Chasing Angels (19 page)

8

The Glasgow to Mallaig train, stopping at various stations along the way, including Fort William, departed twice daily, at 6 a.m. and 4 p.m. When she arrived at Queen Street at
5.30 that morning she had no idea of this, but she took it as a good omen that she could leave Glasgow so quickly. A short visit to the fancy toilet at the far end of the station was all she had
time for. Never having given birth before and being unable to ask for information, she had no means of knowing what would happen in the aftermath. The child had been born on Saturday night and it
was now early Monday. It wasn’t like a period – should it be? At first there had been small pieces of unidentifiable tissue in the heavy postpartum bleeding, but now that had stopped
and the loss had slowed and turned into a brownish discharge. Was that supposed to happen? Was it normal? She smiled wryly to herself. Normal! What did that mean? Nothing about her situation was
normal, nothing in her life ever had been. She had felt all her life that other people were living normal lives while she struggled with the absurd, all the while trying to pretend, to the outside
world at least, that her life was just as normal as theirs. But what had happened over the last couple of days especially had upset everything and it was as much as she could do to maintain her
understanding of which end was up. There had been a certain wonder over these days at the way the rest of the world was going on as usual, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She
had given birth to a secret, unfinished child, a dead child, and buried it beside the other Kelly women, her mother in particular, and then she had destroyed every last trace of what had occurred,
yet she was walking about, still bleeding, of course, but as if she wasn’t any different from the Kathy Kelly she had once been. And every human being she had encountered since, those she
knew and those she didn’t, treated her so casually that she almost felt they were pretending not to notice. Surely they must suspect something? Surely there was some difference in her that
those who knew her must detect, and there had to be something so fundamentally odd about her behaviour that even those she had never met must wonder? And yet they didn’t seem to. She had
bought her one-way ticket and received a civil smile at the ticket office, along with a friendly comment about the ungodly hour of the train’s departure, and she had answered in the same
tone. The toilet attendant had taken her 10p, given her a ticket and let her through the little gate at the entrance, apologising that the ticket machine operating the turnstile had broken down
again, bloody useless thing. She climbed the two flights of stairs and found her reflection in a long bank of mirrors along the wall on the left, and wondered how she could look so normal. There it
was, that word again. Inside the toilet she changed her towel again. The discharge was less, but it was still there; how long would this go on? Could she count on it gradually lessening all the
time, or was there a point in this alien process where she would suddenly bleed profusely again? She thought of this happening as she sat on the blue train seat, and imagined her horror as the red
flood ran out of control. She sat on the low toilet and took a deep breath. This had happened to other women besides her, she told herself, it had to have, it stood to reason. Stay calm, deal with
the crisis when it arrived, that made sense, and maybe there would be no crisis, maybe the worst was over. Still, better find a seat on the train near to the toilet, just to be sure. But no sooner
had one problem receded than another demanded to be faced. It had started the morning after the birth, but she had been so preoccupied then that it had barely registered, and besides, she was wet
in so many places that she couldn’t be sure what was coming from where or why. Her breasts were sore and she was leaking fluid from them, sometimes quite copious amounts of fluid. She had
tried not to think about it because she had more than enough to think about, but now that other things were coming under control, the wetness seeping through her bra and down the front of her
blouse took on a new importance. In the toilet cubicle she stuffed toilet tissue into each bra cup to soak it up, wincing slightly as it grazed her sensitive nipples, and quickly made her way down
to the platform. And that’s when the true enormity of what had happened began to assert itself. She was leaking milk, she suddenly realised; her body was providing nourishment for a baby that
would never suckle. As the train entered the first of two long tunnels at the exit of the station she felt a cry of the deepest pain trying to escape her throat, and lowered her head to contain it.
She had never felt in the least maternal, not once in her life had she looked at a child and hoped that one day she could have one just like it, but the tragedy of producing milk when there was no
child to feed overwhelmed her, and sitting in the quiet railway carriage in the early morning she turned her face to the rough material of the seat and sobbed into it. More than anything she had
ever wanted, more even than wanting her mother, she wanted her child, the ache in her full breasts matching the pain in her empty arms, her empty heart. The loss of the child seemed to have tapped
into a deep part of her that she had had no idea existed, but now it was raw, aching and weeping in sympathy with her uselessly over-full breasts. ‘
Useless!
’ she thought
savagely. ‘
Useless, useless, useless!
’

The train pulled into Fort William four hours later, just before 10 a.m. She had managed to doze back and forth during the journey, which made her feel worse than if she had remained wide awake
throughout. Short naps had always done that to her. ‘Feast or famine!’ Lily used to say with a smile. ‘Ye were aye the same as a baby, Kathy. Ye hadtae have a good three or four
hours tae be bearable, less than that an’ ye were
un
bearable!’ She felt her eyes tearing up again. Everything had taken on a new emotional significance. Would her daughter have
been like that too, she wondered, and instantly felt the pain of loss again. She would never never know that, would never be able to tell her daughter stories of her babyhood, because the dead
child would have none. She shook her head as she got off the train and breathed deeply. The spring air was cool and clean, her breath like puffs of smoke as she exhaled. The tiny tourist office was
inside the train station and she approached a woman putting out leaflets and asked for help in finding somewhere to stay.

‘It’s just before Easter, lass,’ the woman told her. ‘If you’re looking for a self-catering cottage or something like that, then lettin’ doesn’t really
start till Easter, and most of that will be already fully booked. People tend to come here year after year, you see.’

‘I need somewhere for a few days while I look around,’ Kathy replied. She had automatically adjusted the way she spoke to something nearer to the English spoken by the woman. The
words were the same, but the accent changed the sound, and there was something about her Glasgow vowels that sounded abrasive against the lilting, gentle tones.

‘Well, there’s the Alexandra Hotel across the road,’ the woman replied. ‘Unless you want bed and breakfast somewhere smaller. I could call round, I’m sure there
would be no problem setting you up with that.’

‘No,’ Kathy said. ‘The hotel sounds fine.’ The last thing she could cope with right now was conversation, particularly the friendly sort; the slightest kindness, even
from an unsuspecting stranger, and she felt she might collapse in a sobbing heap. She felt like a wounded animal with an instinctive need to be on her own. ‘Is there a Royal Bank
here?’

‘Aye,’ the woman smiled brightly, ‘just down the High Street there on the left. Beside the church.’

As Kathy picked up her case and turned to leave the woman called after her. ‘If something comes up, a cottage that might suit, would you like me to leave a message at the hotel for you?
I’m sure I’ll find you something. I’ll look through the books and even if there’s nothing there, there are bound to be cancellations.’

‘Aye, that would be good,’ Kathy said.

‘And it’s just for yourself?’ the woman asked. ‘And for how long?’

Kathy sensed there was more than business in the question, the woman knew perfectly well she was alone and was wondering why. ‘Yes, just for me,’ she replied. ‘My name’s
Kathy Kelly and I’m hoping to find work here. I know the area from when I was a child.’

A slight exaggeration, but what the hell?

‘Aye, well, there’s a lot of that about. It’s a bit different actually staying here,’ the woman smiled gently.

‘That’s why I want to stay here,’ Kathy said, smiling back, ‘because it’s different.’

‘Off you go then, Miss Kelly,’ the woman smiled. ‘By the time you get across the road I’ll have called the hotel and let them know you’re on your way. My niece,
Kirsty, works on Reception. And the minute I hear of anything suitable I’ll be in touch. Don’t you worry, we’ll get you fixed up!’ When Kathy was out of earshot the woman
picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Alexandra Hotel. ‘Oh, hello, Kirsty,’ she said brightly. ‘Seona here. I’ve just sent a lassie over to you, Kathy
Kelly’s her name. Looking for work and needs somewhere to stay till she finds it. Aye, one of them I’m afraid! Used to come here on her holidays when she was a child, probably
won’t last more than a month, but there again, she might surprise us I suppose!’ There was a pause as she listened to Kirsty’s comments. ‘Aye, well, looks a nice sort of
lassie, but awfy pale. Looks as if she’s been ill, needs a good sleep. See what you can do for her, and I’ll see you tonight in the bar of the Nevis Bank. Bye!’

The Alexandra Hotel dominated the far end of Fort William, sitting off the road on an elevated position above the main street, looking like a grey granite castle, but Kathy barely noticed how
grand it was, it was simply a place to lay her head. And for two weeks after her arrival that’s exactly what she did. Her body returned to normal during that time, the bleeding stopped and so
did the leaking breast milk, as she began to settle down again after the mental and physical turmoil of the last months. She did little apart from sleep for long spells, taking walks by Loch Linnhe
in between. The wind coming off the snow still capping Ben Nevis was cold, or, as the tourist brochures preferred to describe it, ‘bracing and refreshing’. Even in March it numbed
exposed areas of the body and stung tears to the eyes, so that everyone walked with their hands in their pockets, heads down. At the time she was aware that she was hiding, but looking back it had
also been a kind of convalescence, a necessary period of withdrawal in order to adjust and regroup, though what would have happened if outside forces hadn’t brought it to an end she
wasn’t sure. As she passed the desk after one of her walks, Kirsty, the receptionist, stopped her. There was a message from Seona in the Tourist Office, she should call straight away. The
girl smiled and held out her hand, indicating the phone on the desk. Kathy dialled the number.

‘Oh, hello there!’ Seona replied, as though she had been waiting for this phone call all of her life. ‘I was wondering what kind of work you were after?’

‘Anything,’ Kathy replied.

‘Really? Oh, that sounds good!’

‘Not really,’ Kathy replied, ‘just desperate.’ Where in hell did the woman get that cheerfulness from? Were Tourist Officers bred in captivity?

‘I bumped into Major Angus on my way in this morning,’ Seona rushed on. ‘He and his wife live up at Glenfinnan and the old girl’s getting over a broken hip, so
they’re looking for someone to give them a hand round the house, and the very best bit about it is that it’s live-in. He was going to advertise it, but I said I might know someone, so
he’s holding off in case you’re interested. There’s not much at Glenfinnan, mind, but I thought it might be a good fill-in if nothing else, give you a chance to look around kind
of thing. What do you think?’

‘Aye,’ Kathy said immediately.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Och, that’s great! Let’s see. It’s half eleven now, he’ll be going back up to Glenfinnan around three o’clock and I told him to call in, so maybe you could
meet him here?’

When she came off the phone Kirsty was standing there, eyebrows raised quizzically, waiting for the full details as if she didn’t already know.

‘Major Angus!’ she said, smiling.

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘Och, everybody knows Major Angus,’ Kirsty laughed. ‘But don’t you believe what they say, I’ve always wondered if he makes half of those stories up
himself!’

Kathy was about to ask what stories and which half, when Kirsty continued. ‘There’s no harm in him, honestly, and his wife is, well, you have to remember that she’s been
married to Major Angus for a long, long time!’ She threw her head back and laughed.

‘What is he, a mad rapist or something?’ Kathy asked uncertainly, which made Kirsty laugh even harder.

‘No, of course not! He’s just a bit odd, but in a non-threatening way!’

‘You’d better explain,’ Kathy suggested.

‘Aye, well, maybe you’re right, but not here. When’re you meeting him? Three o’clock? I’ll call Seona and we’ll meet her in the Nevis Bank at one. If we meet
here I’ll be on duty even if it is my lunch hour.’ She looked at Kathy’s concerned expression. ‘Relax, it’s not whatever you’re thinking!’ she laughed.

‘You don’t know how bad my thoughts can be!’ Kathy replied.

When they met at the Nevis Bank Hotel Seona and Kirsty quickly got down to business. The first thing they had to tell her was that Major Angus wasn’t a major at all. He was Angus
Macdonald, born and bred in Glenfinnan, and when he was a young man he had worked for the original major, a retired Englishman who had inherited his estate from his father. It took in much of the
area around Glenfinnan, the hills that Angus had known all his life and considered his own. It was his job to drive the old boy in an ancient Daimler, from his house, a red sandstone mini castle
high overlooking those hills, to wherever he wanted to go, and he rowed him out across Loch Shiel when he wanted to do a spot of fishing, and all the time the two of them fought ferociously. And
not just verbally either, frequently their disagreements became physical.