4

Hoynes lived in a neat, two-storey, semi-detached council house on the outskirts of Kinloch. Despite the time of year, there was a crackling fire in the grate; on the mantelpiece sat an ornamental ship’s wheel flanked by old black-and-white photographs and a pair of brass candlesticks. The three-piece suite was old but comfortable, and as Hoynes went to fetch the whisky Hamish felt his eyelids grow heavy. A small television in the corner of the room flickered silently to nobody in particular.

‘I don’t know why they insist on leaving that thing on when there’s nobody in the room. Instead o’ turning the sound down, why dae they no’ jeest turn it off,’ complained Hoynes, brandishing a bottle in his large right hand. ‘I’m fair crippled wae they electric bills. In the winter you can see this hoose fae miles aboot – lit up like the Ardnamurchan lighthoose, it is – every light in the place on. Aye, and us all sitting in here by the fire. Fair profligate they women are.’

‘A waste o’ electricity,’ muttered Hamish, looking absently at the television screen, where Andy Stewart was busy mouthing the words to a song they couldn’t hear.

Hoynes switched off the set, then slid open the glass door of the display cabinet which sat next to the television. ‘Since you’re no’ jeest anybody, you can have your dram oot o’ a crystal glass.’

‘What’s the racket upstairs, Sandy?’

‘Aye, you wid think there was a herd o’ baby elephants up there, no’ jeest the wife and daughter. They’re having the show o’ presents next week, so they’re busy getting the hoose ready.’

‘Surely folk won’t be parading aboot in your bedroom?’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. The bloody presents are tae be in oor bedroom – three nights o’ it. I’m going tae sleep on the boat. I canna be footered wae all this upheaval.’

Marjorie Hoynes looked on as her daughter admired herself in the wardrobe mirror. Maggie had chosen a plain white wedding gown. At thirty-five, she was far too old to be flouncing about in a fancy big meringue.

‘We’ll maybe get a shawl for you, Maggie.’

‘A shawl? It’s July, Mother. I’m already worried that I’ll melt.’

‘Och, sure you know, a good shawl can hide a multitude o’ things,’ said Marjorie, her eyes drifting to the back of the dress again.

‘You mean it’ll hide my rear end.’

‘Now, I never said such a thing. A shawl would complete the outfit. You could drape it o’er your shoulders, like so . . .’ Marjorie mimed the action.

‘And then I could drape it further over my big backside.’

‘No, no, not at all. That’s not what I meant. I could knit one – there’s still time.’

‘Aye, and you can maybe knit me a bikini for my honeymoon while you’re at it.’

Marjorie thought for a moment or two. ‘I widna recommend bathing in a knitted swimming costume, dear. The wool would just get waterlogged, and . . .’

‘And then Duncan would get a right good look at my arse.’

‘Och, there’s no reasoning with you, Maggie. You’re just as stubborn as your faither.’ She folded her arms and looked away from her daughter.

‘What’s that I’m hearing?’ said Maggie eventually.

Her mother cocked her head. ‘It’s your faither doonstairs. He must be back fae his meeting.’

‘I bet he’s guzzling that good bottle of whisky my Duncan brought him last week . . . I can hear another voice too.’

The women both looked into space and listened more intently.

‘That’s Hamish,’ confirmed Marjorie. ‘Ye canna mistake the drawl. If you ask him nicely he’ll likely tell you if you’ll have a boy or a lassie when the time comes. He’s got the sight, the same as his faither and grandfaither afore him.’

‘Well, that’s the end of the whisky, then. I was hoping Faither would keep it for raising a toast at the reception.’

‘Maggie Hoynes! When have you ever known a bottle o’ whisky last mair than a few days in this hoose? It’s like sitting a monkey doon in front of a banana tree and expecting it tae take a look and say, “Och, I’ll just leave them until next week”. Your faither lacks willpower when it comes tae a dram, and that’s a fact.’

‘Would you say they’re whispering?’

The Hoynes women strained to hear the muffled conversation coming up through the floorboards.

‘They’ve definitely lowered their voices – and that’s never a good sign. Aye, an’ maist unusual tae when they’ve had a few drinks.’

‘They’ll be planning something devilish for my Duncan’s stag night,’ said Maggie, slipping out of her wedding dress. ‘I warned faither aboot it. Duncan can’t be seen to be up to any high jinks, not with him being the police sergeant.’

‘Dae you mind whoot they did tae poor Johnny Souter? Och, it was a sin.’

‘Well, if they think they’re going to set Duncan adrift on a raft in the Atlantic, they can think again. The poor bugger nearly got washed all the way to Donegal.’

‘An’ him dressed as the Queen Mother, tae.’

Maggie pulled a housecoat over her shoulders. ‘I’m going to have a wee look at what’s going on. I’ll soon put that pair’s gas at a peep. Duncan’s got a position in society to think about. They’ll not be plotting their wicked schemes on my fiancé.’ She tiptoed out of the room.

Marjorie picked up her daughter’s dress and looked it up and down. I better get those knitting needles oot, she thought to herself.

‘So, have you got it, Sandy? Once an adequate sufficiency has been consumed, we’ll suggest taking the session elsewhere.’

‘Tae Geordie McCallum’s bothy, am I right?’

‘A hell o’ a trip, but Geordie will lend us his Land Rover. It’s damn near the only way tae get there along they auld tracks.’

‘Agreed.’

‘It’s easy for a man tae disappear for a long while away oot there. Especially wae a good cargo o’ booze aboard. When they’re merry, we can make oor excuses and head back tae Kinloch. When they don’t turn up for work the next day, there will be a right stink. We can take advantage o’ the publicity tae draw attention tae oor plight wae the fish.’

‘And nobody can accuse us o’ kidnap, or the like. They came along willingly, and could’ve left at any time. Well, Hamish, it’s genius. Pure genius, man. If you hadna been a fisherman, you’d have made a fine master criminal, and no mistake. They’ll have a job on their hands making it back fae Geordie’s on foot, and no mistake.’

‘Aye, we’ll sort that plane, Sandy.’

The pair chuckled and clinked glasses to toast their scheme.

On the stairwell, Maggie shook her head. If they thought they were getting her Duncan pissed and on a plane, they could think again.