I was still in a deep sleep when I was awakened by the phone ringing. It was pitch black outside, which wasn’t surprising as it was just five o’clock.
“Chris, it’s your mother.”
It was all I could do not to growl into the phone. Joan refused, wilfully in my opinion, to get a grip on time differences. She was in the Hebrides, which was five hours ahead of me, a nice comfortable ten o’clock in the morning.
“Chris?”
“Do you realize it’s five in the morning?”
“Oh, is it? I thought it would be seven and I know you get up early. Shall I call back?”
“No, never mind.”
“You sound grouchy but then you always were a bear with a sore head in the morning.”
I bit back my reply, which would only have proved her point. I was trying to be a grown-up person with her, although she too frequently managed to send me back to feeling like a sulky teenager.
“So you’re probably wondering why I’m calling?”
“It had crossed my mind. Is the island sinking into the sea or something?”
There was a little silence followed by a forced chuckle. Joan didn’t like it if I got sarcastic.
“Your father and I have decided to get married and naturally we’d like you to be at the wedding. We’re thinking of this Christmas.”
I shoved myself into a sitting position. I should offer a brief explanation. Two years ago, I discovered that my biological father whom I’d never met or even knew about lived in the Isle of Lewis where my mother had grown up. They were teenage sweethearts. She left the island, came to Canada at the age of nineteen, and discovered she was pregnant with me. She herself was in a state of rebellion and decided not to tell Duncan MacKenzie, that’s his name, about his daughter. Unfortunately, when I met Duncan two years ago, the initial feeling was a mutual antipathy. Time had softened that a little but I still thought he was old school bossy and patriarchal and he considered me disrespectful and arrogant, especially where Joan is concerned. In his favour, I must say I’d never seen her happier or better cared for. However, I’d asked her several times not to refer to him as my father. He was the sperm donor but he’d nothing to do with parenting me. Al Jackson had done that. She always managed to slip it in.
“Are you listening?” she asked her voice sharp. She could get shirty almost as fast as I could. What a great pair we were.
“Yes, I’m listening. When did you decide this? The last I knew you were thinking of doing the deed in the summer, if at all.”
“Oh no. We definitely want to make everything legal. People are much more tolerant than they used to be but I know they still don’t approve of us living together outside of wedlock, especially my brothers.”
“You shouldn’t give them that much power. Who cares what they think? It’s your life.”
I’d met my uncles and found them, shall we say, unprepossessing. Dour and rigid, in fact.
“You can say that because you don’t live here. Lewis is a different world. Anyway, your fath… Duncan and I were talking about it last week and we thought, why wait? He noticed a special on a cruise around the Greek Islands and it seemed a good way to spend a honeymoon. Besides, there are hardly any tourists at this time of year, so he can leave the business for a while.”
Duncan put on herding and trick exhibitions for the visitors with his brilliant border collies.
I pushed Tory away from my feet.
“I’m not sure I can come. We’re in the middle of a case for one thing and for another…” I paused. I didn’t want to break my promise to Paula until she gave me permission to tell. Also Joan was jealous of my relationship with the Jacksons and I knew she’d be quite offended if she thought I was choosing them over her even if it was a serious matter like cancer.
“I thought you’d want to see Gill, at least,” said Joan, her voice reproachful.
“He’s planning to come here.”
“He won’t if I tell him we’re getting married… It’s not as if this is any old trip, Christine. This will be the most special day of my life.”
Ugh.
“Your sisters are very happy for us.”
“Half-sisters.”
Mairi and Lisa were Duncan’s daughters by his first marriage. I liked them a lot and I was very glad to have found them, but I couldn’t stand it when Joan began the guilt trip, using them as levers.
“We’ve talked about having Anna as a ring bearer but Mairi thinks she might be too young.”
Another heavy silence, then in the background I heard Duncan shouting something.
“I’ve got to go,” said Joan. “We’re driving into Stornoway to look at dresses. I was thinking of wearing white but it will probably be cold so I’m going for a nice pale blue wool suit I saw in Saracen’s.”
White? It was typical of Joan that she’d even contemplated the idea.
“What do you think?”
“Hm. Pale blue sounds good.”
I sensed she wanted to have a girly talk about the wedding preparations but I just couldn’t do it.
“Duncan says you should travel with Thomas Cook. They have more leg room.”
“Right. Well, I’ll have to get back to you about this. I can’t promise.”
Her voice became huffy. “Don’t leave it too long. We’re having the reception at the Duke and I have to make out the guest list. The places are limited.”
That was a nice, under-the-counter stab but I deserved it.
“Let me get my head around it. I haven’t had much sleep.”
Another silence. “You haven’t even given me your good wishes, Chris. My own daughter and you didn’t say, ‘congratulations.’”
She slammed the phone down.
I leaned back against the headboard. Chalk that one up as a failure. We’d both been trying to relate to each other differently, but the old tracks ran deep and mutual disappointment often reasserted itself
I snapped off the bedside light and snuggled back under the covers. Too late. I was awake. Or half awake anyway. I rolled over to head for the bathroom, Tory and Bertie both doing their best to trip me up so I could go crashing to the floor, die, and not be able to feed them. I came back to the bed, picked up the phone, and called Joan. A very British voice prompt said, “This is the answer phone service. The party you are calling is not available at the moment. Please leave a message.”
“Joan. I’ll come. Sorry I was so grumpy. You’re right, I’m not good in the morning. Congratulations to both of you. I’ll call again as soon as I can.”
I padded into the kitchen, plugged in the kettle to make coffee, and opened a fresh can of cat food for the monsters, which they both dived into, Bertie making his usual little gobbling noise.
“I’m just a walking can opener to you two, aren’t I?”
They agreed but didn’t bother to look up.
I’d just made my coffee when the phone rang again. I hurried over to answer it but it wasn’t Joan. It was Gary, my downstairs tenant.
“I didn’t wake you, did I, Chris? I could hear you moving about and I heard the coffee grinder so I knew you were up to stay.” So much for my private life. I’d have to be more careful about making strange noises that I didn’t want overheard.
I’d inherited Gary and his partner, Ahmed, when I bought the house and we’d become good pals over the last year. Gary in particular loved gardening and he kept the backyard lush with shrubs and flowers, something I could never do. Ahmed on occasion made us all delicious Egyptian dishes.
It was not quite a quarter to six.
“Is something the matter?” I asked. Gary sounded stressed.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Terribly the matter. I haven’t slept a wink all night. Would you mind if I come up and talk to you? I just don’t know where to turn.”
What could I say? I owed him lots.
“Of course, come up. I’ll make coffee. Is it just you or Ahmed as well?”
“Just me.” His voice was tight. “Ahmed and I are separating.”
“Oh dear. That sounds like a call for double sugar.”
My feeble joke fell flat. Gary was notorious for having a sweet tooth and all his friends teased him about it.
“I’ll be right there,” he said and he hung up.
Two minutes later he was at the door. He was fully dressed but unshaven, something very unusual for Gary, who was fastidious about his grooming. I gave him a hug and he clung to me for a few minutes then stepped back so he could wipe his eyes.
He dabbed at the lapels of my dressing gown with his handkerchief. “Sorry, I’ve got snot all over you.”
“It’ll wash out. Do you want some coffee?”
“Yes, please, double-double.”
While I was fixing his order, he was hovering in the kitchen. “I do like your apartment, Chris. It’s very cosy.”
“Thanks. Have a seat. Do you want some toast?”
“Sure.”
I handed him the mug of coffee and he held it in both his hands.
“So what’s this about you two separating?”
I knew they had rows like any other couple because I’d heard them, but they weren’t frequent. Ahmed was several years younger than Gary, shy where he was flamboyant, a devout Muslim to Gary’s vocal atheism. However, they’d been together for a few years and, in spite of the obvious differences, seemed very committed to each other.
Gary looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “As you know, his father died in June and he went to Egypt for the funeral. He hasn’t been the same since. His family said he had brought about the old man’s death because … because he hadn’t provided him with an heir. Apparently, while he was there, his mother was relentless, dragging women over to the house for him to choose a bride… He’s never told them about us. They would have disinherited him totally.”
“But you’ve lived together for years.”
He managed a sip of the coffee. “They think we’re just good friends. They know I’m a schoolteacher and they approve of that. They also know I have a grown son.” He managed a small smile. “I suppose they can’t conceive of a man, er, changing his mind as it were.”
“Ahmed is giving into the pressure, I gather?”
“He is. Oh Chris, he wasn’t home all night. He told me yesterday that he’s met somebody else, a woman, and he plans to marry her and have children. Then his mother will be happy.”
He put his head down on the table and burst into tears. I came over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. There wasn’t much I could say.