The Lowther Hills, South Lanarkshire
Mackenzie was standing alone on the pavement opposite the Mount Florida Bowling Club, a fragile figure in the pre-dawn darkness. She’d been careful not to wake Adele and the boys when she slipped out. This wasn’t about them. Better they weren’t involved.
A day after his car had gone over the Kingston Bridge, Derek Crawford’s body was dragged from the River Clyde. His wife was the wrong person to identify it. Gavin confirmed it was him.
The human spirit was reckoned to be remarkably resilient and it was true. Moving in with Adele and Adam and Richard had been good for all of them, Mackenzie especially. Once or twice, in random moments, Adele caught a glimpse of the sister she’d known. Then the barrier came down and she retreated into silence, sometimes lasting a week.
How he could help came from an almost forgotten promise. Gavin dialled the number. The conversation was brief and one-sided. Explanations were unnecessary.
‘5am. Be ready.’
She didn’t ask why or where they were going.
He turned off the M74, nosed past a stand of trees and on through a silent Abington before crossing to the other side of the motorway to begin the final part of the journey from Glasgow. He felt the road rise under him and changed down through the gears. In forty miles they’d seen less than a dozen vehicles. Thinking was the enemy – if he allowed doubt into his mind he’d come to his senses and wouldn’t go through with it.
And Mackenzie would be denied the closure she craved.
Leadhills village was asleep. Beside him, she said nothing.
The Baxter house was a shadow against the lightening sky and when Gavin brought the petrol cans from the boot they felt heavy in his hands. He opened the car door and spoke to his sister.
‘Do you want to do it?’
She shook her head. He nodded and walked to the front door.
His footsteps on the stairs sent a rat scurrying to its lair. Gavin turned on the light in time to see a long brown tail disappear through a crack. The familiar dank smell filled his nostrils, images of what he’d witnessed here filled his head and he went down into the basement, sloshing fuel up the walls and over the bed, dousing everything; gagging on the fumes, retracing his steps, cursing quietly. On the ground floor he did the same until both cans were empty, then he tossed them in a corner.
Outside, he sheltered a flickering match in the palm of his hand and glanced towards his sister. God alone knew what she was feeling. He threw the match inside. Nothing happened and he thought it must have died. Then it exploded into life.
Gavin didn’t notice her until she was next to him. He anxiously searched her face, hoping she was strong enough. He needn’t have worried. She put her hand in his and let it rest there.
Tendrils of yellow and red flames crackled over the building, devouring everything they touched. The gap in the roof became the rim of a cauldron, pouring a black cloud into the new dawn. The fire roared and the building burned. The heat was intense, flushing Mackenzie’s face, making her eyes water. But she didn’t move away.
Suddenly, the Baxter house sighed and fell in on itself, throwing dust and sparks and charred fragments into the air.
Gavin led his sister to the car and drove towards the morning. Behind them a line of smoke drifted to the sky. They didn’t see it. They didn’t look back.