Anne Douglas (2 page)

‘What young man?’ She’d laughed a little. ‘You mean, Terry Mackenzie? That’s all over – didn’t I tell you?’

‘Didn’t even tell me,’ Monnie said.

‘Well, it’s true. We’ve parted. He’s sweet, but you know how it is – we got tired. So, don’t worry about me, Dad, and don’t worry about Monnie, either. You do what you want to do, and we’ll tag along.’

‘No, I’ve decided. I won’t apply for the job, and there’s an end to it. Subject closed.’

‘Let’s look at the map,’ was Lynette’s only reply. ‘Let’s see where we might end up.’

And that was the first time they’d looked up their possible destination on their father’s Ordnance Survey map of Scotland. That same map Lynette was once again pulling out from the bookshelves now, smiling so brightly, so confidently. As though it would do any good, thought Monnie, to look at the map again. As though it could change anything, to see where they would be going.

There was the same lengthy journey they’d already studied, laid out on the map in white, pale green and brown signifying land and woods and hills, with pale blue for lochs, or, at the edge of the land, the sea. There were some roads, of course, and the first time they’d run their fingers along them, just trying to see how they’d lead to the little place opposite Skye which would be their dad’s objective.

‘There it is,’ he’d said, pointing with a long finger. ‘Conair, a wee village beyond Glenelg, where the advert says there’s a big old house that’s now the hostel. To get to it, as we’ve no car, we’d have to take a train to Kyle of Lochalsh, then bus back down and over the Mam Ratagan Pass. Och, you should see the scenery from there, girls! The Five Sisters of Kintail! Magnificent!’

When had he seen the scenery? He reminded them of his early climbing holidays taken before he was married, when he and friends, one with an old banger, had come up to the Highlands. Camped and climbed and toured about, admiring the views, having a whale of a time on so little money, the girls wouldn’t believe . . .

‘Still remember that ancient motor boiling over on the top of every hill,’ Frank added, laughing. ‘Och, we were young, we were lucky – the Highlands gave us memories we never forgot.’

And then he and his girls were silent, thinking of other memories never to be forgotten, and he had put away his map, asking who knew if he’d need it, anyway? He hadn’t even applied for the job yet.

Now, of course, he’d been offered the job and out had come the map again, the girls following the railway line – the Kyle line, as it was called, from Inverness. And it seemed to them as long a trek as the road, even though Frank said, no, it was only eighty miles, it wouldn’t take more than two hours or so.

Anyway, there was no point in considering it all now. He’d yet to make up his mind what he would do, and in the meantime, had they forgotten that they were all due out at work? Lynette to her job as shorthand typist in a lawyer’s office, Monnie to a bookshop which she pretty well ran for its absent-minded owner, and Frank to a council-run centre for disturbed young people.

‘Oh, my, mustn’t be late for your delinquent boys!’ cried Lynette, teasingly, as she and Monnie rushed around, tidying up, piling dishes in the sink, putting on heavy winter coats against the January weather. But Frank’s look, as he prepared to leave, was reproachful.

‘Now, now, they’re not delinquents, Lynette. Just laddies who’ve had a bad start. We have to do what we can to set them on the right path.’

‘Doesn’t mean you won’t be glad of a change away from them,’ Monnie told him, pulling on her winter boots that were warm but not as fashionable as Lynette’s. ‘I think you’re doing the right thing, Dad, getting away.’

‘We’ll see,’ he replied, and then was off, hurrying down the stairs, leaving the girls to lock up, calling back, ‘No tea for me tonight, remember, I’m on duty. I won’t be back till nine.’

‘OK, Dad,’ Lynette replied. And in a low voice, said to Monnie, ‘You know, when we said we’d go with him, the truth is, I never thought he’d get the job – did you?’

‘I’d no idea.’ Monnie was frowning. ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have said you’d go, if you thought he’d be successful?’

‘No! No, of course not.’ As Lynette tapped away down the stairs in her smart boots, she was shaking her head. ‘I just thought – well, we might not have to go, anyway.’

At the front door, she turned back to look at her sister. ‘I mean, I thought they’d be sure to have a Highlander in mind.’

‘They chose Dad, Highlander or not, and I’m glad. It’s like I said, I think he’s doing the right thing.’

‘If he goes.’

‘He’ll go, all right, now he knows he needn’t leave us behind.’

‘And you’re happy about that too?’

‘You know how I feel about it, Lynette.’ Monnie pulled open the front door of the tenement and shuddered as the full force of the wind met her. ‘Exactly the same as you.’

‘A wee bit afraid?’

‘Apprehensive.’

‘Ooh, such a long word!’ Lynette laughed, as they banged the door behind them. ‘Anybody can tell you work in a bookshop, Monnie!’

‘Not for much longer,’ Monnie retorted.

Three

As Monnie had predicted, Frank decided in the end to take the warden’s job.

‘I feel guilty about it,’ he told the girls, ‘but you’ve persuaded me. And it seems you really want to come with me as well. That’s what’s settled it.’ He ran his hand through his hair, as he so often did when confronting difficulties. ‘I could never have gone without you.’

‘No need to think about it any more,’ they were quick to reassure him. ‘Like you said, it’s settled. We all go to the Highlands.’

They’d expected him to smile, to relax, but he still looked as though he was considering difficulties.

‘Dad, aren’t you pleased?’ Monnie ventured at last. ‘We know there’ll be things to sort out, but we can do that, eh? I mean, Lynette and me, we aren’t stupid. We don’t think we can just walk out of the door.’

‘That’s true,’ Lynette chimed. ‘We know we have to decide what to do.’ Her eyes went round the living room where they were sitting. ‘About this flat, for instance.’

‘Aye, you’ll have been thinking about that,’ Frank murmured.

He took up the envelope he’d received from the Hostel Association and shook out its contents. ‘But let’s take another look at what we’ve got, eh? First, there’s this picture of Conair House. Looks pretty grand, eh? Built in what somebody called Scottish Baronial style, I believe.’

The girls studied the photograph of the house that had become the hostel. Scottish Baronial was right. Built of solid grey stone, it was all turrets, cupolas, and narrow windows, with a great studded door as its entrance, and massed shrubs and lawn as its setting. The distant hills of Skye formed a backdrop, and in the foreground, groups of young people, some in climbing gear, were sitting on the grass, smiling into the camera.

‘Certainly looks grand,’ Lynette remarked. ‘At least, from the outside. I’d have thought they’d have turned it into a hotel.’

‘My thoughts, too,’ Frank agreed. ‘In fact, I made that point at the interview, but I was told there were already hotels in the area. Anyway, the owner had gone bankrupt, wanted a quick sale and took the association’s offer. Which pleased them no end, as you can imagine.’

He took up another photograph, this time of the outside of a small modern building.

‘And this here’s the warden’s annexe where we’ll be living, attached to the back of the main house. Not too bad, eh? Got all we need, I think?’

Two bedrooms, sitting room, kitchen, bathroom.

Yes, sounded OK. There were no pictures of the interior, so the girls would just have to hope for the best, but at least they’d have their own place.

‘The main thing is, the rent’s very low,’ Frank said earnestly. ‘Practically what they call a peppercorn. That’s a key factor in taking the job. A real plus, like the car, eh?’

‘Oh, the car!’

The sisters were all smiles. They’d never expected that the warden would be provided with a car, but as Frank pointed out, knowing what public transport was like in the Highlands, he’d certainly need it. It was only an old Morris, apparently, but a godsend, anyway, and if he had time he’d teach the girls to drive.

‘Did ask me at the interview if I could drive,’ he added, ‘and I was damned glad I’d learned, even though I never did manage to afford to run a car.’

‘Was it that guy who took you to the Highlands who taught you?’ asked Monnie, and Frank raised his eyebrows.

‘Fancy you guessing that. Yes, it was Bobby Gregor. He was a natural for anything to do with motors. Had us all driving in no time. Of course, it was easier then. So little traffic.’

‘Looks like Monnie and me will have to buy ourselves bikes, though.’ Lynette said with a sigh. ‘I mean, even if we learn to drive, we won’t have the car and we’ll have to get to work somehow. We are going to have to find jobs, you know.’

‘I know.’ Frank heaved a sigh. ‘That’s another reason for me feeling bad – you girls having to give up your jobs here. But seems there might be something going attached to the hostel.’

‘Some jobs?’

‘One job. I’ve just found the info about it. The assistant warden is leaving at the same time as the warden himself. They’re having local interviews for the post, and I thought one of you might apply.’

‘Assistant warden?’ Lynette pondered the idea for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Doesn’t sound my cup of tea. Monnie, how about you?’

‘I wouldn’t mind having a go. If they don’t mind that I’m your daughter.’

‘I’d have nothing to do with the interviews, and there’s a precedent already,’ Frank told her. ‘The reason the assistant warden is leaving with the warden is that she’s his wife. So, there you are. You’d be in with a chance, Monnie, if you apply. But Lynette, what about you? There may not be much call for shorthand and typing up where we’re going.’

‘Oh, come on, I might have to travel but I’ll find something I can do. No need to worry, Dad.’

‘You make life sound so easy, Lynette.’

‘It is easy! If you don’t make it hard.’

‘You’re like Ma,’ Monnie commented. ‘That’s just the sort of thing she used to say to me.’

‘Well, you’re like Dad here. You worry too much.’

‘Can’t all be the same,’ Frank said and sat back in his chair, his eyes travelling round the living room. ‘But don’t tell me you haven’t been worrying about leaving here, eh?’

Lynette glancing at Monnie, said softly, ‘We have, then. This is our home.’

‘Mine, too,’ said Frank.

‘What will happen, Dad?’ Monnie whispered. ‘To all the things?’

Like their father, she and Lynette were looking at their surroundings. At their home. At the furnishings and possessions they’d known all their lives.

Framed Scottish scenes their parents had been given as wedding presents. Books crammed into shelves. Cushions their mother had made; the hooked rug she’d worked during the war with any materials she could find; her jars and bottles, her pots and pans, cups and saucers, plates on the dresser, photographs . . .

‘Dad, where will everything go?’ Lynette asked. ‘I’ve been lying awake at night, wondering.’

‘Into storage?’ Monnie asked. ‘That’ll cost a lot.’

‘Can’t leave ’em for a new tenant, can we? And there’ll have to be a new tenant.’

‘Well, we’re not giving them up! Dad, we’re not doing that, are we?’

‘No, we’re not giving them up.’

Frank took out his cigarettes and lit one, shaking his head at Lynette who had stretched out her hand towards the packet.

‘You shouldn’t be smoking, Lynette, it’s bad for you.’

‘How about you then?’ she demanded, tossing back her hair. ‘You’ve been smoking like a chimney lately.’

‘That’s just because I’ve had so much to think about. Once I’m away and settled, I’ll cut down.’

‘So what are you thinking now?’ Monnie asked, the look on his face suddenly making her feel hopeful. ‘About our flat?’

He paused for a pleasurable little effect. ‘That I’ll keep it on. You didn’t imagine I could let it go?’

‘You mean, pay the landlord the rent, same as usual?’ Lynette asked. ‘But, Dad, you can’t afford it! When you’ll be paying out somewhere else.’

‘Didn’t I say the rent of the warden’s flat was a key factor for me in taking the job? It’s so small, I can afford to keep this flat on and, quite frankly, if I couldn’t have done that, I wouldn’t be moving. I want to make a new life, it’s true, but I’d never part with this place. With all its memories? No.’

As the girls stared, too wrapped up in their emotions to speak, he drew strongly on his cigarette, his gaze far away. Then he brought it back, to fix on his daughters’ faces.

‘And then you have to think, as well, what would happen if something went wrong up there in the Highlands and we’d no home of our own.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not stupid, either. We had to have a Plan B, eh?’

‘Oh, Dad!’

The girls, laughing, ran to him and hugged him, tears stinging their eyes.

‘Makes all the difference,’ Monnie sniffed. ‘To know we’re not saying goodbye to everything here.’

‘All the difference,’ Lynette agreed, blowing her nose. ‘But will the flat be OK, Dad, with no one in it?’

‘Well, I thought of asking Mrs Logan or someone to come in from time to time and give it a dust etcetera, and then it should be fine in the summer. For the winter, I might get a fellow I know from work to come in as a sublet. I’ll have to get permission, but he’s a good careful guy, lives with his mother but wouldn’t mind a break. Don’t worry, we’ll sort something out.’

‘We can always pack some of the stuff away in our room, I suppose,’ Lynette suggested. ‘But we will be taking some things with us, eh? I mean, photos and pictures, Ma’s cushions, maybe?’

‘Oh, sure, we’ll want to make the new place homely. I’ll leave it to you to sort out what you want to take, and then we’ll send them on.’ Frank stubbed out his cigarette. ‘The main thing is that we’re keeping our home here and that you’re both happy. You are, eh?’