Authors: Cathy MacPhail
‘Don’t cry, Mam.’ Col couldn’t bear that. He still felt it was all his fault. No matter what she said. He put his arm round her waist. ‘Mungo’s got good in him. We know that.’
She looked at him as if she could never believe that now. ‘You’re different, Col. You’ve always been different. There’s so much good in you. So much thoughtfulness. I know you always thought Mungo was my favourite, but he never was. You have to believe that, son. You were that easy to love. But Mungo, he was hard work. I thought if I was there all the time, I could keep him out of trouble, real trouble. I thought I could influence him. You don’t know how much I wanted to go to London with you. But I was frightened to go away and leave your brother.’ She sobbed again. ‘And look what he did when you were in London, eh? Some good I was!’ She hugged Col even closer. ‘Mungo was your
age when your dad got killed. Your dad was his hero. He wanted to be just like him. I thought I could turn him from that … but it was too late for your dad, and it’s too late for Mungo. Too late.’
Col’s mother had never spoken to him like this. Never said a bad word against Mungo. Family loyalty. She believed in it so much.
What would she do if she knew that he had betrayed that loyalty?
She held her apron to her face and cried bitterly against it. Col hated to see her cry like this. Didn’t know what to say to make her feel better.
‘It’s not too late, Mam. You’ll see. We’ll both help Mungo.’
He didn’t know how long they sat there, holding each other. A long time. But, finally, his mam stopped crying and stood up. She wiped away the tears with the palms of her hands. ‘Come on, Col. Help me make the tea. We’ll be fine. You and me. And as for Mungo. He’ll be back. Mungo always comes back.’
But this time he didn’t. Charged and held without bail Mungo didn’t come back to the house at all. In the end it wasn’t just his friends who had turned on him. Mungo had pointed the guilty finger at himself. There
was enough of his skin tissue under the corpse’s nails to put Mungo’s guilt beyond any reasonable doubt.
Col had plenty of visitors though.
Blaikie came to see him, knocking timidly at the front door.
Timidly? Blaikie? Never. But she did, and she looked nervous as Col’s mam led her in. His mother raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the visitor. She was dying to ask who this girl was who had come to visit her son. It was the brightest Col had seen her since Mungo’s arrest. Col introduced her, and Mam left them alone. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen baking scones.’
‘I’d love to be able to bake scones,’ Blaikie said with an enthusiasm Col had never heard before.
His mother responded with just as much enthusiasm. ‘Come in with me, then, when you’re ready. We’ll make them together.’
Mam didn’t tell her she was making the scones for the Sampsons. Mrs Sampson had phoned that morning to ask if it would be possible to visit Col. His mam had agreed reluctantly. It could be a difficult visit. Everyone knew, though it would probably never be proved, that Mungo was responsible for the burglary at the
Sampsons’ house, and Col knew his mother would find it hard to face them.
But as the day passed she had become increasingly more enthusiastic. ‘They’re such a nice family, Col. A good family. And they think the world of you.’
And so, the scones.
When the Sampsons arrived ten minutes after Blaikie, Col answered the door. Only Mr Sampson was missing, working late. Even Ella was there, striding into the hall looking all around her.
‘Approve, do you, madam?’ Col asked.
Ella smirked. ‘Just checking if any of our stuff’s still here.’
Dominic jumped at her. ‘You leave Col be. You promised.’
Col pulled Dominic back. ‘Oh, come on, Dominic. The lassie was born to moan. Let her enjoy it.’
Mam hurried from the kitchen to greet them. ‘Mrs Sampson. Dominic.’ She beamed at him. She liked Dominic. Everyone did. ‘How are you, son?’
Mrs Sampson hugged her, taking his mother totally by surprise. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs McCann, about … Mungo. I know how you must be feeling.’
His mother was red-faced with embarrassment when
she escaped from that hug, but she appreciated the gesture. ‘It’s that nice of you to come,’ she said. ‘I’m glad. For Col’s sake.’
Blaikie appeared at the kitchen door, glaring at Ella. She seemed to be back to her usual threatening face. A face that was even whiter than usual, but this time with flour. ‘We’re making scones,’ she said to no one in particular, but it was Ella who answered. ‘You make them, and I’ll eat them.’
Blaikie looked as if she was ready to throttle Ella, but Col and Dominic only laughed.
‘I think they both fancy you, Col,’ Dominic said, and Ella’s mouth went as round as a hula-hoop with shock.
‘I would have to have no brain and be totally desperate,’ Ella snapped.
Dominic grinned. ‘You pass on both counts, sister.’ He looked at Col. ‘Which one do
you
fancy, Col?’
Dominic ended up in the kitchen, too, helping his mother and Blaikie to make the scones. Ella went in too, though she insisted she had no interest in making scones.
‘I was meant for greater things,’ she said haughtily. And was annoyed when everyone just laughed.
Mrs Sampson sat with Col. ‘Everything sorted out now, Col?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘Mungo won’t talk to me. Says he’ll never talk to me again.’ Col didn’t explain why. Somehow, he felt he didn’t need to. ‘And my Mam’s in the middle and it’s really hard for her. She’s got the court case to go through and her two sons aren’t talking. Mungo doesn’t even want me to visit.’
‘Maybe time will help Mungo understand. He’s your brother. In spite of everything I bet he still loves you.’
Col wanted so much for that to be true. Wanted so much for Mungo to change, to understand. ‘I’m sorry about that night I came to your house. I was mixed up. I didn’t know what to do.’
She touched his hand gently. ‘I understand, Col. ’
Something in her did understand, about Klaus, about Mungo, about Col. He didn’t know why, or how, but he just knew she did.
Suddenly, Dominic came rushing into the living room covered in flour. ‘Mum, I know exactly what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be a baker!’
Mrs Sampson looked at Col and smiled.
‘Wow!’ Col laughed. ‘I’ve saved the life of a future baker.’
He went back to the loch just once more – with Dominic.
He didn’t know what he expected to find. But there was nothing. No mysterious presences, no Klaus, no strange atmosphere.
Only a calmness on the water. Peace.
The breeze shimmered through the trees and the swans and their tiny cygnets left a glittering trail on the surface of the loch.
‘I love coming here, Col,’ Dominic said. ‘It’s special, isn’t it?’ He skimmed a stone across the surface. ‘You would never think a body had been down there all that time, eh?’
Col said nothing, but he thought of his friend, Klaus, and his pale, sad face.
‘Still,’ Dominic went on, skimming another stone. ‘That guy’s home now. I think that would make him happy, eh, Col?’
Col skimmed a stone too, rippling across the calm waters. A family of ducks followed in the wake of the swans and their cygnets. New life.
Klaus was home now, with his mother and his sisters.
Col had kept his promise.
Run, Zan, Run
Missing
Bad Company
Fighting Back
Another Me
Underworld
Roxy’s Baby
Worse Than Boys
Also:
Nemesis 1: Into the Shadows
Nemesis 2: The Beast Within
Nemesis 3: Sinister Intent Nemesis
Nemesis 4: Ride of Death
Acknowledgement
Thanks to Stuart S,
a real-life hero
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney
First published in Great Britain in 2002 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square,
London, WC1B 3DP
This electronic edition published in October 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © Catherine MacPhail 2002
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978-1-4088-1654-7
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