3

Certainty that Anna was the woman for me arrived in a setting that would have had a film director purring. After a wedding meal for friends of mine at the Marine Highland Hotel in Troon, Anna and I went for a walk. With the fairways of the famous Troon golf course before us and the hills of Arran melting into the horizon, I steeled myself to ask the question.

It was too soon.

Was it too soon?

What if she said no?

The late-August sun painted the scant clouds above Goatfell a deep crimson. We stood in silence, Anna’s head resting on my shoulder as we enjoyed the calm after the happy tumult of the wedding. Anna looked up at me, her button nose begging for a kiss. I obliged. She giggled and rubbed the spot with the palm of her hand. A feeling settled over me, a cloth of silk floating to land on a cragged rock. Carefully I examined it.

I had known plenty of moments of pure joy with Pat, but since Patricia’s death there was always something missing. The rough and blemished surface of my soul needed to be clothed in silk and colour. I needed a woman in my life.

‘You never talk about, Patricia,’ she said quietly, as if unsure of herself, and studied my expression for a reaction.

‘You’ve just thrown me from my…’ I looked into her eyes, trying to judge what was behind the question, and feeling somewhat deflated. ‘I was just about to…’

‘And now you’re deflecting me from my question,’ she said with a small smile. She stepped in front of me and held both of my hands. ‘I want to get to know you, Andy. And that means I need to know everything…’

‘But … I was just about to…’

‘I can handle the fact you were married before. We all have a past. You didn’t just appear in my life, fully formed as Prince Charming.’ The breeze lifted a lock of hair and gently left it in front of her right eye. She tucked it back in place, her gaze never leaving mine.

‘Prince?’ I snorted and resisted the urge to pretend to fart.

‘She must have been pretty special for you to fall in love with her.’

‘Well out of my league, actually.’ I leaned forward and kissed her lips. ‘Just like you.’

‘You don’t need to do that, Andy.’ Her eyes were full of understanding. ‘I’m not threatened by the thought of your dead wife. In fact I’m impressed at how you’ve dealt with it all and provided a lovely home for your wee boy.’

‘Yeah, Andy Boyd. Model father.’ I stepped to the side, and holding her right hand pulled her along with me as I walked towards the golf course that nudged onto the grounds of the hotel. Truth was I read the clear-eyed honesty in her remark and couldn’t handle the compliment.

We came to a deep sand bunker and seeing that there was no golfers about, Anna removed her shoes and sat on the edge, trailing her toes in the cool of the sand.

‘Mind your dress,’ I said. ‘You’ll get dirty.’

‘It’s just a dress,’ she grinned and patted the turf. ‘Have a seat.’

If she didn’t mind getting grass stains on her dress, I didn’t mind getting them on my suit, so I sat beside her. She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder.

‘This is lovely. Thanks for bringing me, Andy. Couldn’t have been easy to introduce me like that to all your friends.’

‘Strikes me that they’d better get used to you being around.’

‘Yeah?’ She poked at my thigh.

‘Yeah,’ I said and kissed the top of her head.

We sat in silence for a time, enjoying the breeze, the stretch of grass and beach and the moment with each other.

‘I can’t imagine how tough that would have been. You get the wonderful gift of a beautiful boy and your wife dies at the same time. That would have pushed lots of guys into permanent residence in the local boozer.’

‘Aye. Hidden shallows me.’

‘Stop it,’ she said, admonishment light in her smile. ‘You’re fooling no one, Andy.’ She looked into my eyes, hers warmed through with empathy. ‘Died in childbirth.’ She shook her head. ‘Poor woman. That’s the kind of thing you don’t expect to hear nowadays.’

‘Patricia had a heart condition. She’d had it since childhood actually, but was determined she wouldn’t be defined by it, you know? Went ski-ing, horse-riding. All kinds of physical things that pushed at her limits.’ I smiled at the memory of her determination. Saw her in her parent’s kitchen arguing with her father that she would do whatever the hell she wanted. ‘Her parents tried to wrap her up in cotton-wool. God she hated all of that.’

‘I think I would have liked her,’ Anna said.

‘I don’t know anyone who had a bad word to say about her.’

We sat silent for a moment.

‘Her heart?’ asked Anna. ‘Was that the…’

I nodded. ‘The doctors advised that she shouldn’t get pregnant, that it would be too much for her.’

‘But she was determined to have a child?’

‘No, it was an accident. We’d kind of resigned ourselves, you know? We’d have each other and that would have to be enough.’ I shrugged. ‘And I was fine with that. Patricia was on the pill. I was lined up for a vasectomy…’

‘And she fell pregnant…’

‘Yeah. She had a tummy bug. Couldn’t keep anything down for about a week. And that was enough to let my wee swimmers in.’ My laugh was tinged with sadness as I remembered that was how she described it to my mum. ‘Patricia point blank refused any medical intervention. Her parents wanted her to have an abortion. They blamed me…’ I had a memory of her father at our front door, pleading with me to talk her out of having the baby, saying I was holding a gun to his daughter’s chest. ‘They were beside themselves with worry throughout the pregnancy.’

‘You can understand that, surely?’ Anna asked.

I turned to her and saw the sparkle of a tear in the corner of her eye. I gave her hand a squeeze.

‘Course I do. I was scared too, but Patricia convinced me she could handle it. She sat staring at the photo of the first scan for hours. Pat was nothing but a dot, but you’d have thought she could see his wee face there.’

Anna sniffed. Wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Jesus, it’s heart-breaking.’

‘I think she knew…’ I turned to face Anna. I’d never articulated this thought to anyone before. Couldn’t trust myself to say the words out loud. ‘In fact, I’m sure she knew her heart couldn’t deal with the trauma of childbirth; it was as if she felt she was leaving something better behind, you know? She nearly died when she was a teenager and she felt that every moment after that was a bonus. And this baby was the biggest bonus of them all.’

As I said the words, I felt the last piece of an easing. As if I had finally and fully put Patricia to rest.

Anna sniffed again. ‘I don’t know if I could be that brave.’ She got to her feet. Wiped down the seat of her dress. ‘C’mon, let’s head back to the wedding.’ I stood and helped her get the grass off her dress.

‘Cheeky,’ she laughed as I touched her backside.

Then, hand in hand we walked back to the hotel. I chose a rather sedate pace because I didn’t quite want the moment to be over and I still had an unanswered question to ask.

‘Anna.’ I turned to face her and held her slender fingers in mine. She looked up at me with a small question in her eyes and a smile that caused a catch in my throat and a tightening in my chest.

Given what we’d just been talking about I wasn’t sure of my timing, but it was there, burning in my mind and heart and I had to spit it out.

I couldn’t believe we had only met eight weeks before and yet in that instant I was never more sure of anything in my life.

‘Anna,’ I said, my voice quivering and barely audible.

‘Andy?’

‘We’re getting on really well, aren’t we?’

She nodded; a question in her eyes.

‘You love Pat, don’t you?’

‘He’s a wee dreamboat.’

‘Would it be ok if I asked you something?’

Her answering nod was slow. She too seemed caught up in the moment, her eyes wide with expectation.

‘Do you want to go inside? I’m freezing,’ I said.

‘Oh, Andy.’ She thumped my arm, turned and walked back towards the hotel.

‘Anna,’ I reached her in three easy steps. ‘I’m sorry, honey. I just got nervous there. But there really is something I want to ask you.’

‘Yes?’ she looked up at me, suspicion shrinking her eyes.

‘I want to ask you…’ I licked my lips. ‘I mean, what I want to say is…’Anna said nothing, she merely looked up at me with an unreadable expression.

‘Well, what I want to ask you is…’ Shit, I really was nervous. ‘You and me are getting on really well. Really well. And I was wondering…’ For Christ’s sake just say it, man. ‘How do you fancy getting hitched?’

Anna turned and walked away.

I was stunned.

‘Anna?’ I caught up with her again.

She turned and smiled and thumped my arm again. ‘Gotcha.’

 

The stag was held two weeks before the wedding. The two-week hiatus supposedly to give me time to recover from whatever tricks the lads would play on me. Having participated in the humiliations of a few of my friends over the years I thought two weeks would be just about enough.

While I waited for Jim to pick me up in the taxi, Anna paced the living room. She had come over to my house to make sure I was going to be drinking on a full stomach.

‘So where’s that brother of yours taking you?’

‘Just to the club for a few drinks and then into town for a wee pub crawl.’ I answered, choosing my words carefully.

‘Who’s all going?’

‘A few of the guys from the club and one or two of the guys from the bank.’

‘Guys from the bank are going as well?’

‘That’s not a problem, is it?’

‘You’re not long promoted to Branch Manager, Andy. You need to be careful what your colleagues think of you.’

‘It’s a stag night, Anna. There’s nothing I can do about what they think of me.’

‘What do you mean? Why? What’s going to happen?’

Big mistake, I’d said far too much. ‘Little pranks get played, Anna. It’s just the way it is.’

‘And what about that brother of yours? I’ll bet he’s organised strippers and everything.’

‘He’d better have strippers, or there’ll be bother.’ I grinned to show I was joking.

‘You big bugger,’ Anna said, taking a swipe at my arm. ‘You better behave yourself.’ She stepped towards me and pushed me over on to the chair I had been standing in front of.

I grabbed her as I fell and we landed in a tussle of arms and legs. Reaching for her ankle I pulled off her shoe and started to tickle. She clenched her teeth against the need to laugh and struggled to free her foot.

‘Stop it. Stop it.’ Then a laugh escaped through her teeth. With little effort I pinned her down and, panting like a St Bernard, licked her all over her face.

‘Yuck. Stop that, you big lump,’ she laughed. I stopped licking and started kissing, swallowing her laughter. Her tongue sought mine. We both groaned, then giggled when we realised we had moaned in perfect time with each other.

Mouth to mouth, both of us laughing, made us laugh even more. I fell back on to the floor away from her. She saw her chance and jumped on top of me. Pinned me down.

‘Got you,’ she said and leaned forward, her long hair falling down either side of my head, tickling my ears. ‘So much for the big, strong rugby player.’

‘I’m putty in your hands.’ I said as she took both my hands and stretched them out above my head.

She kissed me. ‘Love you, Andy Boyd.’

I pushed her over as easily as if she weighed no more than one of the cushions on my sofa and once I’d reversed our positions I returned her kiss.

‘Can’t believe we’re actually going to be married in two weeks’ time.’

‘Anna Boyd,’ Anna said as if trying the name out for the first time. ‘Works for me,’ she smiled.

Anna pushed me off and returned to the chair. She smoothed her hair. ‘By the way, I meant to say that my transfer came in today.’

The organization we worked for wasn’t too keen on couples working in the same branch. As Branch Manager I had been copied in on the transfer but worries about what Jim had planned for my stag night had thrown it out of my head.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘How do you feel about going to Kilmarnock?’

‘You knew already? Course you did.’ She gave a smile. ‘S’fine,’ she said with a shrug. ‘There’s worse places to work.’

I had been thinking about Anna’s job recently. Where she might be transferred to. How she might feel about it. She didn’t share my ambition, seeing work as a means to an end. Once in the office she’d put in a shift, but that was it. When she walked out the door of an evening all thoughts of the bank receded.

So watching her with Pat just the previous day had given me an idea. I had no clue how she would react when I put it to her, though. I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment.

‘I remember when I was young and Mum was working, I had to come in from school, make up the coal fire, peel the potatoes and make the tea for us all. I knew we needed the money but I would have loved to have my Mum waiting in a warm house with food on the table. Sounds terrible, I know, in this day and age, but there you go.’

‘It doesn’t sound terrible.’ Anna held my hand and her eyes moistened, as if she was ahead of me. ‘It sounds lovely. It sounds just like what every child should have.’

She paused. Looked deep into my eyes, hers full of love. ‘Pat’s had such a traumatic start to his young life. Wouldn’t it be great if together we could give him that stability?’

The tone she used for that last sentence held an inflection of yearning, as if this was something she missed out on herself.

‘Fancy me writing a letter of resignation? Telling the bank to piss off?’ she asked.

My chest tightened as the implications of this hit me. I was about to get a new wife and she was willing to set aside her own needs for me and my son.

‘I think that would be a fantastic idea.’ I clapped my hands.

She brushed away a tear with her fingertips. ‘You are a lovely, lovely man, Andy Boyd?’

‘And I just love you to bits.’ I leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. ‘So that’s it decided, you’re going to be a stay-at-home mum.’

‘What about your mum?’ Anna gripped my hand. Her expression had moved into neutral and I couldn’t read anymore if she was pleased or disappointed with the suggestion.

‘She could still help out. Let you go shopping or for coffee with your pals.’

With a squeal she jumped into my arms. ‘Andy Boyd, you are a saint. I hate that bloody job and it would be fab to look after Pat and the house.’ She got to her feet and did a daft wee dance. Squealed again. ‘I’ve always dreamed of having my own house and family.’ She stopped dancing, grew still and gave herself a hug, looking into the distance as if a bad memory crouched there.

But then she brightened and fell into my arms again. ‘Andy, thank you. You have just made me the happiest woman in the world.’ She kissed my nose, my forehead, my right ear, my lips. ‘Thank you, honey. I’ll be the best wife you could ever wish for.’

Just then a voice sounded from the door.

‘Do I need a shoe horn to separate you two? ‘Jim’s voice filled the room, ‘… or will a bucket of cold water do the trick?’

‘Hey, Jim.’ Anna pushed off me, sat up in the sofa, smiled at my brother and smoothed the creases in her trousers.

‘Do you not believe in knocking?’ I said. Even to my ears my tone sounded too stern, but I didn‘t want Jim to think that nothing was going to change. I was getting married and he would have to learn to respect our privacy. But at the same time I felt bad at being so abrupt with him, he’d been coming and going as he pleased for years.

‘Right, big guy.’ Jim clapped his hands. ‘Taxi’s waiting.’ He then looked around the room as if waiting to be ambushed by a miniature cowboy. ‘Where’s the wee man?’

‘He’s with his Nan and Papa Morrison,’ I answered.

‘Yes,’ added Anna. ‘I’ve got the night off. I have my box of chocolates, my nail varnish and a nice romantic movie.’ She pulled her feet under her.

I leaned down to give her another kiss. ‘Love you,’ I whispered.

‘Love you too,’ she replied.

Jim made a gagging sound.

‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘Wish me luck, sweetheart.’

‘Anything happens to him, Jim Boyd you’ll have me to contend with.’ Then she looked at me, smiling. ‘Bye honey,’ she folded her arms, stuck her tongue out and then fixed her vision on the TV set. ‘Don’t have too good a time.’

 

In the backseat of the cab Jim turned to me, eyebrows raised in question.

‘Nan and Papa Morrison?’ he asked. ‘You aiming for a sainthood or something?’

‘Leave it, Jim. I have my reasons.’

During the first days of Pat’s life I walked, talked and defecated on some strange system of remote control. My breakdown was a cause for concern for the Morrisons. They worried that their grandson; the only flesh and blood they had on earth, would be neglected.

My mother cared for the baby while my mind struggled to free itself from its fog of grief. She fed him, changed him and nursed him to sleep. Far too often for my liking, she would place him in my arms as I sat and stared and asked questions of the sky, of the trees, of the trail of a raindrop as it slid down the window.

I knew now that this attempt to keep my distance from Pat was borne of fear. Fear that I would love him – and then lose him.

Three weeks after the funeral a letter was dumped through my letterbox. It was from the Morrison’s solicitor. They were suing me for custody of the baby. They didn’t think that I would be a good parent. The not too subtle subtext was that they blamed me for Patricia’s death.

Their arrogance galvanized me. How dare they, I raved? Who the hell did they think they were? Patrick was my son.

That morning, exhausted after an hour-long rant, I sat in my usual position by the window. My mother placed Pat in my arms after his feed. Full of anger at the Morrisons I was even less inclined to take any notice of him, until a burp laced with milk floated up to my nose, and his tiny hand gripped on to one of my fingers. I looked down into his crumpled face and for the first time into his eyes. They looked back at me without fear; without judgement.

I moved my hand to cradle his head and neck, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his bleached-gold hair. Tracing his fontanelle with my thumb I wondered at how vulnerable he was and at the strength with which he gripped my other hand.

The first physical sign of emotion was the cool wet of a tear as it slid down my right cheek. Then there was no stopping them. I cried for what seemed hours, my shoulders shaking and my head falling forward towards Pat’s. Still he continued his stare, as if trying to make sense of the being holding him, while his face melted under the force of my tears.

Even now, I can still remember that first kiss, the first time I placed my lips on the soft warmth of his forehead. That moment when I began the unfaltering process of falling in love with my son.

Perhaps the Morrisons should have received my thanks for bringing me to my senses, but the thought that they would try and take Pat incensed me. Let’s see how they feel at the thought of never seeing him. Let’s see how they suffer. And for four years, I made sure they did just that. Though somehow their names entered Pat’s conversation.

‘So why did you decide to let Pat go with the Morrisons?’ asked Jim

‘Anna talked me into it.’ I answered. ‘She made me understand how it must have been for them. Besides, I’ve known for a wee while that Mum has been taking him over to see them…’

‘How…?’

‘I’m no daft and four-year-olds are not very discreet.’ I looked over at my brother, pleased and not at all surprised that he didn’t try to deny it. He was wearing one of his many suits – three piece, with a shirt and silk tie that matched perfectly – and I was reminded of where we were going. This was a good sign. The fact my brother had dressed with his usual attention calmed me. The planned pranks wouldn’t be too messy then.

‘So, what’s on the cards?’ I asked, not expecting a truthful answer.

‘Oh, you know,’ he grinned. ‘A few jars at the rugby club and then the minibus is coming to take a few of us across to Edinburgh.’

‘Edinburgh?’ I was worried by the weasel thought that entered my head: Anna might be annoyed. Then I dismissed it. If she was, too bad. Just because she had refused to have a hen party, didn’t mean I should stint on my own evening of fun.

‘I’ll send her a text in the morning. From the hotel, just before we hit the bar again.’

 

At the door to the club, Jim paid the driver and we walked in. From the entrance I could see around twenty guys in suits at the bar, the deep hum of their voices audible above the jukebox.

Malcolm Kay, one of my oldest friends and a colleague from the bank, was the first to turn round. Judging by the flush on his cheeks the pint glass in his hand wasn’t his first.

‘There he is, guys,’ he announced.

‘Strip him,’ the roar rushed at my ears. I turned towards the door I’d just entered as if to leave and Jim gripped my arm.

‘Best just to give in, Andy.’ He smiled and nodded slowly.

‘Aye. Right enough.’

I pulled at my tie. There was absolutely no point in fighting them, the end result would just be the same; me with no clothes on. In seconds I was naked, apart from my feet. No one would go near my socks.

‘Hey, steady on, guys.’ The sixty-year-old club secretary was the lone voice of sanity. ‘What about the barmaid? Poor Senga’ll have to stare at that thing all night.’

‘Hold on, Dave Heaney,’ said the aforementioned Senga as she placed a perfect pint on the bar. She ran stubby fingers through her cropped brown hair, stuck out her breasts, placed her hands on her expansive hips and leered. ‘Is this an expression of complaint you see on this here dish? No? Well shut up and let an old girl have her fun. It’s no very often I get to see any of these well-stacked young men in the skuddy.’

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of booze and banter. I eventually came to the next morning, wearing nothing but my boxers, lying on top of a bed in a strange hotel room.