“How? When did he die?”
“Two years ago. A drunken fight in Govan. He got knifed.”
“Thank you,” she said faintly. Then she said, “I’m a silly old woman. If only I’d asked for help before.”
“He probably terrorized you. What were you about to get involved with a man like that?”
“I didn’t know he was a man like that,” she snapped, all her old crustiness returning.
“Like I said, I lived on a farm near Oban with my parents, well, just outside Oban that is. He stopped by one day on his motorcycle. He wanted to know if we did bed-and-breakfast. My mother said, yes, even though we didn’t have a sign on the road. She usually only catered for a few regulars who came year after year. He said he would book in for two nights.” Her silver eyes grew dreamy as she seemed to look down some long tunnel into a bright past where life had still been innocent.
“He was very good-looking, tall with fair hair. He said he was up from Glasgow. I’d led a very sheltered life but I’d been to the cinema and like the other girls, we were all mad about James Dean. Hugh had this big shiny motorbike and he wore a leather jacket. He took me to the cinema and dancing. He stayed two weeks instead of two days and by the end of the two weeks, he’d asked me to marry him. I was over the moon. He said he had a good job and worked as a salesman. I wanted a church wedding but Hugh said he was in a rush because he had to get back to his job. My parents were upset, but I was twenty-one so there was nothing they could do to stop me. We got married in the registry office and then he went off to Glasgow and I packed up and followed him down on the train. He’d said his parents were dead. Would you like some tea?”
Hamish shook his head. “His flat was a bit of a shock. It was in a tenement in Springburn, dark and sordid. He said, don’t worry, he had something in mind. We’d soon be out of there. Then things began to fall apart. My father phoned and said money from the farm office was missing and only Hugh could have taken it. Of course, I stood up for Hugh and we had a row and he told me never to come back to the farm again until I had come to my senses. Then one day when Hugh was out, his parents came by. Yes, parents! The father was drunk and the mother was a slattern. Hugh came home and threw them out. I asked him why he had lied to me. He said he was ashamed of his parents and that his father used to beat him.
“Oh, I believed him because I wanted to. Then the police came for him. He had stolen the motorbike. He got a short prison sentence and when he came out, he stopped keeping up any front for me. He would get drunk and beat me. And yet I still loved him and pride stopped me from going back to my parents. But things got worse. All sorts of villains started calling round. Then one day Mother phoned and said my father had died. I went back for the funeral. Hugh asked me if he had left me anything and I said no, truthfully. He had left everything to my mother. Mother sold the farm and moved into a little house in Oban. She was never the same after my father’s death. She got cancer and a year later, she was dead, too. She left everything to me. Hugh hadn’t come up with me. I saw the lawyers and got the money she’d left and said that any other money from the sale of the house was to go into an account in Oban in my name. But I meant to tell Hugh about the money. I was always hoping he would reform.”
A dry sob escaped her. “I went back to Glasgow. He was entertaining his friends. There were bottles everywhere. Hugh had a raddled woman sitting on his knee. I cracked. I said I was leaving him. He turned ugly. He got everyone out and then he beat me with his belt.
I’d brought back some family photos and he threw them on the fire. He said I couldn’t leave him. He’d always find me. Then the police broke in during the night and arrested him for armed robbery. I stayed only as long as the trial, only as long as it took to learn he was going to prison, and then I left for Oban. I stayed until my mother’s house was sold and then came up here. I decided that people were no good. I’d stick to my croft and my sheep. That Mrs. Dunwiddy was friendly while I was negotiating the sale with her, but she asked too many questions so I never saw her again.”
“Mrs. Dunwiddy’s down in an old folks home in Inverness. She had a stroke. I believe her mind’s gone,” said Hamish, not elaborating further because he didn’t want the touchy Mrs. Gallagher to know he had been trying to find out about her.
“Oh, dear,” she said vaguely.
“So now your worries are over, you should get about and meet people.”
“I’m too set in my ways to start socializing, young man. And my worries aren’t over. What about my cat?”
“Still searching,” said Hamish getting to his feet. He looked down at her helplessly. There was nothing that could be done to combat years of isolation and sourness.
∨ A Highland Christmas ∧
4
Hamish put in a request to Strathbane for a list of all petty crimes in the Highland area in the past month. Then he decided to go over to Cnothan and make some more inquiries. The day was cold and still. It never snowed on Christmas day but he found himself hoping that just this year there might be a light fall to delight the children. As he passed Mrs. Gallagher’s croft, he saw her out in the fields. She seemed to be shouting something. He stopped and switched off the engine and rolled down the window.
“Smoky!” she was calling. “Smoky!”
Her voice echoed round the winter landscape, and the twin mountains above Lochdubh sent back the wailing echo of her voice. He drove on slowly, looking right and left, suddenly hoping that he would see a grey-and-white cat. But only a startled deer ran across his path and then with one great leap vanished among some stunted trees at the side of the road.
He drove on until he reached Cnothan. He noticed lights had been strung along the main street and two men were erecting a tree in a large tub at the bottom of the street. He called in at Mr. Sinclair’s shop. “Oh, it’s you,” said Mr. Sinclair.
“I see you’ve got the lights up. Did that mean another collection?”
“No, it did not! I paid for those lights out of my own pocket, so that should shut up those who said I only wanted the lights to make a bit of money.”
“No more thefts in Cnothan?”
“Not that I know of. Isn’t one theft enough for you?”
“Just wondered. Any news of strangers about the place?”
“Look, I’ve been too busy with the customers to notice anything.”
Hamish looked thoughtfully at him. He wondered if by any mad chance Mr. Sinclair had taken the lights himself and then because of the fuss had handed them back, claiming to have supplied new ones.
He went out of the shop and strolled down towards the loch. He stood for a moment watching the men working on the tree and then he went into the bait shop. Mr. McPhee looked up. “You again.”
“Yes, me. I’m still checking around to see if any strangers have been spotted, probably four young men in a four-wheel drive.”
“See nothing like that.”
Hamish looked around. “You can’t do much trade this time of year.”
“It’s better than sitting at home looking at the telly. I hate Christmas, and that’s a fact.”
“What will you be doing for Christmas?”
“Sitting getting drunk and trying not to put my foot through the telly. Do you know they’re going to show The Sound of Music again? It’s enough to drive a man mad.”
“I tell you what, me and the schoolteacher from Lochbudh are going down on Christmas day to a concert at an old folks home to try and brighten the folks up. Why don’t you come with us?”
“I’m not that old. I’m only sixty-eight.”
“I’m not old either. But it would be a bit o‘ fun.”