Barra’s Angel

Hattie nodded. ‘I’m OK,’ she answered. ‘I’ll be leaving soon, when he comes to fetch me.’

‘Aye, well …’ Barra said. ‘It’s a lovely day for it.’

Hattie crossed her arms, waiting. She was a small, rounded woman, and today was clothed as usual in a brown jumper and matching tweed skirt which looked as though they had withered on her. With her spiky hair and fierce features, it crossed Barra’s mind that she resembled a malevolent hedgehog.

He was immediately ashamed of the thought, for he knew that her appearance masked a gentle heart and, when you got close up to her (which nearly everyone avoided), you could see that she had a nice smile – sort of shy; and that her eyes were a soft grey colour, like the velvet curtains Mam had in the front room.

Barra jumped from the gate and picked at a stray daffodil.

‘Look at me,’ he said.

‘Och, Barra, don’t be doing that.’ Hattie looked uncomfortable, and shrugged a little farther away from him, her head bowed.

‘C’mon, Hattie. Look at me. Lift yir head.’

She raised her neck free of its woollen collar and Barra tried to stick the flower behind her ear. It held for a moment, and then fell. Hattie caught it in her work-worn hands, cradling it as though it were the finest crystal.

‘Aye, it’s yirself that likes it.’ Barra grinned.

‘Away y’go,’ Hattie murmured, but she, too, was smiling.

Barra jumped up, and reached for his bicycle. ‘Yep! I’d better get going,’ he said. ‘Mam’ll be at me for dawdling. Again!’

There was no need to say goodbye. Hattie wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Barra looked up the driveway leading from the cottage to the big house. ‘Where’s Murd the day?’ he asked.

As if in answer, a dog began barking and Murdo Macrae appeared from the back of the big house, Gallus running at his heels.

‘Hi, Murd,’ Barra shouted across the distance between them.

Murdo raised his walking stick in salute and bawled at the dog to stop barking, at which the little white Westie sat stock still and gave a melancholy howl.

‘What a sense o’ humour he’s got,’ Murdo called, bending to give Gallus a few fond strokes.

‘He’s great,’ Barra agreed. ‘How’s Mrs Macrae?’ he went on, as Murdo and Gallus neared.

‘Fit to be tied, Barra. Fit to be tied.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Och, we had word the young master’s coming up, and …’

‘But I thought she liked Mr Cunningham,’ Barra interrupted.

‘Aye. Aye, she does. Of course she does. But he’s bringing herself with him.’

‘Mrs Cunningham?’ Barra was pleased. Marjorie Cunningham had visited the family home only once before, and he’d not had a chance to meet her. It would be a fine thing to have a new face around.

‘The very same. And you know Helen,’ Murdo answered. ‘She canna be doing wi’ Sassenach ways.’

Barra grinned. There had been comments made about Mrs Cunningham’s ‘Sassenach ways’ after her last visit. But then she was from London. You couldn’t expect her not to have Sassenach ways. In fact, Barra was most interested in finding out just what ‘Sassenach ways’ were.

Murdo placed a hand on Hattie’s shoulder, making her jump.

‘Sorry, hen,’ he said quietly. ‘But I’m thinking he’ll no be coming now. Not today.’

Hattie sighed, and lowered her head again. ‘D’you no’ think so, Murd?’

‘No, hen, I don’t.’

‘But I finished my work early, and Mrs Macrae might no’ be needing me now.’

‘Och, I’m sure she can find a wee job t’ keep you occupied. Go on up ‘n’ have a wordie wi’ her. She’ll no’ be minding,’ Murdo assured Hattie.

Barra and Murdo watched as Hattie trudged up the driveway, Gallus zig-zagging in front of her.

‘She’s a poor cratur, right enough,’ Murdo said.

‘But she’s no’ really bonkers,’ Barra said. ‘Y’canna’ blame her for wanting to be whisked off by a film star.’

Murdo remained silent; silent and thoughtful.

Barra couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Maybe Murdo could enlighten him.

‘It’s no’ why they call her Mad Hatters, though, is it?’ he enquired hopefully.

‘No-o-o,’ Murdo sighed.

‘I mean, it was an awful thing that happened to her – to be accused o’ murder. And her own mam at that.’

‘Aye.’ Murdo sighed again, heavier this time. ‘It was awful, right enough.’ Then he clamped his mouth shut, grimly jerking his beard upwards as he reflected on the trial. Few even remembered it now, but those who did recall that dreadful time shared Murdo’s feelings, and were glad that Hattie had been allowed to walk free.

Murdo shook his head. It wasn’t the kind o’ tale you’d want to burden a young mind with – especially such a fertile mind as Barra’s. God, wasn’t it enough that they all had ‘the waiting’ to contend with now?

Barra’s waiting, too, had come to its usual fruitless end. In the face of Murdo’s silence, he was forced to swallow his disappointment, realising that he’d not be learning anything new this day.

He sniffed loudly, shaking Murdo from his reverie.

A firm command brought Gallus careening back towards his master. Murdo smiled his approval, then turned to confide in Barra. ‘I canna’ imagine where she got the idea that she’d be off at Easter wi’ thon actor laddie, but … Well, y’just never know.’

‘No, Murd, y’just never know,’ Barra repeated, his voice as solemn as Murdo’s own.

Murdo hid a smile. ‘Are you off home, then?’ he asked.

‘Aye, I’d better,’ Barra answered, cycling out on to the road. ‘See you later,’ he called, some strenuous waving almost causing him to topple.

Murdo waved back. Smiling still, he bent to scratch the wee dog’s ears. ‘He’s a fine lad, that,’ he told Gallus. ‘A fine lad.’