message, but she would have loved to have heard that her daughter was okay. The fact she hadn’t – did that mean she wasn’t over the other side?

  Jeanie Longstaff was a wise woman who had been a spiritualist for fifty years and a medium for more than half of them. She was very aware of why young Jenni Dinnet came to see her, and felt for the lassie. Even though she was an experienced medium she never knew what to expect when she read for a sitter. Over the years she had read for numerous bereaved people, who all sat with a hope that their nearest and dearest would communicate through her to reassure them that they were safe and happy on the other side of the veil. Some people came to her with a hope that she would give them direction for their life, answer questions, or tell them their future. They would go away disappointed as she told them she was not a fortune teller. Jenni came for evidence that her child was on the other side, and Jeanie could not provide this because there was no sign of the child. Neither did any of the spiritual relatives who did communicate with Jenni give any indication that they had a child with them. So, as she told Jenni, she wouldn’t give what she couldn’t.

  Being a medium brought with it a huge responsibility; she was careful about how she communicated and would never give information unless she was sure it came from spirit. She, however, had a sense that wee Mary Dinnet wasn’t on the other side at all, but there was no way she would pass this on to Jenni, she couldn’t back it up and the poor lass had been through enough without raising her hopes, when maybe she had got it wrong. She couldn’t get out of her mind’s eye a house set on a hill, surrounded by pine trees. Where this was she had no idea, but she felt that it had something to do with Mary. Until she was able to provide clear evidence she would have to keep her own counsel.

  I am used to being here now, it has been such a long time since I last saw me mam that I know that she has left me for good. I still can’t understand why she would have done so, but she has. I got a new lot of books today; my favourite is The Magic Saddle. I have read it twice already. I wish I could have a magic horse that would take me away from here, out in the sunshine, galloping over the mountains, back to Aberdeen, so I could be back in my own bedroom again. My room here is not the same. I’ve sort of got used to it and now I keep my bedside light on all of the time it is quite cosy. I have a funny sort of potty toilet in the corner; it’s like one you might use if you were on a camping trip. I only use it when I am in my room and the door is locked. I can usually hold on until he opens the door and I get to go to the bathroom. I have been in my room more often recently. I think Uncle Don is busy doing stuff in the room along the corridor, the one opposite his bedroom.

  I always do exactly what Uncle Don tells me. I don’t ask any questions any longer, as I know that makes him angry. The last time I asked him about whether he had heard from me mam, he had shouted at me, and told me to stop asking about her, that she was gone and wasn’t coming back. Ever. That made me very sad and I cried a lot for days. He tried to be kind to me, bringing me two new jigsaw puzzles and a new colouring book, but I couldn’t help crying when I now know the truth, me mam had gone and left me for ever.

  I still dream about her, and sometimes in my dreams she is there cuddling me. I can feel her hold me and I feel safe again. And then I wake up and realise that she isn’t there, and I don’t feel safe. I don’t, I never feel really safe, as I don’t know whether Uncle Don will be nice or whether he will be angry. He has been funny recently, I mean strange funny, not ha, ha funny. When I sat on his knee last night he brushed my hair as he normally does, and doing that always seems to make him happy, but last night it was different. He sort of pushed me off his lap and told me to go to my room. He seemed upset and angry. I am not sure what I did, but I must have done something wrong to make him react like that.

  I have got used to the food; we have the same pretty much all of the time. I miss me mam’s roast dinners, and the mince and tatties that we used to have, with the mealy pudding on the side. The food that Uncle Don gives me is tinned soup, pies with boiled tatties, and tinned peas. Sometimes we have pasta with cheese on it; that is definitely my favourite, although it is still not as nice as me mam’s macaroni cheese. We have lots of sandwiches, every day we have sandwiches, mostly they are cheese, but occasionally I like them because they have tomatoes with them too. I remember when mam and I went to the beach, and we had cheese and tomato sandwiches, and the sandwiches were all soggy, but we liked them like that. Mam and I used to like a lot of things like that.

  I once asked Uncle Don whether I could go outside sometime, but he told me that wouldn’t be possible. He told me that I have to stay in the house all of the time, so that I am safe. I don’t know what that means, and when I asked him he just told me to be quiet and not ask questions, and to remember the rules. I do miss being outside, I know now when night is, because that is after we have our supper, and I have to go into my room and the door is locked. I am used to being in my room for long periods, and have lots of books and puzzles to keep me occupied, but it’s not the same as going out to the park or playing with my friends. I miss my pals, and I am lonely. I am very lonely but I try not to think about it, because I get very sad and cry. That doesn’t do any good, so Uncle Don told me; it won’t make any difference how much I
cry, I must just get on with it. So I do.

  Chapter 25

  August 1985

  The Davidson household was not a happy place, and Marcus had no further qualms about his intention not to be part of it for very much longer. The past eleven months had seen many changes, one of which was the relationship between Veronica and him. They still resided under the same roof, although that was now all; and it was only a matter of time before he moved out. Although many battles had been fought over the past few months, a cold truce now reigned over the household.

  The large house was now far too large for the two of them; Tom had married and no longer spent time there. Derek had decided to remain in Australia, where he had secured a job as well as an Australian girlfriend.

  It had taken four months after Mary’s abduction when things had come to a head between Veronica and him. When the truth had come out, there followed threats from her, so he had had to remain within the house, pretending to the outside world that they continued to be a couple. The whole situation was a complete farce, and it was now time to end it.

  Marcus recalled the evening when the truth had come out. It had been a Thursday evening and they had been having dinner. Veronica had, until then, been caught up in Tom’s wedding which had taken place a couple of weeks before. The wedding had, as it turned out, been an enjoyable day for all; including Marcus as he watched his oldest son plight his troth to Kim, promising to love and keep her until death do them part. Derek was also present and it was good to have him back, and to see how well and happy he was. He had stood beside his older brother as his best man, and both allowed their mother to fuss and spoil them as she had done when they had been little lads. Veronica had been in her element, but since the wedding she had been down. He could understand this, as not only had Derek returned to Australia, but there had been an anti-climax now the buzz of the wedding preparations had gone.