Happy as she was with her writing and broadcasting, much as she loved this place, was it enough? She had real friends here and what she thought of as a ‘real’ life, connected with her neighbours and the community as she could never be in London. But eligible men didn’t exactly happen along very often.
There were agencies, of course; she’d had friends who’d used them, with great success. But perhaps she just needed a change . . .
Then Daisy barked, she heard Marjory’s knock on the door and she hurried to answer it. At least it was good news about Tam. She picked up a bag with grapes she had bought and opened the door.
‘Do you think he’ll thank me for grapes, or would he rather a deep-fried Mars bar?’ she said gaily, then stopped when she saw Marjory’s face. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Another bleed in the brain. They’re going to have to operate again.’
‘Oh no!’
Marjory followed her in; the dog ran round their feet, puzzled at getting no response to her welcome. They sat down outside and for a moment neither said anything.
Then, ‘How’s Bunty?’ Laura asked.
‘As you would expect. She’s got a couple of sisters there, propping her up.’
‘That’s good.’
There was another silence. Then Laura said, with an attempt at cheerfulness, ‘Oh, come on, Marjory – you know Tam! He won’t give up. And here I was feeling low, and expecting the visit to cheer me up.’
‘I have to say I’m pretty low myself. Laura, I went to see Dad today.’
It was, Laura knew, the first time she had gone. ‘And—?’ she said gently.
Marjory’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Laura, it was terrible! And that place – I’m sure they do their best, but it smells of urine. And the noises the patients make . . . But it was Dad that was worst of all.’ She was really crying now, struggling to find a tissue in her bag. ‘We never had an easy relationship, but you know, I was so proud of him. So tall and impressive in his uniform when I was young, my hero, really, and even after he retired he never looked anything but immaculate. This afternoon he wasn’t properly shaved, and he was wearing a dressing-gown he’d dribbled on. And he didn’t know us – he started yelling at us whenever we arrived, started lashing out. They had to come and give him an injection.’
‘Was Janet with you?’
‘That was the shaming thing. She was much better than I was. She comforted me – said it wasn’t Dad, that he’d gone. She’s accepted he’ll need looking after, and she’s started looking for the best place. Was that your idea?’
‘I thought she’d be better off with something constructive to do. And I asked around to find out which were good – there’s a new doctor at the Health Centre who was very helpful, and I gave her a list.’
‘Is that the one Mum was talking about? Mid-thirties, “a braw young man”, she said.’ Marjory gave her friend a sidelong look. ‘And single.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Marjory!’
‘I didn’t say it. Mum did,’ Marjory said, eyes wide and innocent. ‘She said we should maybe have a dinner party for him, make him feel welcome in the neighbourhood.’
Laura protested, but it lightened their mood. After Marjorie had left, promising news of Tam whenever there was any, she went back out into the garden, smiling. With friends like Marjory, who needed agencies?
She still wasn’t quite convinced. She was recording a programme in London in a couple of weeks’ time; perhaps she’d extend her visit to a month, see how she felt about a faster pace of life.
Instead of heading for home, Marjory took the Kirkcowan road, heading towards Wigtown and Drumbreck. It felt necessary, somehow, to put things to rest.
It had all been about money from the start – those who had too much, and those who envied that and greedily took it. Drumbreck had created itself as a fantasy, a self-indulgent play-world where the rules didn’t apply and life was a game with no consequences. Would this make any difference?
She didn’t think so. Money meant that unless you got caught in the fallout, you could remove yourself until everything was clean and nice and ready for you to start your game again. Next weekend, or maybe the one after, they’d be back, a little shaken by all that had happened, circumspect for a while, perhaps, but slowly and surely they would revert to the way of life that suited them, decadent and unhealthily exciting.
Marjory parked her car once more outside the Yacht Club where there were a few other cars parked. The club itself looked deserted and the marina was closed, but there was some activity by the boats and there were a few other people strolling in the evening sunshine.
She set off along the road that skirted the bay. The tide was half-way out; oozy, khaki mudflats were exposed, but there was still deep water round the pontoons. As she watched, a motor launch backed out from its mooring, then roared off towards the estuary, its prow well clear of the water.
There were windows open in the Murdochs’ house – perhaps in the flat where paint was drying. She wondered what Jenna would do – sell up and clear out, or stay and run the marina, probably more effectively, now she had a free hand? Marjory didn’t envy her struggling through the teen years with that strange, introverted child. And she wondered, too, about poor Moss, in police kennels somewhere. He belonged to Jenna now, of course, but he’d never be happy as a pet. Still, look on the bright side: Mirren, who was so much more sensitive to animal feelings than to human ones, might suggest reuniting him with his master.
There was no sign of life in any of the other houses. She walked on past the McConnells’ cottage, as far as the Laffertys’ grander abode. It would be interesting to see what happened there. A request for his fingerprints and DNA had come in already from Tam’s pal in Glasgow – oh, Tam, Tam! She bit her lip, and stopped to look over towards the marina and the Yacht Club.
The Laffertys’ might be the smartest house, but it wasn’t at the more salubrious end of the bay when the tide was out. From the exposed mud, warmed by the sun, came a smell of decay, and there was rotting vegetation where small flies were hopping in a moving carpet.
With a shudder, Marjory turned and walked back. She had almost reached the end of the road when one of the strolling couples came towards her.
‘Lovely evening,’ she said.
‘Lovely place,’ the woman said, indicating with a gesture the pretty houses and the soft hills and the brightly painted boats. A pair of swans had appeared, as if they were working on commission.
Marjory smiled and nodded, and went back to her car. She was finished here; she must put it out of her mind. Home now – home, which had become her sanctuary once again. Home to Bill and the kids. And if she thought of a clever, arrogant, lonely man it was only for a moment. She had better pick up bread and milk on the way. They were always running out.
About the Author
Aline Templeton lives in Edinburgh with her husband and their Dalmatian dog. She has worked in education and broadcasting and has written numerous articles and stories for newspapers and magazines. Her books have been published in the United States and in translation in several European countries. LYING DEAD is the third novel in the series featuring DI Marjory Fleming.