Tombstoning (24 page)

She thought about Gary’s funeral. The look on Gary’s parents’ faces as they stood by the graveside. This was real life, and it hurt. She didn’t know the details of David’s visit to Condor, but he’d said it was useless. Maybe that was for the best. She sensed that David was being drawn towards Neil somehow, but what good would that do?

David was greeted at work on Monday morning with an official written reprimand for poor timekeeping. One more warning and he was out the door. It was bullshit, really, an excuse to fire him. He wasn’t the most punctual, but then neither was anyone else, and if they were being strict they would have to fire every bastard in the whole of Still Waters, something they would probably be doing soon enough anyway.

He spent the day on the internet trying to work out how to find Neil. It turned out there was a huge online industry based around trying to find people, most of which involved credit card details and a fee. He tried the free ones first, directory inquiries and the like, but there were no Cargills listed for Auchmithie. He tried for Arbroath and got 150 replies but none with the N initial. He eventually bit the bullet and signed up for a service which claimed to trawl through electoral rolls, birth, death, marriage and divorce certificates, title deeds, land registers, bad debtor lists and so on. By the end of the day, for his thirty-five quid he had a long email detailing just about everything he already knew about Neil Cargill, and precious little else. Born in Arbroath in 1969, went to school, joined the Marines in 1988, left in 1992, joined the police force the same year, left in 1994, parents died the same year, not long after that he sold the family home and then… nothing. He just disappeared. He wasn’t on any of the lists they’d searched: not registered to vote, or to pay tax or receive benefits, or with any banks or credit card companies, he didn’t seem to own any property, or run a business, or even exist. Except Nicola’s dad said he had turned up in Auchmithie only a couple of years ago. So much for the paper trail.

David thought about complaining to the internet company who had essentially just fleeced him, but then he started wondering about how easy it might be to simply hide yourself away, to disappear from society if you wanted to. Presumably he had been trained in the Marines how to survive on his own, how to use the land resourcefully to stay alive. He wondered if there were many people doing that in Scotland – it seemed unlikely, more like the kind of thing you’d hear about people doing in the States. But then there was plenty of room in this country, plenty of space to disappear into if you wanted, there was that whole big dumb middle of the country with nothing in it but hills and forests if you seriously wanted to be on your own. And he had no way of knowing if Neil had even stayed in the country. He was a trained fighting machine – maybe he was abroad somewhere, earning money as a mercenary? David was letting his imagination get away with him, but it was possible, wasn’t it? Or then again, maybe he had changed his name and identity, and he
was
still living in Scotland. But wouldn’t that show up on this internet search he’d just paid for? Not if he hadn’t done it officially, if he was living under an assumed name somewhere, keeping himself out of mischief, and nobody was asking questions.

By the end of the day, he was no further forward. As he struggled across town through the festival traffic (would this fucking festival never end, he thought) he realized that there was only one thing he could do. Neil had last been spotted in Auchmithie two years ago, so he would go there and ask. It was simple. Maybe if he asked the right question to the right person, he might get a lead. Sitting baking on a sweaty bus stuck in traffic on South Bridge, he resolved to go back up north at the weekend, see what he could uncover.

During the week, the good weather finally broke. Thunder and lightning rolled across Edinburgh, pellets of rain punching free from bellies of clouds and down onto the city, leaving behind squally showers and the fresh smell of wet concrete. David phoned Nicola to tell her what he had planned and, more importantly, just to hear her voice again. He had spent the last few days obsessing about Neil, but every time he thought of Nicola he perked up a little, and would feel a slight pang of regret that he wasn’t with her at that moment. He wanted to concentrate on her, on making sure this relationship (that’s what he was calling it now, he realized) worked, but he kept getting sidetracked with this search for Neil.

‘You’re beginning to get the hang of the “treat ’em mean” thing, I see,’ said Nicola.

‘What?’

‘We finally get round to shagging on Saturday, and it takes you until Wednesday to phone?’

‘Jesus, Nicola, I’m sorry but I’ve…’

‘I’m joking, you idiot. Wind up. What happened to your sense of humour?’

‘I’ve been a bit preoccupied the last few days.’

‘Let me guess – Neil Cargill?’

‘Wow, telepathy, I’ll need to add that to the list of your many gifts.’

‘You’re compiling a list of my many gifts?’

‘Not really.’

‘But if you were, what would be on it?’

‘You know, the usual – wit, beauty, charm, intelligence, ability to fuck outdoors at the drop of a hat.’

‘Yes, that is one of my best attributes. I notice wit came before beauty in that list. Funnier than I am pretty, aye?’

‘Well, you’re pretty funny.’

‘Boom, boom.’

‘Anyway, sorry for not calling sooner. I really enjoyed last weekend, despite there being a funeral involved.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I had a great time too. Let’s do it again sometime. Although maybe without the funeral part. Or maybe that’s what got us randy. Maybe we should go and hang out at cemeteries every weekend, get ourselves going. I’m talking shit, amn’t I?’

‘Yup. Kinky shit. The best kind of shit, so don’t let me stop you.’

‘I’ve stopped already.’

‘Shame. Anyway, guess what I’m doing this weekend?’

‘Let me see, taking me out for a romantic dinner for two in a top Edinburgh restaurant? I’ve always fancied the Atrium. They apparently do a magnificent squid starter.’

‘It sounds great, but no, not this weekend. Maybe next. Another guess?’

‘Well, if you’re not keeping me in the manner to which I am not accustomed, would it have something to do with tracking down Neil, perhaps?’

‘Bingo. I’m going to Auchmithie.’

‘Do you have an address for him?’

‘No. I’m just going to ask around.’

‘That doesn’t sound like much of an idea.’

‘It’s all I’ve got. I’ve spent all week on the internet trying to find out about him.’

‘Ah, the fount of all knowledge. What did people do before the internet?’

‘Good question. Anyway, I got nowhere. It seems he stopped existing around ten years ago.’

‘And yet he was seen two years ago in Auchmithie.’

‘Exactly. Wanna come along?’

‘I don’t think so. Much as I would like to tramp around strangers’ doors in a tiny, close-knit community asking about a man last seen in the area two years previously, I have a daughter to look after, remember? Even though Amy likes her granny and grandpa, she’s been in a huff about continually getting dragged up to Arbroath. So I think sticking around in Edinburgh for the weekend might be best.’

‘I thought she might be in a huff with me – you know, the new man in her mum’s life and all that.’

‘There might be some of that involved as well, to be honest, but don’t let that worry you.’

‘But I do.’

‘Well don’t, it’s to be expected.’

‘I really like her, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘And I really like you as well.’

‘I know.’

‘And I’m serious about us.’

There was a moment’s pause.

‘That’s good to hear, David, because so am I.’

‘That is also good to hear.’

There was another pause.

‘Good,’ said Nicola. ‘Now that we’ve got the awkward serious relationship stuff out the way, how about we joke some more about your daft idea of going to Auchmithie?’

‘It’s not daft.’

‘You think?’

‘I think.’

‘OK.’

‘What does O K mean?’

‘Is this the start of our first argument?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Shame, I always like the first argument in a relationship, there’s something so fresh about it that other, later arguments never quite capture.’

‘Maybe we’ll never have any arguments.’

‘Now that
is
a daft idea. Anyway, you have fun in Auchmithie. When are you going?’

‘Friday after work. I’ll stay in the Fairport, but I’ll probably go straight to Auchmithie in the early evening, see what I can find out, and then go back on Saturday.’

‘Will you phone me when you get to the Fairport?’

‘Sure. You worried about me?’

‘Nah, I just want that saucy housewife landlady to know that you’ve got a woman waiting for you elsewhere. She’s definitely after you, you know.’

‘It’s so nice that you care.’

‘Yeah, well, just phone, OK? I am genuinely interested in what you find out, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘Not that you’ll find out anything.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘I miss you,’ said David. ‘Sorry if that seems a bit weird to say, since we’ve only just re-met and stuff, but it’s true so I thought I might as well come out and say it.’

There was a pause, the line crackling slightly.

‘I miss you too, doofus.’

There was another silence down the phone.

‘We really have got the awkwardness of the awkward serious relationship stuff nailed, haven’t we?’ said David.

‘Damn straight.’

13
Auchmithie

It was seven o’clock as David turned off the Arbroath back road for the last couple of miles to Auchmithie. High, grey clouds raced across the evening sky and a flustered wind made the trees along the roadside whisper secrets as David rounded a bend in the road and was suddenly in the village.

He hadn’t been here in God knows how long, but nothing much seemed to have changed. A line of low sandstone cottages with small windows crouched along the single street which ended abruptly at a cliff top. A couple of more recent houses had been built at the cliff end, presumably because the older ones had been battered to death by the elements. He looked south, the colossal slate expanse of sea taking up most of his vision, with the small pebble beach of Auchmithie Bay and the harbour two hundred feet below him, both dominated by the adjacent headland, the lumbering, lonely Castle Rock, worn away almost to the point of being detached from the mainland altogether. In the bay, slabs of spotted pale brown rock jutted out of the sea like broken bits of oatcake. Beyond that were three or four derelict old cottages perched precariously atop the next headland, looking as if they might crumble into the waves at any minute.

He turned the car and headed back through the village as small spots of rain started appearing on the windscreen. Didn’t there used to be a hotel with a bar here somewhere? He had planned to start asking around in there, as he didn’t fancy going door-to-door, but the hotel seemed to have disappeared, at least there was no sign of it now. As he drove back down the tiny street he noticed the lane – a rough, grass track really – which came off the road and headed steeply down the ravine next to the headland, winding its way down to the stony beach and harbour hundreds of feet below. From here he could only just make out a couple of small fishing boats draped in ragged tarpaulin and hauled up above the high-water mark next to two tiny lock-up sheds and a line of lobster and crab pots.

Opposite this lane was the one building in the village which wasn’t a house, the But ’n’ Ben. If there was no hotel and no bar in Auchmithie any more, this was going to have to be where David started asking around. He parked the car and went inside. The But ’n’ Ben maybe called itself a licensed restaurant, but really it was just two twee cottages knocked through, with a scattering of tables, chairs and some frilly patterned curtains framing the windows. The low-ceilinged space was full of random seafaring junk, and the walls were lined with local artwork, all seascapes and all for sale. The pine furniture was pure country kitchen and as David looked around he noticed that he was the youngest person in the place by a good thirty years. The room was packed with old folk, either posher sorts from elsewhere in Angus sporting Berghaus fleeces and enjoying a quaint evening out, or more seasoned, spirited locals getting fired into the drinks menu as much as the old-school granny cooking on offer. The air was thick with the smell of smoked fish and noisy with the chatter of three dozen patrons at varying stages of deafness. A doddery old man in filthy blue overalls with grey hair sprouting from his ears was standing at what passed for the bar, really just a till on a bench with a couple of whisky optics mounted behind. He was chatting to the old dear behind the till who was dressed in regulation restaurant uniform of white blouse and black skirt, making her smile and laugh so that the wrinkles on her forehead bunched up together in a way that reminded David of curtains being drawn open to let sunlight in. She spotted David in the doorway and cut short her conversation with the salty dog.

‘Can I help, dear?’ She gave him the once-over. Clearly thirty-somethings in T-shirts, jeans and trainers were a novelty in the But ’n’ Ben. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any tables free at the minute.’

‘That’s OK, I’m actually trying to find someone. I wondered if you knew of a Neil Cargill living around here?’

‘There have been plenty of Cargills pass through over the years, dear,’ said the woman. ‘But I’m fairly sure there isn’t a Neil Cargill in the village at the moment.’

‘If Edith doesn’t know him, then he’s not from Auchmithie, that’s for sure,’ said the old man at the bar. ‘She makes it her business to know everything about everyone, don’t you, Edith?’

‘Och, away and boil yer heid, you,’ said Edith with a laugh, before turning back to David. ‘He’s making me out to be a terrible gossip, so he is.’

‘Are you saying that you’re not?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Fergus. I’m just interested in people, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’