Barra’s Angel

‘Course not,’ Barra answered, grinning and blushing at the same time.

‘Aye it is. That barefoot dame on the telly’ll be taking a back seat now.’

‘Och, Dad! It’s Sandie Shaw. You know her name.’

Chalmers licked the last of the apple crumble from his spoon and sat back. His smile was genuine now. ‘I know, son. Still, Isla Gillespie would put any o’ thon pop stars to shame. She’s a bonny lassie, right enough.’

Rose stood and began clearing the plates.

‘I’m surprised you had the time to notice, what with all the work you’ve got on your plate. Finished?’ The bowl was whisked from Chalmers’ grasp, finished or not.

Chalmers glared at his wife’s back. ‘Thank you, yes.’

He lit a cigarette, hoping for the moment to pass. Rose busied herself filling the sink and stacking the dishes. Barra rose to help, pulling the dish-towel from under the sink, and knocking over the pedal-bin-in the process.

‘Leave it! Just leave it, Barra,’ Rose said, bending to clear the mess.

‘Sorry, Mam.’

‘It’s all right. I’ll get this. D’you have homework?’

‘It’s the holidays, Mam!’

‘So it is. Right then. Well, you can go through and watch the telly.’

‘Can I go out?’

Rose stopped, her heart clattering. ‘Where? Out where?’

‘Just … out the back. I could sort my stamps. You can call me when Ready, Steady, Go comes on.’

‘Just out the back, then. Where I can see you.’

Barra ran upstairs for his stamp collection.

Chalmers stubbed out his cigarette. Even with her back to him, Rose knew he was taking some kind of perverse pleasure from rattling the lopsided old ashtray against the table-top. ‘He’s a bit old to be watched every minute, Rose.’

Rose whirled. ‘Really? You’ve forgotten what we went through with him, Chalmers? Or have you too many other things on your mind to remember he needs watching!’

She wanted an argument, a chance to get something, anything out in the open. But this particular argument was too well-worn to elicit much of a response in her husband.

‘There’s not a thing wrong with him, Rose. The operation cured the heart murmur; and he’s been fine for years now. He’s as healthy as the next one, and he’d be a damn sight better off if you’d give him a bit o’ slack once in a while.’

Rose closed the pedal-bin and turned back to the dishes. Angrily, she wiped the sudden tears from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. There had been a few sudden tears lately, and she hated them, felt betrayed and weakened by them.

‘He’s still so … impressionable,’ she insisted, her voice little more than a whisper.

‘He’s got to grow up some time,’ Chalmers said, his own voice gentle now. ‘Let him be.’

Rose sniffed again, content to let it be. ‘It’s Dunfearn tomorrow then?’

‘Aye. You’ll be going to the town?’

Rose nodded, her back still to him. ‘Mm-hmm. I’m changing my library books. D’you want anything?’

Chalmers busied himself lighting another cigarette, and Rose could hear him shuffling in his chair. What had she said now? For a second, no more, she puzzled over it. Then it hit her, and her mouth curled.

Rose borrowed her books from Boots in Craigourie, and Sheena worked at the No. 7 counter there. Had Chalmers reacted so quickly, knowing that? Or was her imagination becoming as overworked as her son’s?

‘No. There’s nothing I want in the town,’ Chalmers replied.

‘You’re needing shaving soap.’

‘That, maybe.’

Barra reappeared, clutching a thick green album and the Cadbury’s biscuit tin which contained his mounts and his newer acquisitions. ‘D’you want to see my Mauritius stamps?’ he asked, laying the tin on the table.

Chalmers rubbed his thumb across the lid of the old tin. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you come with me to Dunfearn in the morning? For the run.’

Barra glanced down. ‘Well, I thought I’d … just be here tomorrow. Just … be about here.’

‘Fine,’ Chalmers said. He scraped his chair across the lino and marched into the living room, already reaching to turn on the television set.

As he switched the dial between channels, Barra looked up at his mother. ‘Did I make Da mad?’ he asked.

‘No, Barra, you didn’t make yir father mad. He’s just in a bad mood,’ Rose replied tightly, making sure Chalmers heard.

She heard Chalmers sigh heavily as he settled into his armchair. That was another thing! Chalmers had insisted on buying the black vinyl suite as soon as he’d seen it in Dawson’s window, and had stubbornly refused to admit that it was nowhere near as comfortable as the moquette. Well, he’d bought it. Now he could put up with it.

Rose bit her lip, pained at her own mean-spiritedness. She couldn’t deny how hard Chalmers worked to provide them all with a nice home, a home she was proud of. God, if she could just settle herself, get things back to normal.

Barra was hanging on the doorknob, unsure whether to go or stay.

‘You’d be better off going with him tomorrow than hanging about the woods all day – waiting for some angel to appear,’ she said, her voice low.

Barra held the back door open. He reached for her sleeve, drawing her closer. ‘He’ll be there, Mam,’ he whispered back. ‘He will.’

CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_21bf1b92-4e4e-534a-b7bd-935ea103c973)

Murdo Macrae had risen at five-thirty for as long as he could remember, and the first hour of the day had always been his own time; a time to ease himself into the needs of the day, and to enjoy a mug or two of strong tea and the first fill of his pipe. Even Gallus, without ever having being told, understood this.

Murdo had raised several dogs over the years, but none had had the quick high spirits of the Westie. And though Gallus was on the go from dawn to dusk, not even he disturbed this, the most precious hour of the day.

Right now the terrier was lying under the kitchen table, quivering with unease.

‘D’you have to do that just now?’ Murdo sighed.

Helen, in a candlewick dressing-gown, her hair plastered to her head under an ancient hairnet, was yanking the heart from a cabbage with a knife which might well have been the envy of her ancestors.