Blackstone's Pursuits (13 page)

‘Now the second and third generations of weekenders are there. Yuppies, most of them are.’

Prim laughed as my mouth curled with distaste. ‘Intolerant bugger, aren’t you. I’ll bet that in Anstruther, they think you’re a Yuppie too!’ I looked at her in mock horror. ‘No. I’m Mac the Dentist’s son, him that works in Edinburgh. Jan More, she’s the teachers’ lassie, her that used tae hang about wi’ Mac the Dentist’s son. In Enster, there’s no way any of us can get too big for our Wellies.’

‘No,’ she said, almost involuntarily. ‘Otherwise there wouldn’t be room for the sheep.’ I looked at her astonished, but she stayed poker-faced and went on. ‘Do Jan’s parents still live there?’

‘Her Mother does. Her Father, fool that he was, traded her in for a younger model years ago. Lives in the West somewhere. Jan never sees him.’

Prim glanced at me, as she took a corner. ‘You and Jan. It is “used to”, isn’t it?’

‘It is now. Jan and I have known each other since we were in our prams. We were best pals when we were kids. As we grew up, things happened between us almost automatically. Everybody in Enster - that’s Fifer-speak for Anstruther by the way - everyone assumed we’d get married, and I supposed that we did too for a while. But eventually, once we hit our twenties, we realised that we weren’t meant for that. We weren’t on fire for each other. So ever since then we’ve settled for being the best of pals, and occasional lovers. We’ll go on being the best of pals.’

Prim nodded. ‘Good. I like her. Is there anyone else in her life?’

‘There sure is, as you’ll find out in time.’

‘Oooh. Mysterious, is he. I’ll look forward to meeting him.’

The cloak of night was sweeping across the fields as we drove the last few miles, through Colinsburgh, and into Pittenweem. We were both starving, and since Pittenweem’s fish and chip shop is legendary far beyond Fife, we stopped there to pick up supper, and extra chips for my Dad.

The lumpy brown paper parcel was hot in my lap as we swung into Anstruther and pulled into the drive. Dad’s house faces out to sea, and his surgery is built on to the back, so that the patients don’t have to trail through the hall spitting blood on the lino, or worse, on the carpet. Once upon a time that’s how it was, until my Mum put her foot down, and made him move his business out back.

We parked at the side of the house and walked round to the front. The moon was up, turning the cold, blue river mouth to silver. We stopped and looked across Dad’s immaculate garden, and out to sea. ‘This is lovely, Oz,’ said Prim. ‘And you grew up here.’

‘Yup. My Dad would say I’m still growing up.’

I looked up at the big bay window of my Dad’s living room. The curtains hadn’t been pulled - they never were - and the blueish glow of the television shone in the dark. In the window above, my Dad’s bedroom, a light shone.

I have my own key, but when I turned it in the Yale and pushed the front door, it was stopped by a chain. ‘Dad,’ I shouted. ‘It’s me. Come and undo this thing. The fish suppers are getting cold.’ There was no immediate response, and so I rang the bell. Eventually, a muffled cursing sounded from behind the door and the hall light was switched on.

‘For fuck’s sake Oz, you might have let me know!’ My Father’s voice came from behind the door as he fiddled with the chain. After a few seconds, the door swung open wide, and my Dad, Mac the Dentist, stood there, in his big, old dressing gown. His jaw dropped as he saw us, me holding the fish suppers and Prim lugging our travel bag.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said. ‘I never thought. Anyway, you know me, I like surprises. And this one’s a cracker. Dad, this is my new friend, Primavera Phillips. Prim, this is the man you wanted to meet, Macintosh Blackstone, LDS, the bugger who christened me Osbert!’

My Dad shook his head. ‘Jesus, I don’t know. Come in and welcome, lassie. I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve this guy for company, but I’ll do my best to see that he behaves himself.

‘As far as surprises go, Oz my boy, two of us can play that game.’

In all my life, I’ve never managed to put one over on my Father. He is absolutely the most resourceful, wise, devious, cunning and artful old bastard that I know.

We stepped into the hall and it was my turn for the dropping jaw. I saw her feet first as she came down the stairs, then black slacks, then a colourful blouse, and finally ... ‘Auntie Mary!’

Mary More, Jan’s Mother, has been an honorary aunt all my days, except at primary school when I had to call her ‘Miss’ like all the rest of the teachers. For all that she is fifty-three, she is still a slim, handsome woman, and, according to her daughter, a walking testimonial to the benefits of hormone replacement therapy.

She smiled, and tossed her carefully maintained auburn chest. ‘Hello Oz. Are you still playing detectives or is this a pure accident?’

‘Accident, Mary, honest. If I’d known, I’d have ...’

‘What,’ said my Dad, ‘stayed away? Don’t be daft. Drop that bag and get through to the kitchen. There’ll be no fish suppers in my living room. Hope you’ve got some chips for us. Primavera ... lovely name ... would you like tea or coffee, or something else?’

Auntie Mary took charge. ‘Mac. Upstairs and get yourself dressed. I’ll take care of the tea or whatever. What will it be, my dear?’

She looked at Prim with a friendly, enquiring smile, but hidden in there I caught a line of communication, an inflection in her gaze. I know that she wouldn’t have meant to let it show, but I caught it clearly. It told me that I had just snapped the last faint thread between Mary and an unspoken wish, one that I never dreamt was there, that eventually Jan and I
would
be a couple, that we would toe the line and become a conventional pair of thirty-somethings, with a house in an acceptable suburb, a decent car in the garage and two point four cats or whatever. Poor Mary; if I’d only known, I could have told her long ago. Jan did tell her, but now it was clear that she never quite believed it.

But the look passed. Prim glanced across at me, and I rescued her. ‘I think what we really need is to raid the fridge, Mary. Unless that old bugger’s finished the Becks’ I left here last time.’

She laughed. ‘No chance of that. You know how your Dad feels about beer that doesn’t come in pints.’ She turned again to Prim. ‘We haven’t been introduced, dear. I’m Mary More. Don’t let the “Auntie” stuff give you awful ideas about Mac and me. “Friend of the family” is how I am best described.

‘How long have you known young Osbert here?’

I held my breath. Prim grinned and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Who knows? The moment I met him it was as if he’d always been there.’

‘That’s it then,’ said Mary. ‘Just make sure you always are, Oz.’ She led the way into the kitchen, and reached into the cupboard above one of the kitchen worksurfaces, to produce two white dinner plates. I noticed that she knew exactly where to look.

Prim unwrapped the fish suppers and loaded one on to each plate, while I knocked the tops off of two cold Becks’. I held one out to Mary, but she shook her head. ‘No thanks Oz, I must be off home.’

‘Don’t be daft, Mary. Just because we’re here ...’

Her eyebrows arched, in much the same way they had when someone spoke in class. ‘As if I would bother about that! Oh no, you don’t think I stay over do you? Remember where you are. This is Anstruther. The first time my bedroom light doesn’t go on after
News At Ten
the jungle drums will be sounding all over town.’ My Dad appeared, as she spoke, in the kitchen doorway, looking reasonably tidy in a crew-neck sweater and grey trousers. Too bad about the trainers, though. ‘Isn’t that right, Mac?’

‘Oh aye. Ps and Qs must be watched. I think they’re on to us though. We went along to Elie for a meal in the Ship a few weeks back. One of my patients was in. Ever since then I’ve been getting funny looks in the paper shop.’ He took Mary’s hand. ‘Come on, hen. Let’s be daring. I’ll walk you home.’

‘Indeed you will not! Besides, you’ve got your chips to finish. Goodnight both.’ A wave and she was gone. Dad was allowed to see her to the back door, her shortcut home, and then he was back, plopping himself beside us at the big, pine kitchen table and wolfing his chips straight from the paper.

‘Well,’ he said, between mouthfuls, as we tore into the Pittenweem haddock, ‘what brought you two up here unannounced, interrupting my Friday night tryst?’

I swallowed some of my Becks‘, from the bottle. I’m not a poser, honest. It really is the best way to drink it. ‘Spur of the moment, really, Dad. We just decided it was time for you to meet Prim.’

‘Mmm. And delighted I am too. You’ve been sharing your life with a fucking lizard for far too long!’

He looked across at Primavera. ‘Pardon the barrackroom talk, my dear. It’s the way we are, Osbert and I. We used the word to give emphasis to a point.’

Prim, resting from her attack on the fish and chips, propped both elbows on the table and took her beer in both hands. ‘That’s all right, Mr Blackstone. I’ve been in barrackrooms, in Africa. You should hear, and see, how those boys emphasise their points.’

Dad smiled. ‘I can see you’re going to fit in around here. There’s one thing though. To everyone but that insolent bugger there, my name is Mac. Fair enough?’

She nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

We went back to our fish suppers, but before the end, I realised that I was flagging. I looked across at Prim, and I could see that she was drooping too. I glanced at my watch. It was 10.30 p.m. We had been flying, with precious little sleep, for thirty-six hours. Now the tanks were empty and we were both ready to crash.

She caught my glance, and looked at Dad. ‘Mac, would you mind if I had a bath and went to bed?’

‘Not at all, the pair of you look as if you’ve got a fair few miles on your clocks. Oz, show the lady where we keep the zinc bath.’

My room looks out across the Firth too. It used to be Ellen’s, by right of primogeniture (there’s a big word for a simple boy), but as soon as she left home for good I moved myself in there. I held Prim, in the dark, and we looked out of the window across the river. Night had fallen completely now and we could see the lights on May Island, closest to us this time, across on the Bass Rock and further along on Fidra, as each lanced its different signal into the night.

‘D’you want to watch the sun come up again?’

She turned and kissed me, her lips tasting richly of salt and vinegar. ‘No, my dear, I want to sleep till around midday, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Sleep as long as you like, as long as you don’t waken me.’

‘There’s no danger of that,’ she whispered, kissing me again, and smiling. ‘Because you’ll be next door.’

I put yet another gallant proposition to her, but she silenced me with a finger on my lips. ‘Oz, you’re too knackered to do me justice.’ I had to admit it: she was right.

I checked to make sure that there was a sheet on the bed under the duvet. There was, and the pillow slips were crisp and fresh. ‘You sleep here, then,’ I said. ‘Have your bath, and I’ll go down and crack another beer with the old man. He’s dreaming if he thinks he’s going to get away without being interrogated about Auntie Mary!’

I produced a couple of big, fluffy towels and my spare dressing gown from the hall cupboard, and showed her where the bathroom was, at the end of the landing. The bath was huge and deep and had been there since the house was built. When I was really wee, I could swim in it. There was even some scented stuff, for making bubbles. I leaned over to twist on the brass taps. By the time I straightened up and turned around Prim was half undressed. Her shirt was on the floor, her skirt was unfastened, and her bra hung from her shoulders, loose and unclipped.

Her erect nipples, showing clearly through the lace fabric, tilted slightly upwards; they caught and held me like a burglar in a searchlight. I reached for her. She smiled, and put her hands on my chest. ‘I know bravado when I see it, my man. Go and have that beer. I’ll leave the water in the bath. From the size of this thing, even half-full it’ll drain the tank.’

I nodded, kissed her, said farewell to her glorious headlamps and went back downstairs. My Dad was still in the kitchen, finishing the chips that we had left. I uncapped another bottle and we went through to the living room, where he poured himself a whisky. A very small whisky, I was pleased to see.

He slumped into his chair, facing the window, and I sprawled on the couch. There were no lamps on, and since it was early summer, the fire was unlit. Dad and I like to sit in the moonlight. A pair of lunatics, he says.

He sipped his malt. ‘I like your lady, Oz. She’s for you. How long have you known her?’

I smiled in the shadows. ‘If I tell you, you’ll really think I’m daft.’

‘Always have, always will. Come on.’

‘Okay then. I met her yesterday morning. Go on then, laugh.’

But he didn’t. His domed grey head slumped, and his wise eyes stared into the hearth, at the fire screen that my Mum embroidered the year before she died, as if he was looking into the past ... as he was.

‘Son,’... he only ever calls me that when he’s being deadly serious ... ‘the day I met your mother, I said to myself, “I’m going to marry her.” The next day, I said it to her. She said, “All right, now that’s sorted out let’s take some time to get to know each other.” I’m not going to laugh at you, boy, because I’ve been there. Good luck to you both.’

He looked across at me and I saw his eyes glisten.

‘Thanks, Dad.’ I didn’t have anything more to say.

He did. ‘One thing, though. Your moments haven’t had spurs on them since you were about fourteen. What’s brought you tearing up here when by rights you should still be shacked up in that loft of yours?’

I shook my head. ‘Tomorrow, Dad, tomorrow.

‘Anyway, enough about me. What’s with you and Auntie Mary then? I knew you’d been seeing a bit of each other, but I didn’t realise how much. How long’s this been going on?’