Riley, page 27
‘No, you’re not.’ Nyrene was standing beside her now, her arm around her shoulder, and she said again, ‘You’re not daft; and he was just polite to her, that’s all. You see, she was a teacher and the Scots lay a great deal on education, and to them teachers are always people of importance, no matter what stage they’re at, from primary to professor. Do you know where he is?’
Mrs Atkins now took up the corner of her apron and dabbed her eyes before turning to Nyrene and answering, ‘I saw him going into the barn not a minute ago, with the child.’
As Nyrene now made for the door, Mrs Atkins said to her, ‘Would you let me tell him? It’ll ease the guilty feeling I had if I did.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, my dear. Go on.’
The interior of the barn could no longer claim the name. The rough floor was now boarded and there was a low raised platform at the far end. Moreover, the stone walls had been roughly panelled to five feet up. Against one wall there were a number of folding chairs, and at the end of it there stood a small piano at which the child was now fingering out the tune of the first two lines of Bobby Shaftoe:
Bobby Shaftoe went to sea,
Silver buckles on his knee …
Following this the tune went somewhat astray in aiming to pick up:
When he comes back he’ll marry me.
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.
The boy did not turn from the piano except to glance towards Mrs Atkins as she entered the door, but continued with his erratic fingering.
Seeing he was deeply engaged, she did not give him his mother’s order to return to the house.
Hamish McIntyre was looking keenly into the face of the woman standing in front of him and she was saying, ‘I’m…I’m sorry about the news I have to tell you, but the mistress—’ This was followed by some swallowing before she could go on, saying, ‘The mistress has just heard over the phone that Miss White died in the night.’
‘Miss White died?’ Hamish said in a low voice, at the same time turning to look towards the piano. The child had stopped playing but his fingers were still on the keys, and Mrs A said, ‘He’ll have to be told in some way; how I don’t know. But I want to say this to you: I’m sorry, Mr McIntyre, if I was ever curt to her, I didn’t mean to be.’
‘I know ye didna, woman. I know ye didna,’ Hamish said. ‘But Miss White dead; I can’t take that in. Yet, honestly, I’m not all that surprised.’ Both were startled when the boy appeared as if he had sprung there, to the side of them. He was saying in an agitated tone, ‘Teacher has gone? Where she gone?’
‘Oh dear Lord!’ Mrs Atkins turned away, and Hamish said quickly, ‘’Tis all right. ’Tis all right. Leave him to me; we’ll work this thing out. Come, laddie! Let’s go for a wee walk and have a natter, eh?’
‘A natter? Yes.’ The boy nodded to him, then held out his hand and, like that, they went from the barn, leaving Mrs Atkins standing, one hand gripping the other forearm and her teeth dragging on her lower lip …
She was upstairs doing the bathroom when she heard Hamish McIntyre’s voice saying to the mistress, ‘A wee bit tired, he is, ma’am. We’ve been for a dander, but he’s disinclined to hop, skip and jump this morning. To tell ye the truth, I am feeling a bit that way meself.’
On hearing these words Mrs Atkins gave an impatient toss to her head, then came out of the bathroom to see Nyrene leading the boy slowly towards the nursery, and she said, ‘Should I stay with him, ma’am?’
‘No, thanks, Mrs A. I’ll see to him for the present: we’re going to hear a story.’ She inclined her head towards her son as she said, ‘It’s all about a poor tiger that has toothache, and the only time he gets any ease is when he goes to sleep.’
Taking up the inference, Mrs Atkins said, ‘Oh, I like that one.’
At this statement Charles glanced at her and although he smiled his look could have said, Now, don’t be silly.
The child’s expression often bothered Mrs Atkins, and now she went downstairs and into the kitchen, there to prepare Hamish McIntyre’s morning cocoa and buttered scone.
When, on the stroke of eleven, she did not hear the expected commotion outside the back door or the warning cough that told her both the interest and the irritant in her life was about to appear, she sat down at the table and sipped at her own mug. But after a further five minutes, she rose to her feet and, putting his mug of cocoa and the plate holding the scone on a tray, she went out to the barn.
The barn door opened noiselessly and she had taken two steps inside when she came to a halt, for there, at the far end, near the low stage, sat Mr Hamish McIntyre. He had one foot on the stage and his elbow was on his knee and his hand was holding his head. She was surprised that he did not move as she walked up the room towards him, but she was still more surprised, in fact startled, when as she tapped him on the shoulder he brought his foot so swiftly from the platform that his body fell forwards towards it, and, twisting around, he said harshly, ‘Woman! Why didn’t you speak?’
‘I…I didn’t think there was any need to, you would’ve heard me come in.’
As he straightened up he turned away from her and groped in his deep pocket for a handkerchief, then he blew hard on his nose.
When, turning towards her, he saw that she had placed the tray on the edge of the platform, he said, ‘Oh, thank ye. I was just about to come over.’
She was staring at him. She couldn’t believe her eyes. This big, burly, rough-spoken Scot, this annoying, pig-headed Scot, had been crying. She couldn’t believe it. But then he must have thought quite a lot about her to make him cry.
Her voice was very soft as she said, ‘I’m sorry you’re troubled. I can’t get over her going either.’
‘Oh, woman! Woman.’ But the words were spoken softly, and his voice remained soft as, looking down on her now, he said, ‘Ye’ve got the wrong end of the stick. It’s a habit with ye, ye know, to get the wrong end of the stick. I gave vent to my feelings just then, but not over Miss White as ye surmised: it was the child and his questioning and me trying to explain her going when he says to me, “What is dying, Mr Mac?”’ He shook his head slowly now; then he added, ‘I ask ye, what answer do ye give to a wee lad who asks that? Then I thought I was a very clever fellow when, seeing a dying flower, its head hanging, I pointed to it, telling him, “It is when you become very tired like that flower.” And the child looked at me, but didn’t say a word until we had gone some distance, and then he said, “It sort of goes away?”
‘“Yes. Yes, that’s it, laddie, it sort of goes away,” I said. And then what d’ye think he came out with? He said, “I go away like the flower and teacher, don’t I? But I come back. But one day I won’t, after I have written my name and address, and I know everybody is happy.” And straight away he said, “I am tired, Mr Mac. Will ye carry me?” I’m telling ye, Mrs A, I don’t know how I got that boy into the house, and then any moment I could have broken down in front of the mistress. I’ve always known that the child was fey…oh, from when he went into his first quiet periods, because then he reminded me of a tale me granny used to tell about a child such as he. He was the son of the laird, and as a young girl me granny worked at the house. She said the child could prophesy things. I thought it all a tale until the first time I saw the linty here go into one of his quiet periods. Then there was Miss White. She was of the same ken, and I’ll tell ye something that neither ye nor the mistress knows. I’ve heard them talking together, when they weren’t talking like child and teacher. Twice I’ve heard them at it. It was in the orchard one day. They weren’t aware that I was so near. She quoted some poetry. I had no idea of what it was ’cos I get no further than my Robbie, but I knew it was poetry and I knew that he capped the last two lines of it, and then they laughed together.’
He now reached out and took up the mug of cocoa which he almost drained at one go, then, wiping the back of his mouth on his hand he looked down at her and said, ‘There’s more things in heaven and earth than this world dreams of, is the saying, and there was never such a true one.’ But now he put his hands out quickly and caught her arm, saying, ‘Sit yersel down; don’t look so scared like. Every now and again these things happen.’
When she sat on the edge of the platform he sat beside her, then lifted her hand from her lap and looked at it, the while stroking each of her plump fingers as he said softly, ‘’Tis about time we ceased our fooling and bickering and come into the open, don’t ye think now? Because I’ve had kindly thoughts towards ye for a long time and although I do a lot of talking with me mouth, me head and me heart is lonely at times. I am fifty-eight years old. I have a cottage of my own, and a pension, that’s if ye wanted to go there. But if your thoughts were kindly towards me, we could continue on here and keep me cottage in what you call…abeyance or some such…anyway on the side, in case we should ever need it. What I’m asking of ye now is, would ye consider taking me on?
‘It might seem to ye an odd time to put it after what I’ve just told ye about the boy, but that child is going to leave a big hole in my heart and life when he does go. It may be in weeks, months, or years. And it’ll be the same with ye, I know, because ye’ve brought him up. I’m not thinking only of a lonely future, but also of a lonely now. Oh,’ he paused and stared at her for a moment before he said, ‘I can see by your face that ye need time to get used to the idea, so I’ll leave ye now.’
‘Stay where you are.’ Her voice was breaking, her lids were blinking, her lips were moving one over the other, and the answer she gave him was, ‘You know what you are, Hamish McIntyre? You’re nothing but a great big blind idiot.’
After a moment of staring at her, his smile broadened, his arms came out and around her shoulders, and as he bent down to her he said, ‘I am that. I am that.’
Nyrene was in bed, almost asleep, when the phone rang.
It was Peter, and his voice brought her upright. ‘I’ve slipped out. You can’t phone here in the day because everybody’s got their ears cocked. How are you, darling? Did you get my letter?’
‘Yes, yes, dear, I got your letter. But before we talk about it I must tell you something. It’s been a very odd day here. Two surprising things have happened. The second not so, but the first very surprising: Miss White died last night.’
‘Never! Miss White? She looked so sprightly.’
‘Yes, I know, dear, but apparently she had heart trouble, and what is more she seemed to know when she was going. We’ll discuss that part some time later. But the other thing is, wait for it, there’s an engagement in the house.’
‘Engagement?’
‘Yes. Mac and Mrs A are going to be married.’
‘Well, I’ll be jiggered! Who came to the point first?’
‘I don’t know, but they came to me like two teenagers who had misbehaved themselves. They’re so happy. They’ve got their life ahead all arranged. As far as I can gather they mean to spend it mostly here, above the stables. They’ve got the alterations all in mind. We’re going in tomorrow to buy a ring. Oh yes! They insisted that I and the linty accompany them. I phoned Ivy and Ken, and they phoned the others, and you can imagine what’s going to happen: there’ll be a ceilidh like never before.’
‘Yes, I bet there will be. I’m so glad for them. Yet how strange it should happen on the day Miss White dies.’
‘Yes, I thought so too; and more so after Mac said that it was Miss White who had paved the way for them through Charles. I couldn’t ask him what he meant by that at that particular moment because Mrs A was then telling me they would never leave us. He’s going to rent out his little but an’ ben. He looked so happy.’
Riley did not remark further on this, but said, ‘What did you think about that cheeky piece coming to the theatre?’
She paused before she answered him, saying, ‘Oh, I think she’s keeping to pattern.’
‘What d’you mean, dear?’
‘Just that; she’s the kind of person who will pop up into people’s lives. Some places where she’s wanted, and some she isn’t.’ Then she added, ‘I did get a laugh, though, about the meeting. That’s come in handy a number of times over the years, hasn’t it?’
‘Darling.’
‘Yes?’
‘I miss you. I’m hungry for you.’
‘And I for you, dearest.’
And so it went on until he ran out of change, which necessitated a quick exchange of, ‘Goodnight, darling,’…‘Goodnight, my love.’
When she lay back on her pillow she felt wide awake, and she repeated to herself, ‘Goodnight, my love.’ Love, love, love, that’s what it was all about. Whether or not you were conceived by it, there was always that word love; and after all, what was it made up of? Pain, fear, anxiety, longing, jealousy all threaded together by flashes of ecstasy; and they were just flashes, because the essence of this word was so ephemeral there was no holding it. But obliterating all the other elements of it was the simple necessity of need. This word came under the heading of happiness. But surely you could have happiness without love. The nearness of the other’s body brought comfort without the urge to possess it …
What was she talking about? What was she thinking? Here she was nearing forty-four and desire was in her and more aflame now than it had been five years ago.
Of a sudden she had a longing to be free of it, because then there would be no more wondering whom he was holding in his arms on the stage that night, or whom he was kissing. Oh, the audience liked that, especially at the end of the play. They paid to see emotion, particularly in the raw, and if not in the raw you were expected to touch their hearts in some way sentimentally …
What was the matter with her? Why was she going on like this? She had him; he was hers. There would never be another in his life. He had said so a thousand times, and he meant it. Oh yes he meant it. He must mean it: in six years’ time she would be nearing fifty and he’d be thirty!
Go to sleep, woman! Go to sleep.
Nine
They returned from Aberdeen at about four o’clock in the afternoon after what Hamish pronounced to have been a most joyous day. They were all singing as he swung the car into the byroad. Nyrene was sitting in the front passenger seat and Mrs A was in the back holding on to the bouncing boy who was kneeling up on the seat against the window. In different keys they were singing Ten Green Bottles. They had reached six when Charles’s voice checked them, saying, ‘Look! There’s a lady. A lady in the wood, Mummy.’
He leant forward towards the window and waved his hand now, but by the time both Mrs A and Nyrene had turned to look the car was well along the rutted road, and Mrs A said, ‘Likely someone’s been to the house, ma’am; come in person to see about this drama business: how to become an actress in three easy lessons. That’ll be the idea of some of them, you know, ma’am.’
‘No doubt. No doubt.’ Nyrene was laughing now. ‘Film star in six months or money back.’
Nyrene said ‘Don’t drive in, Hamish, just leave the car outside the back gates because I want to slip over to Ivy’s and I don’t feel like walking.’
So it was because of this that Hamish stopped the car outside the back gates and almost before any of them had alighted the boy had jumped out and was dancing about, and now as he ran back towards the wood he cried, ‘Meet the lady, Mummy.’
Nyrene stood watching him running down the rough road, leaping over exposed roots as he came to them, and she shook her head as she smiled. He’d had a lovely day. He was so happy, and he had behaved most admirably in the town, no running or jumping or leaping about then; and now, in his usual way, he was running to greet a visitor. It was a charming habit he had developed over the last year. The front doorbell just had to ring and he would rush to open it, then hold out his hand to whomsoever was on the step, saying, ‘Hello. Mummy is in.’ It was always just as well she was behind him because every now and then it would be a road hawker or a salesman of one sort or another; but whoever it was the child’s action always brought a pleasant talking point, even if she refused to buy anything. So on this occasion Nyrene thought nothing of his galloping away to greet the visitor whom she herself hadn’t seen, nor apparently had Mrs A.
Mrs A was now leaving the boot from which Hamish had piled several parcels in her arms, and on a light note she cried, ‘Tea up, ma’am, in five minutes.’
‘That’ll be welcome,’ Nyrene called back.
In the meantime the child had almost reached the end of the byroad, and when he saw the lady to whom he had waved, he shouted, ‘Hello! Hello!’ and at this she turned and looked at him.
As he stood before her he smiled. She wasn’t very tall. He could see her face plainly and she wasn’t smiling as he said now, ‘Mummy’s home,’ and when he put out his hand to take hold of hers he received the first real shock of his young life, for the hand came fully across his face in a resounding slap knocking him flying onto his back where for a moment he lay stunned.
Charles’s head was reeling; his cheek was stinging; there was a buzzing in his ear; but through tear-filled eyes he looked up into the distorted face of the visitor and let forth a loud cry: ‘Nasty! Nasty woman! I’ll tell Mr Mac.’ And he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Mr Mac! Mr Mac!’ He turned on his knees and stumbled up and as he went to turn towards home he saw Hamish running towards him, and he pointed backwards crying, ‘The lady…the lady…she slapped me and knocked me over.’
Seeing no sign of anyone in the woodland, Hamish ran to the main road.
Here, there was no-one walking, but in the distance a woman was getting onto a bus. He now returned quickly to the boy and, picking him up, he hurried back to the house and into the kitchen where Mrs A was handing Nyrene a cup of tea which almost fell from both their hands as they turned to look at the sobbing child in Hamish’s arms.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Nyrene was easing her son onto the floor, and the child repeated, ‘The lady…slapped me.’
