The Back of Beyond (30 page)

‘You'll have to make up your mind.' Dougal sounded exasperated now. ‘Either your own house or your own shop, and I can't see your problem. Rosie's got tons of room, and she's not going to last for ever, is she? I don't mean that in a nasty way, I love the old dear, but you'll have to think ahead. She'll likely have left the house to Gwen, seeing Peg's settled with Alf and Marge has the best husband in the world.'

Alistair was too agitated to rise to this quip. ‘I couldn't let Gwen accept the house. When the time comes, it should be sold and the money divided between …'

‘When the time comes, you could pay Marge and Peg a third each of what it's worth, if it would make you feel any better, but for God's sake, man, take the plunge and get your shop.' Dougal rose to his feet, flexing his legs to get the circulation going again. ‘Come on, Ally. They'll be expecting us back for dinner.'

Alistair looked at his watch in dismay. ‘Oh, Lord, and I've done nothing but bleat on about myself. Why didn't you stop me? I'd have liked to hear what you'd been doing.'

‘Nothing very exciting, I assure you, and, anyway, we've got the rest of our lives to talk to each other.'

Alice burst out with her news as soon as she entered the shop. ‘Gwen says in her letter that Alistair's looking for premises so he can open a wee jeweller's or an antique shop.'

‘Oh, aye?'

So excited herself, it didn't occur to Alice that Lexie might have other things on her mind. ‘He's speaking about London, of course, or the south of England somewhere, but my Sam came up with a better idea when he read the letter. You see, he's never settled down since we came back, and now he's learned about the government offering assisted passages to Australia, he wants us to emigrate and let Alistair move into Benview. So I'm going to write and suggest he could open his shop up here somewhere. It's just a case of waiting to see what he thinks.'

Suddenly noticing Lexie's sunken eyes and drawn face, she said, ‘Are you feeling well enough? You look ghastly.'

‘I'm not all that good, to be honest.'

‘See the doctor, then. It's stupid to let it run on. It could get worse, whatever it is.'

‘I'm not sure about this new doctor we've got. I liked old Doctor Geddes, but this one's too young for my liking.'

‘He's still a qualified doctor, Lexie, and you really need to get him in.'

‘I'll see how I feel tomorrow.'

‘Don't wait longer than that then. I'll have to go, but mind what I've said.'

Left by herself, Lexie leaned weakly against the counter. No doctor could cure what ailed her. Her trouble wasn't medical, it was mental. She couldn't stop wondering about what had happened to her father. She had spent nights trying to remember more of what happened before and after the time of his disappearance, but just when she thought she had something in her grasp, her mind always seemed to shut down, and she was coming more and more round to the idea that it might be best if she didn't remember. That was why she didn't want to see the new doctor. He might make her see a psychiatrist, and God knows what he would dig up. Over the last two days, she had done her best to keep her thoughts at bay, but she couldn't go on much longer like this.

Having made her decision, she went over to the small telephone exchange which had recently been installed by the Post Office. Before the war, there were only a scattering of phones in the whole of the parish, not enough to warrant an exchange, but the number of subscribers had more than doubled now. After plugging in, she waited for her call to be answered.

Since shortly after Dougal came home, a question had arisen in Alistair's mind, and no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't go away. In fact, it grew stronger every day until it no longer needed to be answered. The proof was there every time he saw Dougal, Marge and little Nicky together. There was no resemblance between the boy and either of his parents, and when he had mentioned this casually to Gwen one day, she had flown up in the air. That was when it had dawned on him – two dark browns don't make a ginger, two browns don't make a green. As the old saying went, there had been dirty work at the crossroads! Had Marge been …? Was Dougal not Nicky's father?

His mental health still in a somewhat fragile state, Alistair nibbled at this concept for hours, feeling sick at the thought of Marge being unfaithful to the finest man in the world. Should he tell Dougal? Was it fair to let him go on thinking …? Why hadn't he seen it for himself?

Maybe he should ask Gwen? But would she tell him the truth? She had kept her silence about it. She wouldn't tell him a lie. She had never lied to him. When he put his question later, however, he wasn't so sure about that. ‘Did you never wonder about Marge when you were in Forvit?' he began, and could see her go on the defensive.

‘Wonder what about Marge?' she snapped, her eyes wary.

‘If she was … being unfaithful to Dougal, for instance?'

Her eyes wavered for an instant, then held his. ‘Marge was never unfaithful! She did go to the dances, but she told Dougal and he trusted her.'

He didn't want to push it too far. ‘Oh, well … I just wondered.'

Recalling it in bed, Alistair was nearly sure that his question had upset her. She had never told him a lie before, but she had told him one then – no doubt about it.

The more he turned it over in his mind, the more positive he became that Dougal was not Nicky's father, and watching them teasing each other the next day, lovingly like any father and son, but one so dark and the other so bright, he wanted to take his long-time friend aside and tell him the truth. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that it would break Dougal's heart. What worried him was that he was so upset himself that he was afraid he might let it out accidentally. There might even come a time when he wouldn't be able to keep it back any longer and would let fly at Marge, and even if it
was
all her fault, it would cause ructions between him and Gwen, and he didn't want that. It was like living on a razor's edge.

‘What's up with Alistair?' Marge eyed her sister curiously. ‘He's been snapping my head off lately and I can't think of anything I've said or done to …'

‘Something's bothering him,' Gwen interrupted, not wanting to tell her what. ‘Um … has Dougal ever said … has Alistair ever asked …?' She stopped abruptly.

‘The day they took a walk together, he spoke about what it was like being a prisoner of war. Dougal won't tell me anything more than that.'

Gwen's concern that her husband might have stumbled on the truth was so great that she had to find out, and so she tackled him that evening when they were sitting by the fire. ‘Marge is wondering what she's done to upset you?'

‘Is she, now?'

His tone was so sarcastic that her determination faltered a little, but she knew she had to get to the bottom of things. The air would have to be cleared. ‘Alistair, I wish you'd tell me what's wrong with you. Did something happen to you in the prison camps that's made you change? I know it must have been a terrible time for you, and all I want to do is help you to forget.'

‘And all I want is for you to tell me the truth,' he snapped. ‘I hate to see my best pal being tricked, though if he wasn't so bloody besotted by the kid, he'd see it for himself.'

Gwen felt herself go cold, but she answered honestly. ‘If you're still thinking Marge was unfaithful, you're wrong. I can swear with my hand on my heart – she never took one step out of line the whole time we were in Forvit. She was as true to Dougal as …'

He took up where she left off. ‘… as you were to me?' He thought nothing of her hesitation. Gwen had always found it difficult to speak from her heart.

Thankful that he hadn't noticed anything, she tried to coax him out of his mood. ‘You've got a wrong idea in your head, darling, and if you don't get rid of it, it's going to cause a lot of trouble.'

‘For Marge? You would stick up for her, of course, seeing she's your sister.'

‘I'm sticking up for her because I know she's not guilty of what you think. Yes, she enjoyed herself at the dances, but if her own husband can look on that as innocent fun, I don't see why you can't.'

‘You think I'm jealous, do you? You think I want Marge?'

‘Of course I don't, that's silly.' Gwen was angry now. ‘I think you're … twisted. You've never been right since you came home, and you've been worse since Dougal came back. No matter what you think – and I tell you you're making a big mistake – for God's sake don't say anything to him. He's so proud of his son, it would destroy him to think he wasn't …'

‘I'm not heartless,' Alistair said, bitterly. ‘That's the only reason I
haven't
told him. But I warn you, if he ever hints at having doubts, I won't hesitate.'

‘But there's nothing to tell,' Gwen wailed. ‘It's all in your … warped mind.'

‘Thank you very much. It's nice to know where your loyalties lie.' Alistair stood up and walked towards the door.

‘Where are you going?' she asked, anxiously.

‘Out.'

‘I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean the things I said about you. I'm just upset at you for thinking Marge would …' She stopped and drew a deep breath to calm her ragged nerves. ‘Can't we forget about it? You're not doing anybody any good by carrying on like this. Can't we get back to the way we were before the war?'

‘One big happy family?' he sneered. ‘With a cuckoo in the nest?'

His wife's cry of anguish made him halt with his hand on the door knob, and the ensuing torrent of tears, sounding as if they came from the innermost core of her, made him dart to her side. ‘Oh, Gwen, my dearest darling, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. You're quite right, my mind must be warped, but I shouldn't take it out on you. I shouldn't have said anything. I know I'm wrong about Marge, but I couldn't help … Can you forgive me? Please?'

She looked up at him, her eyes still streaming, the sobs still racking her whole body. ‘I do forgive you, Alistair. I can understand that what you went through in the war has changed you, but I wish … oh God, how I wish … I had my old husband back.'

Much later, as she lay cradled in his arms, their love having been re-avowed and demonstrated, Gwen wondered if she had been correct in her summing up of him. Had his suspicions of Marge and his desire to protect Dougal really twisted his mind? Could it be the result of the dreadful beatings and kickings he must have received in the POW camps? Or … was he going insane? Was he edging down a slippery slope towards utter madness? Was it possible for him to reverse?

Salvation for Alistair came at the end of January, with the arrival of a letter from his sister, addressed to him, not to Gwen as was usual.

‘Well!' exclaimed Gwen, after she read it. ‘That's a surprise!'

‘What do you think, though?'

‘I haven't had time … and it's up to you. I'll fall in with whatever you want.'

‘We'd better discuss it with the kids. It's their future, as well.'

And so, for the rest of that day, fortunately a Saturday when thirteen-year-old Leila and David, twelve, were at home, the topic was, ‘Should we move up to Forvit for good?' Later, when they were joined by the rest of the clan, as Dougal laughingly referred to them, and after much deliberation and tossing around of opinions, the final consensus was that Alistair should make up his own mind.

Lexie's visit to the new doctor had a result she had not expected, although she should have known. Not that he did or said anything out of place – he took her blood pressure and pulses, tested her reflexes, then sounded her chest. ‘Your trouble isn't physical as far as I can make out. Are you worrying about something? That is often …'

She had shaken her head – how could she tell him what she suspected? – but as she looked at him, her senses began to swim, and she felt herself going back to that awful night. ‘Stop it,' she moaned, ‘I don't like you doing that.'

Straining against the arms now trying to pin her down, she could again feel the pain of the object being forced inside her. ‘It's too sore!' she screamed. ‘You're hurting me! Stop! Please stop!'

She could see the sweat running down a horrible, unfeatured red face until, as abruptly as it had begun, the horror came to an end and she was able to stop struggling against it.

‘That's better.' The voice was soft, the touch was gentle, and she smiled tremulously into the puzzled face of young Dr Geddes. ‘I hope I didn't hurt you, but I was forced to hold you down, you were in such a state, fighting like a tigress.'