Chalmers had decided on an early night, and had given Rose the briefest peck on the cheek before retiring. Unable to settle, she’d pulled out the ironing-board and set to. By ten-thirty she was finished. Finished, exhausted, and still wide awake, the memory of the fracas at supper-time playing over and over in her head like an irritating tune she couldn’t push from her mind.
She’d hardly taken the roast out of the oven when Barra raised the subject of Jamie. Rose had whirled on him, her nerves frayed beyond redemption.
‘Shut UP!’
Barra had speared her with a look of such naked hurt that she’d wanted to hurl the roast to the floor and grab him to her. Even Chalmers had seemed shocked at her outburst.
‘For God’s sake, Rose. What’s eating you now?’
‘I’m sick to death of it all!’
‘What all?’
‘You. Him. The lot of yis!’
Chalmers and Barra exchanged a glance and carried on eating, shovelling down their meal in record time. Barra had disappeared upstairs as soon as they’d finished and Chalmers had followed a scant hour later, leaving Rose alone with her thoughts, and the ironing, and her conscience.
When she could stand it no longer, she climbed the stairs. The noise of Chalmers’ snoring drilled into her at every step, the possibility of a decent night’s sleep becoming more remote with every footfall. She stopped at Barra’s door and entered quietly. He lay facing her, his legs bent towards his chest, Socks curled in the hollow of his knees.
Rose bent to kiss her son, and the cat raised his head a fraction, nuzzling her fingers. ‘I love you too,’ Rose whispered, stroking Socks’s ears. He purred contentedly at her touch and Rose reached once more towards Barra, tenderly pushing the auburn curls from his forehead. She gazed at him a moment longer and closed her eyes; that one moment of pure love filling her so completely that she thought her heart must break.
‘I’m sorry, Barra,’ she whispered.
He stirred, opening his eyes to squint up at her. Then he smiled drowsily, and went straight back to sleep. Rose kissed him once more, and left.
Frazzled and depressed, she climbed into bed, holding her breath to avoid signalling her presence to her sleeping husband. Chalmers had reached for her just the same, the weight of his arm pinning her to his side. She had automatically tried to pull away from him, to keep this new and detested distance between them.
Then, certain that Chalmers was asleep and would be none the wiser, Rose relinquished herself to the familiar comfort of his embrace.
She didn’t know when she had drifted off, only that her sleep had been fitful, and plagued by sinister images. She had wakened once, bolting upright and searching for the solace of consciousness. Chalmers had rolled noisily from her, but the infested shadow of the nightmare pounded in her heart and her temples throbbed, labouring to rid her mind of the still-present terror.
She’d thrown back the quilt, anxious for the soothing coolness of the night air on her body; willing herself to abandon the dream to the new dawn lightening the sky beyond the bedroom window.
After a moment Rose lay back down, wrapping her body around Chalmers and inhaling the musky scent of him. And, between sleep and consciousness, she became aware that this, the oldest nightmare of all, was returning to claim her.
If she’d been so undeserving of a mother’s love, how in the world could she hold on to a husband who was, before and after everything else, just a man?
The next morning Rose had risen, stiff and unrested, and glad that the night was behind her.
Barra arrived down for breakfast just as Chalmers was leaving, and the two joked together as they did most mornings.
Only Rose seemed to have lost her sense of humour.
Finally Chalmers set off, leaving Rose and Barra together. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you last night,’ Rose began, anxious to clear the air.
‘I know, Mam. I heard you when you came into my room,’ Barra answered. ‘It’s all right, anyway. I know I was getting on yir nerves. I got on a lot of people’s nerves yesterday,’ he added, not unduly worried. ‘You wouldn’t think folks would get so … upset by angels.’
‘Everything seems to be upsetting me.’ Rose sighed.
‘Why?’ Barra was truly interested.
‘Och, it’s nothing.’ Rose reached for the Sqeezy. She summoned her energy, determined to keep her tone light. ‘This angel’s still on the go then, is he?’
‘Hah! On the go’s right, Mam. He’s all over the place! I never know where he’s going to turn up next.’
Jamie had been waiting for him in the woods yesterday as he’d set off for the Whig. But they’d barely greeted each other before the angel said he was needed elsewhere – and disappeared. No wonder Maisie had been curious.
And then, as he’d left the big house later in the day, Jamie suddenly appeared at his side again. Barra had just begun to tell him about poor Hattie’s reaction when the angel had thrown himself forward in the most amazing cartwheel.
‘Wow! Yir great at that.’
Jamie landed gracefully upright, his smile as dazzling as ever. ‘Don’t worry about Hattie, Barra.’
Barra had grinned back, relieved. ‘Can you tell me what it is we’re going to be doing, then?’
Jamie had shrugged. ‘I’m working on it. It all takes time.’
That was the thing about angels. Everything they said set your mind off in different directions. It struck Barra then that maybe angels didn’t have the same sense of time. You wouldn’t really, if time was all you had. You wouldn’t have to go to school, or turn up for meals. He wondered if angels ate. And how was it you stayed the same age? And what about baby angels? They’d be cherubs, of course, but would they ever grow up? And would they learn to speak? What about language? Did they have a language of their own in heaven? And would …?
All of these thoughts had gone through his mind in a split second, but before he could ask Jamie about any of them, he’d realised that he was once more alone.
Barra caught his mother’s arm. ‘He’s still around, Mam. That’s what I wanted to tell you and Dad yesterday. But you lost the head with me, and I didn’t get a chance.’ Barra’s tone was accusing.
Rose tried to smile. It became more of a grimace. ‘I said I was sorry.’
‘Och, it’s OK.’ Barra sighed. ‘He hasn’t told me yet, what he’s here for. But he will. And … y’canna help believing him – when he tells you things. I mean, I can’t just ignore him, Mam.’
Rose did smile then. ‘I suppose not.’
‘And I’m still the only one who can see him,’ Barra reminded her. ‘It’s an honour, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose. I just hope he doesn’t turn up here,’ she added, still smiling. ‘I don’t want him frightening the bedders.’
‘I keep telling you no-one else can see him.’ Barra grinned, delighted at this new approach. ‘D’you think we’ll get any foreigners this year?’
‘I wouldn’t mind getting some Italians again.’
‘Yeuch!’
‘The Iacobellis are a bit of an exception, son. That couple we had the year before last were first class.’
‘I was hoping for Australians.’
The previous year a young Australian couple had arrived to spend two nights with the Macleans. They had been hitch-hiking around the world, and Barra had questioned them so thoroughly and constantly about their travels that they had crept off in the early morning hours, leaving a note of apology on the kitchen table, together with full payment. A second night of his incessant curiosity had apparently been more than they could stand.
Rose shook her head at the memory. ‘The Australians were good souls, right enough,’ she murmured, ‘but I love having the Italians.’
‘That’s because you want to go to Venice.’
Rose turned, her hands dripping suds.
‘How d’you know that?’
‘Because I heard you and Maisie talking about it once. And Mr and Mrs Pascoe went there on their honeymoon, and your face was full of it when Mrs Pascoe was describing it. And Dad said it too. He said he’d like to take you.’
Rose frowned. ‘I don’t remember your father ever saying that.’
‘Aye he did, Mam. Remember the night me and him went down to the Whig to pay Maisie for your party? Remember, Mam?’
‘I wasn’t there.’
‘I know! But Maisie said to Dad that you’d always wanted to go to Venice, and he should have taken you there for yir birthday – instead of wasting … how did she say it?’ Barra concentrated.’… Instead of wasting his money entertaining folks who weren’t fit to lick yir boots.’
Barra scratched his head. ‘Something like that … Anyway, Dad said he wished he had taken you to Venice. It was a good party, though, wasn’t it, Mam?’
Rose nodded. So Maisie had noticed too.
Although she cringed inwardly at the thought, Rose was, at the same time, grateful for knowing it. Rose could think of nobody whose advice would be more welcome than Maisie’s; nor would she be afraid to confide in her friend, secure in the knowledge that anything she might tell Maisie would go no further.
I’m sorry I didn’t talk to her sooner, Rose thought, deciding to call into the Whig as soon as she’d caught up with her housework. She became aware that Barra had asked her a question, and was waiting for an answer.
‘What was that?’
‘I was just asking you why we don’t go to church?’
‘We just don’t, Barra. We don’t have the time.’
‘Yes we do.’
‘No we don’t! Dad’s working most weekends, and I’ve got the bedders.’
‘Only half the year, you do. Besides, the Yaks’ shop’s open all the time, and they’re never out of the place. They’re in the church more than they’re at school.’
‘Catholics are different.’
‘How are they different?’
‘They just are! God, Barra, can you no’ just leave it be?’
‘You’re getting aggravated again.’
‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind,’ Rose protested.
‘So have I!’ Barra retorted indignantly. ‘I’ve got an awful lot on my mind!’
‘What else is new?’ Rose sighed.
Barra reached for the back door. ‘People are getting awful sarcastic round here.’
Rose stared at him. ‘I’m not being sarcastic. You’ve always got a lot on yir mind.’
‘Well, now I’ve got more!’ Barra said, opening the door and setting off down the path.
‘Be back for yir dinner,’ Rose called after him.
Barra turned at the fence, lifting his chin to regard her with a look of pure determination. ‘I might no’ have the time. I’ve things to take care of,’ he called back, and stamped off into the woods.
Rose watched until he was out of sight. Maybe he is growing up, she thought. He’s never been that argumentative before.
‘There’s no’ much doing on a Monday,’ Maisie said, helping Isla to clear the breakfast dishes. ‘Olive’ll be in at nine. Maybe you could help her in the shop.’
Isla shrugged. ‘Glad to.’
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Aye. I always do – here.’
‘Good then.’ Maisie opened the back door. ‘God love us, there he is,’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘Barra.’
Isla grimaced. ‘He was here yesterday.’
‘He’s here every day,’ Maisie said. ‘Two and three times a day.’
‘How d’you put up with him?’
‘Och, he’s no bother. He’s got a way with him.’
‘Aye, just like the rest.’
Maisie turned at the bitterness in Isla’s voice, her eyes questioning.
‘He stared at me.’
‘Of course. What did you expect?’
‘I get tired of it.’
‘Well, try being my size!’ Maisie exclaimed, and the two of them giggled.
‘Good morning,’ Barra called from the car park, somewhat nervously, Maisie thought.
‘Good morning yirself. Where y’off to?’
‘I don’t know. Depends.’
‘On what?’ Maisie asked.
‘On Jamie.’
‘Jamie?’ Maisie enquired. ‘Your friend?’
‘Aye.’ Barra stepped across the threshold and gazed directly at Isla, not at her chest, but right at her. ‘He’s an angel.’
Isla glanced at Maisie and snorted her disbelief. ‘I heard.’
Barra continued to stare at her. ‘You’ll see. You’ll all see.’
‘See what?’ Isla asked scornfully. ‘That yir soft in the head, Barra Maclean?’
‘I’m not,’ Barra said. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of trying for the university.’
‘Hah! Are you taking a degree in havering?’
‘I’m no’ havering,’ Barra replied, almost nonchalant. ‘I’m telling the truth.’
The sound of a bicycle approaching caught his attention and he turned, missing the whirling of Isla’s finger at her temple as she signalled his mental incompetence to Maisie.
‘It’s five to nine. There’s no time to be blethering,’ Olive admonished them all as she climbed awkwardly from her bike and entered the kitchen. She cast a single disapproving glance at Isla’s bosom. ‘Will you be giving me a hand?’
‘Aye,’ Isla answered. ‘You’ll be needing all the help you can get wi’ that queue at the door.’
Olive tutted and shook her head, reaching for the shop keys. Maisie handed them over, watching with amusement as Isla waddled behind Olive towards the shop, imitating Olive’s scuffling progress as she went.
‘You wouldn’t think they’d get on together,’ Barra mused.
‘It never ceases to amaze me,’ Maisie concurred. ‘Diversity, Barra. It’s a wonderful thing.’
‘So it is,’ Barra replied. ‘I hope Isla gets to like me a bit better, though. I like her.’
Maisie lifted his chin. ‘I’ll put in a good word for you,’ she promised. Then, holding his gaze, ‘You wouldn’t be going by the Pascoes’, would you?’
‘I might,’ Barra answered hesitantly.
‘Not a good idea, Barra. Jim’s parents have arrived, and Jen’s got enough on her plate right now.’
‘Aye, but …’ He looked down, away from her. ‘I asked Jamie if Mr Pascoe could have hair for his birthday. I didn’t think that was too much to ask, but Jamie said he couldn’t promise anything.’
Maisie swallowed. ‘Barra, I think we’ve all been very patient with you. But it really is time you got rid of this notion of yours.’
Barra’s expression turned smug, surprising her. ‘Jamie said that, too. He said it would get more and more difficult for people to believe me. I told him I didn’t like Mam bawling at me and pushing me down the stairs, and getting thrown out of people’s houses and everything, and you know what he said?’ Barra paused for effect. ‘He said I wasn’t to take it personally.’
‘I’d be taking it very personally, if I were you,’ Maisie advised.
Barra shook his head, conviction in every movement. ‘You might not believe me, Maisie, but it’s all true, I haven’t made it up, y’know.’
‘I’m sure you believe it, Barra. But I have to say yir beginning to sound un poco loco, mi amigo.’
‘What’s that?’
Maisie headed towards the stove. ‘Bonkers!’
Chalmers raked in the back of the van. He could have sworn he had at least one double socket left. Swearing with mounting frustration, he gave up the search and set off from the Wilsons’, heading the van towards the town centre. His local supplier occupied premises at the opposite end to Boots. The thought that he might find a pretext to enter the chemist’s shop tickled his mind for a moment, before he dismissed it with a mixture of guilt and annoyance.
He parked the van and got out. The Iacobelli boys were hanging about Woolworth’s window, making eyes at the lassie behind the sweetie counter. The boys did little to lift Chalmers’ black humour, but he was caught for a moment, marvelling at the oddity of nature which could produce two such identical human beings.
Primo, the older by seven minutes, must have felt his stare, and turned to catch Chalmers’ eye. He nudged his brother and the pair simultaneously raised a two-fingered salute. Chalmers stepped towards them but the two took off, darting across the empty High Street and into the haven of Mama’s impregnable protection.
Chalmers cursed for the umpteenth time that morning, and glanced at his watch. The day was half over and he was no further forward. He entered the electrical shop, determined not to waste another minute.
He opened the back door of the van and was bending to place his purchases in their proper container when he felt a tap on the small of his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he straightened immediately, clattering his head on the doorframe.
‘Shite!’
‘Oh, Chalmers. Are you all right? I didn’t mean to have such an effect on you!’ The amusement in Sheena’s dark eyes belied the concern in her voice.
‘It’s my own fault,’ Chalmers mumbled, rubbing his temple.
‘Poor Chalmers.’ Sheena reached to brush her long fingers across the welt, but he moved back a fraction at the last moment, and her hand dropped to her side.
‘I was just going over to Bremner’s for a bite to eat.’ Sheena smiled. ‘Care to join me?’
‘I havena’ the time,’ Chalmers replied. ‘I’ve … I have to get back to the job.’
Sheena placed a hand on her hip, regarding him carefully. ‘Perhaps some other time, then?’
‘I … I’m busy.’ Chalmers set about closing up the van, trying to avoid looking at her, trying to avoid the open promise which danced in her eyes. Get going, he ordered himself. Get out of here. Away, away from her. He made for the driver’s door.
‘I’m mistaken then?’
Go, Chalmers. Just keep going. ‘About what?’
Sheena stood on the edge of the pavement, swinging her handbag gently at her side. She reached to lift her collar, then ran a hand slowly across the V-necked opening of her blouse before letting her fingers slide inside and come to rest on the swell of her breast. Chalmers followed the movement, flushing as he finally looked away.
‘I thought we had something going, Chalmers. Just a wee flirtation, anyway. Nothing to get so hot and bothered about. As a matter of fact, I’d been expecting to hear from you before now. I don’t think I imagined what happened between us at the Whig.’ She was amused at him, damn her!
‘You were mistaken.’
Her eyes glinted for a second, then swept over him again, a long, velvet stroking that brought beads of sweat to his forehead.
‘No strings.’ Sheena smiled again, holding him in her stare. ‘Just a wee flirtation. That’s all.’
Chalmers sucked in his breath, the roaring of his blood deafening him. Still he kept silent, the metal door handle scalding in his grip.
‘It’s half-day Wednesday,’ Sheena reminded him. ‘It would be grand to take a drive somewhere … away from here. I’m off at one. If you happened to be around the back station, you’d probably catch me there about ten past. I like to watch all the comings and goings. So many people, off on adventures.’
Sheena turned the corner and swung her way down Corbett Street. She was one of the few women left in Craigourie who wore seamed stockings. Chalmers watched, hypnotised, for a moment before tearing his gaze from her and climbing into the van. He plucked a grubby rag from the dashboard and wiped his brow, wincing as he brushed the forgotten bruise.
He worked in the empty house until almost three o’clock before stopping to eat. As he opened the piece that Rose had so routinely, carefully, packed for him, his heart lurched. I can’t do this, he told himself. I can’t. In fact, he’d been telling himself just that every other hour for the past two weeks.
Well, here it was. Decision time. He had known it was coming. It had been a simple matter of which of them would be first to bring it up, put into words what had started that night.
But Chalmers was aware that he would never have known quite how to do it, what to say. He had to admit that Sheena was much more practised in the ways of these things than he was.
And with the admission came a new, and final, realisation. He wanted no part of Sheena Mearns –nor her dangerous games.
Chalmers munched happily, his resolve returned in full measure. He was his own master, after all. He could more than resist the charms of Sheena Mearns. As he put the cap back on his flask, he looked at the calendar Mrs Wilson had hung on the kitchen wall. Wednesday would be the fourteenth, a full two days from now.
He had ample time to think about it … if he were to change his mind.
Not that he would.