‘Now that I know what you’ve been through, I’m afraid I do,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s the last thing on earth I should be saying to you but I do. It all sounds perfectly hellish.’
‘A good choice of word,’ agreed MacLean.
‘So you decided on taking your own life,’ said Tansy quietly.
‘I decided to let the next assassin do it for me. If I didn’t run I reckoned I wouldn’t have to wait long before he turned up. When he did, I would make it easy for him. It would be over quickly and probably with no pain.’
‘How long?’
‘Less than two weeks. He was sitting doing the Times crossword when I came into the hospital restaurant one day. Smart suit, muted tie, spectacles, looked like an administrator. I started to establish a repetitive pattern to my life to make it easy for him to plan the hit. I even picked the place.’
‘How?’ asked Tansy.
‘Every night at nine I would leave the flat, have a beer at the local pub and then take a walk by the river. It was dark and secluded down there and usually pretty deserted at that time. It was an obvious place for him to pick.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I liked the spot; it was quiet and peaceful. Grass, trees, the river, all the things I liked. It was a good place to die.’
‘But you didn’t,’ said Tansy.
‘And I still don’t know why,’ said MacLean.
‘He didn’t try?’ asked Tansy.
‘Oh yes,’ said MacLean distantly, ‘I heard the gun go off. It was silenced but I heard it. I even stood there like an idiot waiting for the lights to go out but nothing happened.’
‘He missed?’
‘I couldn’t believe it. For a pro to have missed at that range was impossible.’
‘Then what?’
‘I was confused,’ said MacLean. ‘I lost my nerve. I couldn’t do it again. I took to my heels and ran. I didn’t stop till I was back in the flat and the door was locked behind me. I remember standing there in the dark with my back against the door, feeling the sweat trickle down my face, trying not to breathe too hard so I would hear his foot-steps on the stairs. He didn’t. Next morning the papers led with a story of a man being found dead by the river walk.’
‘He shot the wrong man?’ exclaimed Tansy in amazement.
‘That’s what I thought too,’ agreed MacLean. ‘I hadn’t seen anyone else down there but that seemed to be the only conceivable explanation. The paper said that the dead man carried no identification but the police had issued a description. It sounded familiar.’
‘Familiar?’
MacLean continued, ‘I went down to the city mortuary and pretended that I thought the description of the missing man fitted that of my neighbour whom I hadn’t seen for several days. They let me see the body.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Tansy.
‘It was the “administrator” himself.’
Tansy’s mouth fell open. She shook her head as if unable to cope with what she was hearing. ‘You mean he’d shot himself?’ she asked.
‘Not through the back of his head he didn’t,’ said MacLean. ‘Someone else did it. The best I can come up with says that there were two hit men detailed to eliminate me — not unreasonable after the failure of a couple of weeks before — and that one shot the other for whatever reason.’
‘But you don’t really believe that?’ said Tansy.
‘No, but I was past caring. I resigned my job, put my affairs in order as they say and caught the first train to London.’
‘Running again,’ said Tansy.
‘Only temporarily,’ said MacLean. ‘I needed a bit of time to recover enough nerve to do the job myself. I started to wonder if there was anything I wanted to do before I died. I found I had this hankering to visit the haunts of my childhood, go back to the neighbourhood I was brought up in, see the schools, the parks, the canal.’
‘That’s what you were doing when you saved Carrie,’ said Tansy.
MacLean nodded. ‘Now you know everything.’
Tansy stayed silent for a moment then she rolled her eyes upwards and let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘Quite a story Dr MacLean.’ She took both his hands in hers and said, ‘And what now? What happens now?’
MacLean looked away and said quietly, ‘Nothing’s changed Tansy. The nightmare is still out there. I’ve just had a few days off that’s all.’
‘Stay,’ said Tansy. ‘Stay here with Carrie and me.’
‘I can’t,’ said MacLean. ‘I would only bring death to this house like I did to Jutte. They would find me.’
‘But they only found you when you stayed openly under your own name and worked as a doctor. No one found Dan Morrison. You could be him again!’
‘It wouldn’t be right,’ said MacLean.
‘Rubbish!’ exclaimed Tansy. ‘Stay!’
MacLean held up his hands and said, ‘Wait! I have to know why you are doing this. I have to understand.’
Tansy looked him in the eyes. She said, ‘I’m not sure myself. I only know that it feels right.’
MacLean considered for a seemingly endless moment.
‘Just give it a try?’
MacLean wavered then finally nodded.
The cold, sterile winter yielded to a hesitant Scottish spring. Buds sprouted on the trees by the canal and sunshine sparkled on the raindrops on their branches. The garden of the small, white bungalow awoke and demanded attention which MacLean and Carrie were happy to give it. Three months had done much to repair the damage to MacLean’s mind. He’d learned to laugh again. The haunted look had gone from his eyes and his cheeks had begun to fill out. All three of them had found a happiness and contentment, which they jealously guarded from the outside world as if it might suddenly disappear like morning mist. No plans were ever made and the future never mentioned.
Tansy gradually withdrew from her former circle of friends, which made MacLean feel guilty but she insisted. ‘Do you know what I heard one of them call you behind my back?’ she said. ‘My bit of rough!’
MacLean found it funny, particularly as Tansy was so angry.
‘Well, I am a labourer,’ he smiled.
‘But you are far more intelligent than any of them!’ stormed Tansy. ‘You’re kinder, more gentle and… ‘ She was lost for words and MacLean held her in his arms. ‘There, there,’ he soothed. ‘Don’t be too harsh on them. They’re just people. They need someone to look up to, someone to look down on and they’re probably jealous of what we have together.’
Tansy thumped her hands against MacLean’s chest and said in mock anger, ‘Why do you have to be so damned understanding?’
They both dissolved into laughter.
Carrie had become used to the sound of laughter around the house and she liked it. It made her happy too. She liked MacLean. She particularly liked the way he didn’t talk down to her. He didn’t put on a different voice, pull silly faces and say stupid things like most grown-ups did. She could talk to him. She could ask him things and he would give her sensible answers. He wouldn’t begin by laughing at her questions and rubbing her head like Uncle George always did and he wouldn’t tickle her tummy incessantly like Aunty Jane.
MacLean liked Carrie. Through her eyes he saw the canal again as he had in childhood. The canal ran from a basin in the heart of Edinburgh out to Falkirk, a small town some twenty miles to the west. It had ceased to be used commercially even before MacLean had been born and so had become an unofficial nature reserve outside the city limits. Nearer the city it was used by schools and the like for recreation purposes. Children were taught to canoe and earnest students would row in harmony while track-suited coaches cycled along the towpath yelling encouragement.