So I yielded to his insistence and let him come with us. I took the wheel, though, with him in the front passenger seat fulfilling the valuable function of picking Janet's toys up and handing them back to her each time she threw one on the floor. I drove sedately, because of the precious passenger, and because the Freelander, while it's a chunky motor, isn't exactly a flying machine.
The Forth Bridge was quiet heading north… it always is in the morning, but wait till the Edinburgh commuters head for home… and soon we were on the new road which heads for the East Neuk in more or less a straight line. Normally I'd have headed for Anstruther through Elie and St. Monans, but there was a degree of urgency, in that Janet would soon be needing a pit stop.
My stepmother was at home when we arrived; she'd taken early retirement from teaching, and was only doing the occasional supply job. Things were completely natural between the two of us now, and I was grateful for that. Mary had been my mother-in-law before she'd married my Dad; Jan's death had shattered her as much as it had me.
Afterwards she'd had to live with Prim's return to the scene, then our break-up. I hadn't been sure how she'd react to wee Janet, but she'd been a gem, accepting her as she would have any grandchild. As usual, she was all over her like a rash when we pulled up, unannounced. "Why didn't you warn me?" she scolded me.
Janet had been to Enster often enough to have sussed out its main attractions. For example, there's a cafe on the harbour front.
"Ice-cweam," was all she needed to say to Mary before she found herself loaded into her push-chair and heading for the town. Once again Jay insisted on going along, and this time I had no qualms about it, as the idiocy of bringing my daughter to a place where people might be after her father and grandfather began to dawn on me.
We had passed the Neiporte cottage on the way through Pittenweem, and I had pointed it out to Jay. He had said nothing, but a cold light had seemed to come on in his eyes.
When they had gone, I was left alone in my Dad's house, waiting in his kitchen for him to come through from the surgery, once he had finished mauling his twelve o'clock patient. I allowed him his usual twenty-minute average. I filled the kettle on the quarter-past mark, and five or six minutes later was stirring two mugs of coffee by the sink when I heard him walk in behind me.
"What the f…"
I turned to face him at the sound of his hearty greeting, a mug in each hand… and almost dropped them. There were dark circles under my father's eyes that I had never seen before. His broad shoulders seemed to droop as he stood there, and his pale blue nylon surgery tunic seemed to hang loose on him. I felt as if I was looking at a man I didn't know.
"No, Dad," I said. "That's my line."
I handed him one of the mugs, turned him around and propelled him through to the living room. When he was sat in his armchair, I leaned forward in mine and looked at him, forcing him to look in my direction.
"You look like the picture in Dorian Gray's fucking attic," I told him. (My Dad and I have never been anything other than frank with each other.) "Thanks, son, for your vote of confidence," he retorted. Even his voice sounded weary. "You look pretty sharp yourself. Are you here alone?"
"No, I'm with you. Janet and Mary have gone on an ice-cream mission;
Jay's with them."
"Jay? Kevin bloody Costner, you mean, or should it be Frank bloody Farmer… whatever his name was in that bodyguard movie. He didn't do you and Susie much good at the premiere the other night."
"Yes he did. He took most of the stuff. Jay's a good guy, so don't worry about us. What's with you? Have you been bothered by that American twat again?"
"Not him."
"I didn't mean him."
"She's English, remember. Yes, I had a call from her. It was…"
"Does she still want money?" I interrupted "No, she didn't say any more about that. It was… it was unpleasant, that's all. She just screamed abuse at me, called me terrible names, said terrible things to me."
"How many calls?"
"Two. One the day after you were here, then another a few days ago, the day after your premiere in fact."
I heard a low growl, and realised that I was its source. "Bitch," I rumbled. "I'm sorry, Dad: I made a mistake. I put the fear of God almighty into the husband, thinking that would be enough. Clearly, I should have done the same to her. That's not beyond redemption, though."
Mac the Dentist shook his head. "Don't make it any worse, son. Leave her alone, please."
"I don't know if I can do that. It was Andrea Neiporte who chucked that can of paint at me at the premiere."
His mouth dropped open, revealing his crooked, coffee-stained lower teeth… funny thing, but as far as I've seen, dentists rarely present good advertisements for their profession. Wh…" He looked stunned.
"How do you know that?"
"The police showed me a photo."
I'll swear he went white under his tan. "You didn't tell them who she was, did you?"
"Of course not."
"Will they find out?"
"Not unless her mug's on the police computer and they do a check. They won't, though."
My Dad stared at the empty fireplace. "Let it rest, son."
"It's hard for me to do that. The woman's tried to extort money from you; now she's persecuting you."
"I know, I know. She's a nasty piece of work. But I set myself up for it. I should have stopped the procedure when Arthur was called away.
Christ, I should never have done it in the first place. I should have told her that if she wanted a general she'd have to go to the dental hospital."
"You mean there could be professional implications for you if the story comes out?"
"It's possible."
"But that's ridiculous," I protested. "You've practised impeccably for thirty-five years."
"Means nothing. If this goes public I could be for the high jump. So please, son. Let's just hope that she's got her frustration out of her system. Leave her alone."
I had never seen him like this before, not even after my Mum's death, when he hit the bevvy pretty hard. That made me even angrier with Mr. and Mrs. Neiporte, but I heard what he was saying. "Okay," I said, eventually. "I'll steer clear… until the next time she calls you, or shows up anywhere near me. She does that, and she gets a correction, as a friend of mine used to say."
Eleven.
By the time Grandma Mary, Janet and Jay came back from the harbour, I had reassured my Dad as best I could. I'd also given him the bad news about Joe Donn. He was as shocked as I knew he'd be, and he asked me for the funeral details, insisting that he'd be there if it meant cancelling appointments.
I kept an eye on Mary over lunch, but she didn't seem worried about him. Sometimes, the closer you are to someone, the less likely you are to notice change, if it's gradual.
Once we had eaten, and Janet had been toileted, we got ready for the road. Rather than going straight back home, we took a detour over the hill to St. Andrews. It was Friday afternoon, so Jonathan and Colin would be clear of school and I decided to give them a chance to see the wee cousin on whom they both doted. As I've said, I'm very attached to both my nephews, having become a bit of a surrogate dad since Ellen and Allan split up, but I keep a particular eye on Jonny. The older he's grown, the more of myself I've seen in him, and I'm determined that only the good bits are going to come to the surface. Colin, on the other hand… well he's just Colin. He's as wild as purple heather, but I've a strange notion that if either of them takes after his father and becomes a work-obsessed nerd, it'll be him.
There was a time when Allan Sinclair tried to be a normal family guy.
My Dad and I took him golfing with us, but he was crap; he just didn't like the game. I tried him out at fishing, but all he ever did was fall in. He joined a five-a-side group at work, but broke his ankle.