But there was no children’s visiting in the remand centre. They talked on the phone and he wrote to both of them, sent Dillon pictures and wrote Ruby poems. Becky saved everything for them.
“He’s still their dad,” she says.
“Don’t you worry… ” I want to ask her. It’s easiest to talk when we’re walking on the beach, when we don’t have to look at each other, when we can both watch the kids instead. “Don’t you every worry that they’ll-”
“Turn out just like him?” says Gus, the real Gus. “Why should they? He’s not going to bring them up, and they’ve only got half his genes. I’m a clone of Gavin, Jessie, and I’m nothing like him.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I say. And I hope it’s true. Hope more than either of them could know, because I haven’t told them.
“I’m going to miss this place,” says Becky. “I do love it here.”
“And as soon as the conversion’s done, back you’ll come,” says Gus. He’s making a loft-like a real artist would live in-in half of the bothy, keeping the other half for a studio, adding a wee bit on. He made a lot of money selling Pram to some ghoul. So Becky and the kids will have the cottage.
“Yeah,” says Becky. “And I need to be with my mum and dad for a bit. I need to try to explain why I cut them off like that.” She glances at me. “Think of something to say they’d believe. No point in trying to get the truth past them.” I squeeze her arm. She’s right about that. I heard the same thing from Dot. Sister Avril too. Why did she stay? Not ever Why did he take her away from her family, mess with her head, kill her friend, keep her prisoner? No, it’s always Why did she stay?, like it’s love and hope and trust that are the puzzle. Not whatever’s wrong with Gavin.
“Evil,” said Father Tommy when I asked him. “There. A nice plain answer everyone can spell.”
“It doesn’t explain much,” I said.
“Neither does sociopathy,” Father Tommy pointed out. “It just gets a higher Scrabble score. Lust, sloth, gluttony, pride, envy, greed, and anger. Hit all seven and you’re evil. Gavin King’s well on his way.”
“You could be right, Father,” I told him.
“Ah, Jessie,” he said. “Have you thought any more about what I asked you?”
“I have. Would it matter if I was turning Catholic partly to bug my mum? Could we ‘God’s mysterious moves’ that one away?”
“You’re a terrible girl,” he told me.
“Well, I’ll let you know,” I said. “You’d have to carb up for my first confession, mind.”
“And then I could say your wedding mass.” He was chuckling, teasing me.
“You’re quite a romantic for a celibate priest,” I said. “Dream on.”
Kazek’s gone to Poland with Ros’s ashes. He’ll be back in Dumfries for the trial. He might stay at my place. He phones me a lot. We get on quite well-even over the phone-for two people who basically don’t share a language. I think about Gav and his silver tongue and wonder if it’s better this way.
But I have to decide what to do. Would Kazek still be interested in me if he knew? Should that matter? Do I really believe the evil of Gavin King will come out in his children? Is it best not to chance it? But if I commit a mortal sin, can I still be a Catholic after? Or is this latest news just one more thing that’s far too good to be true? Like Jesus.
Tell me the story of how I was born, Mum.
Well, I was immaculately conceived, my son. And you were the child of the holy ghost. Mm? Oh, don’t worry about who he is. I’ll tell you when you’re older. And I was still a virgin and there was this census, see? And a stable, a star, and a donkey or two. Three wise men with the shittiest notion of presents for a baby. There were shepherds involved. Somehow. Just your usual boy meets girl, angels, kings, and farm workers, really.
What would I say? Well, Mummy was a headcase and couldn’t trust herself to have a baby in case she couldn’t take care of it and it killed its granny one day. And Daddy wanted to wipe out his other family and not have to go to jail for it.
Yeah, right.
But if it’s a girl I could call it Ros, and if it’s a boy I could call it Wojtek. And no matter what it was, if I gave it life then we’d be square, the universe and me.
As every single one of those endless bloody therapists used to say.
Facts and Fictions
The Dumfries Free Clothing Project is based only very loosely on the Edinburgh Clothing Store and all the personnel are fictitious.
St. Vincent’s is imaginary and not connected either to St. Michael’s or St. Joseph’s in actual Dumfries.
It would be folly to suggest that JM Barrie House in the book has no connection to Moat Brae House in Dumfries. What I will say is that the fictional council, the fictional committee, the fictional Gary Boyes, and the goings-on in general are not in any way connected to the marvellous work of the Peter Pan Moat Brae House Trust and their blossoming vision of a children’s literature centre at the site. I took Moat Brae House down a very different path and am delighted that fact is so much better, in this instance, than fiction. Details of the real project can be found at www.peterpanmoatbrae.org.
Shed Boat Shed in the book is closely based on the work of Turner Prize winner Simon Starling, and Gav’s imaginary House is very similar to the extraordinary and moving Semi-Detached by Michael Landry. (Thanks to Erin Mitchell, who read a proof copy and reminded me what this piece was called.) I think Pram in the story sprang from my imagination. If it didn’t and anyone recognises the idea, as Steve recognised “Gus’s” borrowings, I’d be grateful if you’d let me know at catrionamcpherson@gmail.com.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank: everyone at Midnight Ink, especially Terri Bischoff, Nicole Nugent, Amelia Narigon, and Bill Krause (look, Nicole, an Oxford comma!); my agent, Lisa Moylett; the real Jessies-Jess Lourey and Jessie Chandler; my sisters in crime, Sisters in Crime; my sisters in life-Sheila, Audrey, and Wendy; the other three-Catherine, Louise, and Nancy; the new three-Sarah, Spring, and Eileen (paging Dr. Freud!); the cast of thousands from Mystery Writers of America, Malice Domestic, Bouchercon, Left Coast Crime, Harrogate, Bloody Scotland, and the Crime Writers’ Association of the UK (who said writing was a lonely pursuit?); and my sister-in-law Bogusia Gruszka McRoberts, without whom Kazek would have been silent.
About the Author
Photo © Neil McRoberts
Catriona McPherson was born in Scotland, where she lived until moving to California in 2010. She is the author of the award-winning Dandy Gilver historical mystery series and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. As She Left It was her first modern standalone. You can visit Catriona online at www.catrionamcpherson.com.
