The Shadow of the Sycamores (27 page)

Henry laughed at her for being overprotective but she was always ill at ease until Andrew came home – usually with his breeches torn and his knees scraped or a hole in his jacket. The thing was, as Henry should know, she didn’t have the money to replace the damaged articles of clothing. Or, rather, she did have the money – the fifty pounds her father had given them as a wedding gift was still lying in the bank but her husband wouldn’t let her touch it.

‘There might come a time when we really do need it,’ he would say and she had to do the best she could with a needle and thread, plus a bit cut from an old pair of his father’s trousers as a patch.

When Henry arrived home for supper, Andrew had still not turned up and Fay was pale with worry. ‘Don’t fret, my dearest Fairy,’ he assured her, ‘He’ll just be playing with the rest of the lads.’

‘But it’s hours now,’ she wailed. ‘He’s never been as late as this before.’

‘Dish up my supper, then, and, when I’m finished, I’ll go and look for him.’

She had to be content with that and hastened to the range to do as he had bidden. She would never forget what happened next, every little detail would be etched deep in her heart. The first thing was the rush of feet outside and, as she turned round with the potato pot in her hand, the door was flung open and her father-in-law carried in Andrew’s limp little body.

The pot went one way, the tatties the other, as she dashed to look at her son, almost colliding with Henry doing the same. Several people had followed Willie in but Fay and Henry could see nothing except the blood dripping from their beloved little boy on to the floor.

‘I’ve sent one o’ the laddies’ fathers for the doctor,’ Willie murmured grimly. ‘I’ll lay him on the couch. He’s pretty bad.’

The devastated parents did not need to be told that – they could see for themselves that the unconscious boy was having difficulty breathing. Fortunately, the man who had run for the doctor caught him on his way home and so he was there in five minutes – the longest five minutes the parents and grandfather had lived through.

After clearing the room of spectators, Doctor Burr gave the patient a very brief examination then raised a grave face. ‘I’m afraid he’s too far gone for me to do anything,’ he murmured to Henry. ‘If he had been taken straight to a hospital, perhaps he could have stood a chance but …’ He left the sentence unfinished, turning away to adjust the towels Fay had already packed round her son’s extensive injuries.

Henry put his arm round his wife now. The nearest hospital was almost twenty miles away and it was quite plain to both of them that, even if Andrew had been whisked away in a carriage as soon as it happened – whatever
had
happened – he would probably have died before he reached it.

Another excruciatingly long ten minutes passed before the laboured, shallow breathing stopped and Burr took Fay’s hand.
‘It’s best this way, my dear. If he had lived, he would have needed round-the-clock nursing.’

She wanted to shout, ‘I would willingly have given him that!’ but she knew it would have been impossible. She had Mara to think of, too. She was only five and still needed a lot of her mother’s attention.

While Burr was writing out the death certificate, Willie said, ‘I’d better go and tell Pogie. He’ll attend to … things.’

The two men went out together, leaving the devastated mother and father seeking comfort from each other.

The story emerged gradually, of how young Andrew had been dared by some older boys to go into the field with the bull; of how other boys had pleaded with him not to go because it was too dangerous; how he had shaken his head and said he had to do it to prove he wasn’t a baby like Donal Coull had said. Once through the gate, he had been goaded into walking well away from the paling – so far away, indeed, that, when the bull turned and charged at him, his little legs were not capable of running fast enough for him to escape.

Willie, intent on getting at the whole truth, threatened to punch the ten-year-old Donal if he didn’t tell him exactly what had happened but, when the words came pouring out of the terrified boy’s mouth, he wished that he had let it be. The graphic, bloody details – of the bull catching Andrew on its horns, tossing him into the air, only to gore him when he came down, and then trampling on him over and over again – were too much to bear. Letting go of the boy, the bereaved grandfather sat down at the side of the road with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth with the waves of nauseous sorrow that swept through him.

For a full ten minutes, he remained there, until his grief receded a little and he was fit to stand up. He made his way home slowly, trying to put the horrifying story out of his mind, although he knew quite well that he would never forget. Strangely, he felt no anger at the boy Coull. Down through the centuries, boys had always been boys and would continue to be so until the end of time. As a boy himself, he had done
things he should not have done, had played tricks which could have ended in tragedy but hadn’t. He had been lucky but Donal Coull had not. He was only ten, so what did he know of danger?

Willie halted for a moment, wondering how much he should disclose to his family, and decided that he should keep the information to himself. It would be cruel to put Fay, Henry, Nessie and Janet through the agony of picturing what had happened in that field. Donal Coull wouldn’t tell anybody else, he was almost sure of that, nor would any of the other boys who had been there and they wouldn’t get off scot-free. They would get their punishment from the guilt they would feel for the rest of their lives. More composed now, Willie continued on his way.

On the morning after her nephew’s funeral, Abby Laing got a letter from her sister Kitty, who had not been in touch for some time. Pogie watched for a moment and then stood up. He had another two funerals to arrange. ‘What does Kitty say?’ he asked as he fastened up his black jacket.

‘She wants to come home.’ Abby looked up at him. ‘She doesn’t want to go to Father’s, though, and she doesn’t like to ask Fay so she wants to come here. What do you think?’

‘I have no objections, my dear, but it is up to you. She could be a help to you.’

‘We don’t have room. She wouldn’t want to sleep with Gail and we can’t put Gail in the same bed as Clarence. There’s just the couch and it’s too lumpy.’

‘I will leave you to think it over, then.’ Pogie put on his everyday hat, a dark grey homburg, and went out.

While Abby supervised her thirteen-year-old son and eleven-year-old daughter making ready for school, she pondered over Kitty’s request but, even after pegging a large washing out on the line, she was still undecided. They
could
buy another bed, she supposed, but it still meant her son and daughter being in the same room and, if Kitty meant to stay for good, that just wouldn’t work out. Even now, Clarence teased his sister by
lifting her skirts so God knows what he would do when he was a year or two older.

She had better go to show her sister-in-law the letter and ask what she should do. Fay was usually so calm about everything, though she hadn’t been so calm about Andrew – which wasn’t really surprising. She, herself, had been anything but calm when her third baby died and then her fourth, though losing them in infancy might not be as bad as if they’d been Andrew’s age.

Abby’s heart sank when she found Fay’s house full of people but Nessie, with her usual perspicacity, saw that she was worried about something. ‘Janet,’ she said brightly, ‘what about us taking ourselves out for a while to let Fay and Abby have a wee blether? Are you coming with us, Willie, or would you rather go and have a news with the other old men in the square?’

In a couple of minutes, the two younger women were on their own and Abby took the letter from her bag. ‘It’s from Kitty.’

After reading it, Fay said, ‘You don’t have room for her, do you?’

‘I suppose I could make room for a wee while but not for good. And, of course, she won’t go to Father’s because of Nessie – though I’ve told her time and again in my letters that she’s a changed woman nowadays.’

‘I’ve never met Kitty,’ Fay said thoughtfully. ‘What sort of person is she?’

Abby sighed. ‘I haven’t seen her myself since not long after Father married again. She was only about thirteen at the time and I don’t remember that much about her, to tell the truth.’

‘You don’t know why she wants to come back here?’

‘She hasn’t said but there must be something wrong before she’s giving up her grand job in Glasgow.’

Just then, someone knocked at the door and Fay went to answer it.

The well-dressed stranger looked at her for a moment. ‘Are you Fay?’

Light suddenly dawning, Fay said, ‘Yes, and you must be Kitty? Come in.’

‘Ah, you are here, Abby,’ Kitty said, when they went into the kitchen. ‘Your neighbour said this was where you’d be.’

Abby was not to be fobbed off with empty chit-chat. ‘What’s wrong, Kitty? You can’t be short of money with those lovely clothes to wear.’

Kitty took off her close-fitting hat and touched her beautifully coifed chignon to make sure it had not come loose. ‘Yes, I have some good clothes but that’s about all I do have. I had quite a bit of savings – I was intending to come home for a little holiday … for my honeymoon, actually – but
… he
stole the lot and ran off.’ Her eyes clouded. ‘The night before the wedding.’

‘Oh, Kit, I’m so sorry,’ Abby murmured and Fay echoed the sentiment.

‘I can’t say I’m over it yet – but it’s not so bad as it was.’

Her story did not take long to tell and she had since found out that it was just a repetition of what the same man had done to several women. He had promised her the earth, given her a fictitious account of his thriving business in London, ‘borrowed’ all her money to ‘finalise a big deal that would make millions’ and that was the last she had seen or heard of him.

‘How long ago was that?’ Abby wanted to know.

‘It’s three months come Friday.’ Kitty took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cashmere jacket and wiped her eyes. ‘I had given up my job the week before, to prepare for the wedding, and I couldn’t go and ask for it back. I didn’t want them to know how gullible I’d been.’

‘But it wasn’t your fault,’ put in Fay. ‘You trusted him.’

‘More fool me.’

Something had occurred to Abby now. ‘How have you been managing to live if you haven’t had a job for three months?’

‘I haven’t managed very well, to be honest. I sometimes got a relief job as a waitress or a shop assistant or a cleaner but, in between those times, I went hungry. By good luck, I’d paid
a year’s rent when I moved into my wee house so I did have a roof over my head till yesterday.’

Frowning a little, Abby asked, ‘Where did you sleep last night?’

‘I suppose I’d better tell you,’ Kitty sighed, ‘but you’ll just think I was mad. You see, I got to know this really nice man when I was receptionist at the hotel – a manager of a string of shops all over Scotland – and I met him yesterday in the street. Well, when he heard what had happened, he took me into a restaurant for a slap-up meal and then said I could … have a bed at his house for the one night.’

Two separate, horrified intakes of breath made her hurry on. ‘It was freezing cold, Abby, and I’d nowhere else to go and I knew he was a decent man …’

‘You thought the man you were going to marry was decent,’ Abby reminded her, a touch sarcastically.

‘Yes, I know, but Archie really
is
decent. He told his wife the truth …’

‘He was married?’ Abby gasped. ‘What did his wife say about him taking a woman home with him?’

‘She was so nice, made up the bed in their spare room and gave me a lovely breakfast. And she wasn’t a bit annoyed when Archie said he would run me up here. He was going to Inverness, so it wasn’t much out of his way. When we stopped at your house, Abby, I was going to ask him in for a cup of tea but you weren’t there so he just dropped me off and went on his way.’

‘What a risk you took, Kitty,’ Abby said, sharply. ‘He could have killed you in that car or … or even worse.’

Unrepentant, Kitty gave a low chuckle. ‘And what would have been worse than killing me, may I ask?’

‘You know! A fate worse than death, isn’t that what they say?’

‘Ah, yes. Well, it’s not all that bad, really. No,’ she added, ‘Archie didn’t touch me, though I wouldn’t have minded if he had, but there were a few nights … when I was absolutely desperate for something to eat and so I had to … do something to save myself from starving.’

Neither knowing what to say to this, Abby and Fay exchanged shocked glances, then Kitty said, ‘I’m bursting for a pee, Fay. Where’s your …?’

‘Just outside the back door.’

‘Well,’ said Abby, when her sister went out, ‘what a carry on.’

Fay pulled a face. ‘I feel kind of sorry for her. She is gullible but that isn’t a crime, is it? It’s only herself she’s hurting, silly woman.’

‘Who’s going to take her in, though?’

It was Henry who made the decision, after meeting his brother-in-law in the street.

‘Abby got a letter from your sister Kitty,’ Pogie began, ‘and she wants to come back here for good. She doesn’t want to go to your father’s, though.’

Henry took off his cap and scratched his head. He wished that he didn’t have to wear it because he was almost sure that it was making him lose his hair. It was much thinner than it used to be. ‘I wonder what she wants,’ he murmured,

‘Goodness knows.’

With Pogie hurrying on to do whatever he had to do, Henry had peace to go over the possibilities as he carefully swept the leaves into heaps and then shovelled them into his handcart. As far as he knew, Kitty had never married, though she must be … He was twenty-six and she was at least six years older, so that would make her thirty-two – a fair age to still be a spinster. He couldn’t remember her very well for he had only been about seven when she left with their two oldest sisters but Abby said she always wrote cheery letters.

It was easy enough to be cheery in a letter, of course, though her heart could be breaking over a love affair gone wrong. Her unheralded appearance suggested something of the sort, something that had made her leave Glasgow. There would be quite a problem if she wanted to move back to Ardbirtle for good, however. All the houses where she may have hoped to find refuge were full up – Father had Nessie and Janet, Abby had only three bedrooms and he had … an empty room now. Oh,
God, came the agonising thought, would he and Fay ever get over losing their firstborn?