A Highland Christmas (7 page)

‘Seen nothing like that.’

Hamish looked around. ‘You can’t do much trade this time of year.’

‘It’s better than sitting at home looking at the telly. I hate Christmas, and that’s a fact.’

‘What will you be doing for Christmas?’

‘Sitting getting drunk and trying not to put my foot through the telly. Do you know they’re going to show
The Sound of Music
again? It’s enough to drive a man
mad.’

‘I tell you what, me and the schoolteacher from Lochdubh are going down on Christmas Day to a concert at an old folks home to try and brighten the folks up. Why don’t you come with
us?’

‘I’m not that old. I’m only sixty-eight.’

‘I’m not old either. But it would be a bit o’ fun.’

Mr McPhee peered at him and then said, ‘Aye, it might be fun. What time would ye be leaving?’

‘I’ll let you know. Wait a bit. I’ll let you know now.’ Hamish took out his mobile phone. He phoned the Underwoods’ number. Bella answered. ‘What time’s
the concert to be held, Bella?’

‘Three in the afternoon, Hamish. We went to see that Mr Wilson and he seemed awfully pleased at the idea.’

‘I’ll be there myself with some friends.’

‘Good. See you then.’

Hamish rang off. ‘I’ll pick you up at two o’clock.’

Mr McPhee looked quite animated. ‘Dearie me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know when I last had an outing since the wife died.’

‘When did she die?’

‘Two years ago.’ Bleak loneliness stared out of his eyes. For some reason, Hamish found himself thinking again about Mrs Gallagher. What a miserable lonely life she led!

‘That’s fine,’ he said to Mr McPhee. ‘I’ll see you Christmas Day.’

He asked various locals around the village if they had seen any youths about and then drove home to the police station. There was a fax waiting for him from Strathbane. He studied the list of
petty thefts. They seemed to be spread all over the place. He studied the list again closely. Any youths who would take lights and a Christmas tree were not experienced thieves. They probably
roamed around picking up stuff that was easy to lift. His eyes settled on the thefts in the Lairg area. A crofter had had a toolbox taken from a shed, another, a generator, a third, a supply of cut
planks with which he had intended to build a henhouse.

He would take a drive over to Lairg in the morning.

Maisie Pease was on the phone with a friend in Inverness. ‘I’m telling you, Lucy,’ she said with a giggle, ‘I never thought I would end up with the
village policeman. Yes, he’s quite good-looking. We’re going down to some old folks home on Christmas Day for a concert, just the two of us, and then I’ll make him Christmas
dinner, and then who knows what will happen!’

Hamish went along to the general store to buy some groceries early next morning. As he was paying for them, he asked Mr Patel, ‘Do you get many of the schoolchildren pinching
stuff?’

‘Not so many,’ said the Indian shopkeeper, his white teeth gleaming in his brown face. ‘I’ve got these mirrors up, so I usually catch them. Och, it’s nothing for
you to go worrying about, Hamish. I deal with it myself.’

‘Know a wee lassie called Morag Anderson?’

‘Aye, I ken them all.’

‘She ever take anything?’

‘Come on, Hamish, that lassie’s a saint. Always polite. Beautiful manners.’

Hamish took his bag of groceries.

‘Does the shopping for her parents, does she?’

‘No, her mother does that.’

‘Just buys sweets?’

‘Never. She says she isn’t allowed sweets.’

‘No Christmas, no sweets. What a life! What does she buy?’

‘Just some cat food.’

Hamish froze. It couldn’t be, could it?

‘Hamish,’ chided Mr Patel, ‘there’s a queue behind ye.’

‘Sorry.’ Hamish left and stood outside the shop.

‘What’s up with you, Constable?’ demanded a voice. ‘Standing there like a great loon. Shouldn’t you be about your duties?’

Hamish found himself confronted by the Currie sisters, Nessie and Jessie, twins and spinsters of the parish. They both wore tightly buttoned tweed coats and woolly hats over rigidly permed hair.
‘What are you standing there gawking at, gawking at?’ said Jessie who had an irritating way of repeating everything.

Hamish suddenly smiled blindingly down at them. ‘At your beauty, ladies.’

‘Get along with you,’ said Nessie. ‘It’s not our beauty you’re after but that new schoolteacher.’

‘She should be warned, she should be warned,’ said Jessie.

‘Have the Andersons a cat?’ asked Hamish.

‘What? Them at the big villa at the end?’ asked Nessie.

‘Yes, them.’

‘I’ve never seen one, never seen one,’ said Jessie. ‘I shouldn’t think so. Herself is verra houseproud, verra houseproud.’

‘Just wondered,’ said Hamish, ambling off. He went to the police station and stacked away his groceries.

Now let’s go for a mad leap of the imagination, he thought. The saintly Morag steals Mrs Gallagher’s cat. How can she hide it from her parents? Well, her mother had bragged about her
having her own separate apartment at the top of the house.

So I could just go along and ask Mrs Anderson if she has a cat. If she says no, ask her why Morag is buying cat food. I suddenly wish I didn’t have to do this. I suddenly wish it was
someone else.

He hoped he was wrong. The thought of telling Mrs Gallagher made him quail. He had no doubt she would press charges. His heart was heavy as he left the police station and walked along the
waterfront. He had a weak hope they might not be at home. But the factory at Strathbane would be closed for Christmas and no doubt Mr Anderson would be at home, just as he had been when Hamish
first called.

He rang the bell. Mr Anderson answered the door. He drew down his brows in a scowl. ‘If you’ve come here again to lecture us about Christmas, I’ll report you to
headquarters.’

‘I would like to speak to you and your wife. It’s a case of theft.’

Mr Anderson looked taken aback. ‘You’d better come in.’

Hamish walked into the dark sitting room where Mrs Anderson was knitting. She looked up, startled, and a steel knitting needle fell to the floor.

‘This officer is here to talk about a theft,’ said Mr Anderson, ‘although what it’s got to do with us is beyond me.’

‘May I sit down?’ Hamish took off his cap and sat down before they could say anything. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘Mrs Gallagher who lives out on the Cnothan
road, her cat’s disappeared.’

Mrs Anderson goggled at him. ‘What on earth has that got to do with us?’

‘Have you got a cat?’

‘No, we haven’t got a cat!’ raged Mr Anderson. ‘How dare you come here and imply –’

‘Then why is Morag buying cat food?’ said Hamish in a flat voice.

They both stared at him.

Then Mr Anderson went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, ‘Morag! Come down here!’

They waited in silence until Morag came in, small and neat in a crisp white blouse and block-pleated skirt.

‘This officer says you have been buying cat food,’ said her father.

Morag turned pale. ‘I was buying it for someone.’

‘Who?’ asked Hamish gently. ‘I shall check with the person you say you are buying the cat food for.’

Huge tears filled Morag’s eyes and she began to sob. The atmosphere in the room was electric.

Mrs Anderson left the room and went upstairs. Morag stood sobbing.

‘Will ye no sit down, lassie?’ suggested Hamish.

But she continued to cry. Hamish glared at her father. Couldn’t he do something or say something?

Mrs Anderson came back, a smile on her face. ‘Och, there’s no cat up there,’ she said triumphantly. ‘All you’ve done is give Morag a fright.’

‘It still doesn’t explain the cat food,’ said Hamish. ‘Mind if I have a look.?’

‘Oh, go on!’ shouted Mrs Anderson. ‘But a complaint about you goes straight to Strathbane today. Terrorizing children! You’re a monster.’

Hamish went up the thickly carpeted stairs. He went into Morag’s bedroom. It was white and clean; white bedspread, white flounced curtains. He searched around and under the bed. Then he
tried the sitting room and the bathroom without success. There was a door on the landing. He pushed it open. It was a box room full of discarded old furniture and old suitcases. Over by the window,
he saw a bowl of water and a bowl of catfood.

‘Smoky!’ he called.

A faint meow came from one of the suitcases. He noticed it had airholes bored in the sides. He lifted the lid and a small grey-and-white cat blinked up at him. ‘Come here,’ he said
in a soft voice. He picked up the cat, which snuggled under his chin, and went slowly downstairs.

Mrs Anderson screamed when she saw him with the cat and Mr Anderson began to shout and rave at his daughter. She was a limb of Satan. How could she do this after all they had done for her?

‘I wanted something to love that would love me back,’ said Morag, now past crying.

‘Did you go into Mrs Gallagher’s house and take the cat?’ asked Hamish.

‘No,’ she said, her voice little above a whisper. ‘I was walking up by her croft after school and I saw the cat. It came up to me. It likes me. Smoky
loves
me. I thought
I would take Smoky home and play with him for a bit. That’s all. Then I was too frightened to take him back.’

Hamish turned to the parents. ‘Look here. No harm done. I’ve got the cat. Why don’t I just tell Mrs Gallagher I found it wandering by the road? You don’t want charges
against Morag.’

‘There will be no lying!’ thundered Mr Anderson. ‘You will take Morag and that animal to Mrs Gallagher. It is up to her to punish the girl.’

Hamish looked at him in disgust. ‘Aye, I’ll do that and then I’ll be back to have a word with you. Get your coat, Morag, and put a scarf on. It’s cold out.’

He walked with the now silent Morag along the waterfront to where the police Land Rover was parked outside the station. ‘I want you to take Smoky and hold him on your
lap, tight,’ he ordered. ‘Cats are sometimes scared if they’re not used to motors.’

Morag gently took the cat from him and climbed into the passenger seat. In a bleak little voice, she asked, ‘Will I go to hell?’

‘Och, no,’ said Hamish, letting in the clutch. ‘Don’t you have the telly?’

She shook her head miserably.

‘Well, it was on the news. Hell’s been abolished. Fact. Trust me. You read your Bible, don’t you?’

A nod.

‘I mean the New Testament?’

Nod, again.

‘Don’t ye know the bit about there being more rejoicing in heaven over the entrance of one sinner than that of an honest man, or something like that?’

Her wide eyes looked up at him, startled.

‘I am the law,’ said Hamish grandly, ‘and I wouldnae lie tae ye.’

When they got to Mrs Gallagher’s croft, he said, ‘Give me the cat and wait there. No running away.’

Cradling Smoky against his chest, he knocked at the door. Only one lock clicked and the door was opened.

‘Oh, God, it’s Smoky,’ said Mrs Gallagher. Tears of relief coursed down her face. Hamish was beginning to feel like Alice in the pool of tears.

‘I want to talk to you about it,’ said Hamish, following her in.

She looked at him sharply. ‘Smoky hasn’t been wandering the fields. He’s well fed and clean.’

‘Aye. Let me tell you the story.’

He sat down and told her all about Morag, about her strict parents, about how she seemed to have every material comfort but nothing in the way of love. ‘She said she only wanted something
to love that would love her back. Wait!’ He held up his hand, seeing the anger on Mrs Gallagher’s face. ‘I was going to lie to you. It’s bad enough you bitching to
grown-ups, but I didn’t want you taking your spite out on a wee girl. I wanted to tell you I had just found Smoky wandering about, but those parents from hell made me bring the girl up here,
and you can press charges if you want and give the poor bairn a criminal record.’

‘She’s outside?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bring her in.’

‘All right,’ said Hamish wearily. ‘What a Christmas!’

He went out to the Land Rover and said to Morag, ‘You’d best come in and apologize.’

Morag climbed down and then stood looking up at him, her eyes wide with fright. ‘She’s a witch. Everyone says so.’

‘She’s only something that rhymes with it. Witches were abolished in the eighteenth century. I am the law and that is the fact, so stop having these stupid ideas.’

They went into the croft house, Hamish gently nudging Morag in front of him.

Morag stood before Mrs Gallagher. ‘I am so very sorry,’ she whispered.

Mrs Gallagher looked at Hamish. ‘Get out of here, Officer, and let me have a word with the girl.’ Hamish hesitated. ‘Go on. I’m not going to eat her.’

Hamish reluctantly went outside and got into the Land Rover. He had given up smoking some years ago and now he was glad there were no shops nearby. He had a sudden sharp craving for a cigarette.
He waited and waited. At last he could bear it no longer. He went back to the croft house and walked in.

Mrs Gallagher and Morag were sitting in front of the television set. Morag had Smoky on her lap. Mrs Gallagher stood up and said to Hamish, ‘A word with you outside.’

Hamish walked out with her, and Mrs Gallagher turned to him. ‘You can go back to her parents and tell them that Morag’s punishment is that she’s to come up here every afternoon
during the school holidays. Tell them it’s a community service.’

Hamish grinned and bent down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll pick her up at five o’clock,’ he said. He marched off to the Land Rover.

Hamish drove off whistling. Now for those parents.

When he followed Mr Anderson into the sitting room, the angry words he had rehearsed died on his lips. Mrs Anderson had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen. More tears,
thought Hamish. What a day for tears!

‘It has turned out all right,’ he said evenly, ‘but no thanks to you. Mrs Gallagher wants Morag to go to her every afternoon during the holidays as a sort of community service.
Morag is with her at the moment and will be home at five. Now, she was wrong to take the cat, but it seems to me that a lassie with no friends and grim parents needed something to love.’