The Lost Boy and The Gardener's Daughter (28 page)

  “So, what year was president Kennedy shot?”

  “Fuck aff.”

  “Who is the prime minister?”

  “Some rich wanker like that auld man ae yours.”

  “What year was the Battle of Culloden?”

  “The only reason you know that is because wan ae yer ancestors wis stabbing every poor downtrodden basturt in the back tae get mair land tae add tae whit they awready owned.”

  “What famous civil rights leader was shot dead in Memphis in April of last year?”

  “When wis the last time you felt guilty or ashamed ae yer family’s involvement in the Highland Clearances, eh?”

  “What? You…”

  “And tae think ye hid the cheek tae sit oan that wagon, oan the way back fae the field in Ardgay, singing wae aw the poor basturts whose families wur turfed aff their crofts because a greedy basturt like yer da wanted their land tae put mair sheep oan tae it.  Don’t try and make me oot tae be a bampot by gieing me a lecture.  Nae wonder ye don’t want tae stay in the Kyle.  Ah widnae if ma family hid done whit your crew hid done.  That poor wee dug’s heid is gonnae topple aff ae its shoulders, the way its heid is gaun back and forth like a fucking revolving door, listening tae us craw at each other.  Wan mair word oot ae you and Ah swear tae God, you’ll be joining yer ancestors’ good investment o’er there, ” Paul said, nodding towards a group ae startled sheep, who wur staring warily across at the passing Landy, towing a boat, wae the racket ae two people shouting and screaming at each other blasting oot ae it.

Chapter Thirty Nine

“How is she, Doctor?” The Duke asked Dr Horne anxiously, as the doctor entered the room.

  “She’s resting, although I wouldn’t expect her to remain in bed for long, your Lordship.”

  “Can I go up and see her?”

  “I would leave it for the moment.  She’s had a traumatic experience.”

  “Of course, thank you,” The Duke replied as the doctor took his leave.

    The Duke paced the flair.  He hoped Bea would be a bit less hysterical when she woke up, wance he informed her ae his telephone call wae Sir Frank Owen.  Wance he’d evicted the emergency committee fae the room, he’d insisted that she take a seat while he informed her ae the situation.

  “But I don’t want to sit, John.  I’ve been sitting all the way from Inverness in that foul taxi.  God knows what became of Riddrie.”

  “Yes, I do understand, dear, but, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he’d groaned, as she plapped her arse doon oan tae the chaise longue.

  “What?  Saba’s all right, isn’t she?  Where is she?” she’d demanded, panic erupting.

  “Darling, when you sent Saba away, she was terribly upset.  In fact, she was so upset that she even tried to run away from here.  I think she was trying to head for Mummy’s in Stafford.”

  “You’re not trying to tell me that my baby is missing, are you, John?”  The Duchess hid screeched in a high-pitched voice, jumping up.

  “No, not missing, just er, not here at this precise moment in time, darling.”

  “So, where is she then?”

  “If she knew you were coming, I’m sure she would have been here waiting for you,” he’d said lamely.

  “You mean to say, my baby didn’t know her Mummy was coming to take her back to New York?” the Duchess hid shrieked, left haun covering that painted mooth ae hers.

  “I didn’t want to excite her.  I wanted it to be a…a surprise…darling.”

  “You’ve known for a month that I was coming.  Why didn’t you consult with me?  I could have told you Saba doesn’t like surprises.”

“Darling, Bea, calm down, for God’s sake.  She’ll be fine.  She’ll walk through the door at any moment.”

  “Who is she with?  When did you see her last?”

  “I bumped into her in the middle of the night on the landing.  She was just coming in.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know, perhaps two or three o’clock.”

  “Oh my God!  You mean to say Saba has been allowed to wander about the Highlands at three o’clock in the morning?  Good God!”

  “Calm down, Bea.  This is not New York,” he’d said, trying tae calm her hysterics.

  “She’s been kidnapped.  Oh my God!  My daughter has been kidnapped!”

  “Saba has not been Kidnapped, Bea.  We think there is…perhaps…a boy involved.”

  “A boy?  What boy?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “The police?  What are they doing about this?”

  “The police are trying to find her, as is everyone else.  They have her down as a missing person.  They’ve got people searching the trains and buses south of Inverness, just in case she’s making her way south to Mummy’s.”

  “South?  On her own?  Have you contacted Interpol?  Scotland Yard?”

  “Bea, don’t be silly.  It’s nineteen sixty nine…fifteen year olds run away all the time…apparently.”

  The Duke hid thought he wis handling the situation quite well under the circumstances until that oaf McTavish hid appeared back oan the scene and ruined the situation.

  “PC McTavish, m’lord,” George Sellar hid announced fae the door.

  “I’ll speak to him in the corridor.”

  “No, show him in,” the Duchess hid demanded.

  “M’lord…m’lady,” McTavish said, tugging his forelock respectfully.

  “Any news, McTavish?” The Duke hid demanded.

  “No, m’lord.  I spoke to Mr and Mrs Mackay at Wester Achnahanat and Mr McKay informed me that the lad left the croft to seek employment yesterday.  They don’t know where he is, m’lord.”

  “Boy?  Is this the boy you think Saba may be…er…friends with?”

  “We’re not sure, Bea,” The Duke hid answered, trying tae make eye contact wae McTavish, bit failing.

  “So, who is this boy then, constable?”

  “His name is Paul McBride, m’lady.  He’s a lodger who came to live in the strath a few months ago.  He’s the same age as Lady Saba.”

  “He’s just a yobbo, my dear.  I can assure you, Saba wouldn’t have any truck with his sort,” The Duke hid piped in.

  “Where did he appear from?”

  “Er, Glesgie, m’lady.”

  “And why would a person from Glasgow wish to come and stay in a place such as the Kyle of Sutherland, constable?”

  “I, er, I believe he was recuperating, m’lady,”

  “Recuperating?  From what, may I ask?”

  “I don’t quite know, m’lady.  I think he had some sort of nervous breakdown and he was released into the care of Mr and Mrs Mackay, one of the estate’s tenants.”

  “Released?  You mean, discharged?  What kind of hospital, constable?”

  “I believe it was a psychiatric hospital, m’lady.”

    The Duchess’s faint hid taken baith The Duke and PC McTavish by surprise.  Wan second she’d been staunin beside the chaise longue and the next, she’d flopped oan tae the flair.

  “Quick, get help, man!” The Duke hid screamed, jist as Riddrie came through the door, looking flustered, wae the pallor ae a man who’d been tae the gallows and back. 

Chapter Forty

  They hidnae spoken a word tae each other since the fight.  Paul wis still trying tae work oot whether he should dump her or no, when the Landy went o’er the brow ae a hill and Ardmair Bay stretched oot before them.  There wis a sprinkling ae small boats sitting anchored in the bay.  The scenery wis awesome and it gied Paul an excuse no tae talk tae her.   It wis only when they passed a sign fur Morefield and Ullapool came in tae view, jutting oot in tae Loch Broom, that Paul made up his mind.  If he wis gonnae come oot ae this unscathed and wae any chance ae succeeding, he’d need tae keep her oan board.  He turned and looked at her and wis surprised tae see that she’d been greeting.

  “Okay, Ah’m sorry Ah shouted at ye.  Ah wis oot ae order,” he said, in the sorriest tone he could muster.

  Silence.

  “If it makes ye feel any better, Ah’ll let ye slag me aff between here and Ullapool, withoot retaliating.  How dis that sound?” he said wae a smile.

  “Why are you so cruel?  I wasn’t involved in the Highland Clearances.  Why should I be made to feel guilty for the past?”

  “Aye, bit that family ae yours wur up tae their necks in it, so they wur.  The croft hoose Ah’ve jist left behind is still bleeding and the pain is still there.”

  “What happened was over a hundred years ago.”

  “Ah rest ma case.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?  You rest your case?”

  “It must’ve been pretty bad if people ur still trying tae come tae terms wae their hurt efter aw this time.”

  “What do you know?  My understanding is that they were moving people from one end of the estate to other parts to try and bring industry to the area.  I know you don’t believe it, but their intentions were not all bad.”

  “And you believe that?” Paul scoffed at her, wae a brittle laugh.

  “You obviously don’t.  What’s so funny?”

  “I’ve heard some excuses in ma time, bit that takes the Penguin biscuit, so it dis,” he said, shaking his heid.

  “But it’s true.  I’ve seen the papers and documents.  I’ve sifted through them in the library at Culrain since I’ve been back.  I accept that mistakes were made, but it wasn’t done the way it has been portrayed.  At the end of the day, running an estate is like any other business.  It’s not a charity.”

  “Look, Ah admire ye fur sticking up fur yer family, bit at the end ae the day, ye’ve goat blood oan yer hauns, whether ye like it or no...at least…that family ae yers his.”

  “And what about your hands?  Whose blood is on yours?”

  “Hoi, don’t pass the buck o’er tae me, Richie Rich.  Ma hauns might be manky, bit they’re clean.  Ah kin sleep at night withoot any nightmares.”

  “Are they?”

  “Whit’s that supposed tae mean?”

  “Your hands?  Are they clean?”

  “Ah’ve done a wee bit ae ducking and diving in ma time, bit nothing that wid ever…and believe you me, Ah kin imagine wae the best ae them…ever compare tae anything Ah’ve come across up here.”

  “So, you admit it then?”

  “Whit?”

  “That whether it’s you or I, or most of the people walking about here, we all have ghosts in our past?” Saba pouted, as they entered Ullapool.

  “If you say so…yer Ladyship,” he said mockingly, tugging that forelock ae his.

  “Don’t patronise me, Lost Boy.”

  “Stoap talking a heap ae shite then.”

  “I know it is difficult for you, but I would appreciate it if you could show me a bit of respect, instead of swearing at me every time you don’t agree with me,” she snarled, glaring at him, her eyes narrowing.

  “They people…the normal people…the wans ye’ve jist pointed oot…don’t hiv songs sung aboot them a couple ae hunner years doon the road, aboot how everywan and their scabby dug bloody well detests them fur whit they’ve done.”

  “Right, that’s it.  Stop the car.”

  Shit, Shit, Shit! Why could he no jist keep that trap ae his shut, Paul cursed tae himsel, as he turned up wan ae the streets oan the right, jist before the waterfront and pulled in tae the side ae the pavement.

  “So, whit noo?” he turned and asked her, as she flung open the door, goat oot, then slammed it shut behind her and stormed aff doon some steps that lead doon tae the shore.

  Paul sat staring aheid, no sure ae whit tae dae next.  Wan-eye looked at him as if tae say ‘ye’ve bloody done it this time, ya tadger, ye.’  A few people gied him funny looks and the boat admiring glances oan their way past.  He hidnae planned oan stoapping in Ullapool.  She hidnae taken her bag, so he wisnae sure whether she wis coming back or no.  It crossed his mind jist tae sling the thing oot oan tae the pavement, bit there wur too many people aboot and he wisnae sure if it wid still be there when she came back.  She’d probably hit him wae a charge ae robbing her tae add tae the kidnapping and stealing that prick George’s Landy, he thought tae himsel.  He drummed his fingers oan the steering wheel and pursed his lips. Whit should he dae noo?

  “Right, let’s go, Wan-eye.  If she comes back tae get her bag…fine.  If she disnae…then fuck her!  We’re no putting up wae this shite, eh?” he said tae the dug.

  He opened the driver’s door and Wan-eye leapt oot past him, doon oan tae the road and disappeared doon the stairs in the direction that Lady Muck hid gone. Paul sauntered alang the street, heiding well away fae where he thought she might be.  At the next junction, he turned left, which took him doon tae the pier.  He went and used the toilet in a wee pub called The Seaforth, which wis opposite the entrance tae the harbour.  He wis surprised at the amount ae people that wur oan the go at that time ae the morning, walking aboot aimlessly or staunin watching the fishermen mending their nets.  The harbour wis full ae fishing boats being dive-bombed by screeching seagulls.  He’d forgotten how hungry he wis until he saw a group ae tourists coming oot ae a wee shoap that wis obviously a chippy.  When he wis in the chippy, he asked the wummin behind the counter why aw the pubs and shoaps wur open at that time ae the morning and she telt him it wis because ae the fishermen and the holidaymakers.  He bought two tanner pokes ae chips.  If she didnae appear, he’d scoff the baith ae them himsel.  He wis happy that he’d come tae a decision.  If The Gardener’s Daughter wisnae back at the Landy by the time he goat back tae it, he wis jist gonnae shoot the craw and leave her behind.  He noticed the chequered hat ae a bizzy sitting behind the glass windae ae a wee tearoom oan the main street.  He tried tae remember if she’d left the map and the bit ae paper wae the junction turn-affs in the car.  He wis goosed if he lost that.  He cursed tae himsel.  He’d need tae get back tae the Landy tae make sure they wur still there before she goat any ideas.  He opened wan ae the pokes ae chips and hid jist popped a chip intae that gub ae his, when he clocked her.  She wis sitting, cross-legged oan the wee wall that ran the length ae the street, looking oot across Loch Broom.  He hesitated, before walking across tae join her.  Wan-eye, the dirty wee turncoat that he wis, wis sitting oan the wall beside her.  She never heard him approaching as he hid tae dodge between a fish van and a car tae cross the road tae where she wis sitting.  He laid a bag ae chips doon beside her.

  “I hope you didn’t put salt on them.  I don’t like salt on my French fries,” she said, gieing him a fleeting glance before picking up the wet, vinegar-soaked parcel, wrapped in yesterday’s copy ae The Press and Journal.

  “Ach, well,” he said, sitting doon oan that arse ae his beside her, trying no tae laugh as she screwed her face up at the taste ae salt oan the chip she’d jist popped intae her gub.