A car drove up in front of the house and a tall woman got out. “Oh, that’s my therapist,” said Milly.
“I didn’t know they made house calls.”
“We’ve become friends and she likes getting out of Strathbane. I met her through Victim Support.”
“I’ll be off, then. Let me know when the happy day’s going to be.”
That evening, Tam appeared and said, “I thought it would be nice if we went to that new restaurant down in Strathbane.”
“Must we?” said Milly. “I’ve got a nice lamb casserole in the oven.”
“Put it in the fridge. We’ll have it tomorrow.”
“All right. I’ll just get my coat.”
“Hey, where’s that pretty blue dress I bought you? Put it on.”
Milly went up to her bedroom and pulled the dress out of the wardrobe. She hated it. She felt the neck was too low and the skirt was too short. She sat down on the bed and stared bleakly into space. She had been married in her late teens. She had never really lived alone. Recently, Tam had been away a lot on stories. Milly had loved the peace of having days to herself. She glared at the dress. Henry had always told her what to wear. She had given all her clothes away to the Salvation Army and had bought herself comfortable clothes that she wanted.
Her therapist, Christina Balfour, had told her to start being her own woman, but, reflected Milly, after a lifetime of taking orders, it was hard to know where to start.
She slowly put the dress back in the wardrobe and took out one in simple black wool that she had chosen for herself. She put it on along with low-heeled patent-leather pumps and a thin string of pearls. Then she picked up a bottle of pink nail varnish from the dressing table, opened it, and dribbled some of it down the front of the dress Tam had chosen for her before going downstairs.
“Where’s my dress?” asked Tam. “You look as if you’re going to a funeral.”
“I’m so sorry. I spilled nail varnish on it.”
“Never mind. I’ll get you something else. Time you smartened yourself up.”
Journalists of Tam’s breed talk shop… endlessly. It had happened shortly after they became re-engaged. When they were out for an evening, he drank far too much and told endless reporting stories, unaware that it was a monologue and that Milly was sitting quietly on the other side of the table.
He also had begun to expect Milly to only drink one glass of wine so that she could drive him back.
She looked at him sadly. What had happened to the diffident, affectionate Tam? He had never drunk this much before in her company. Towards the end of the meal, his mobile phone rang. He answered it and then said, “I’m sorry, Milly. Big story. A raid down at the docks. Can you drop me back at the office and I’ll get a photographer to drive me.”
Milly paid the bill. That was another thing that had gone wrong. Tam had begun to leave the paying of bills in restaurants to her.
The raid turned out to be a false alarm, so Tam and the photographer dropped in at a pub that was open twenty-four hours for a drinking session.
Tam had been elevated to chief reporter because of his coverage of the Prosser case.
“When’s the wedding?” asked the photographer.
“Don’t know,” said Tam. “You know, I’m wondering if I’m daein’ the right thing.”
“Och, everyone knows you’re daft about the woman.”
“She doesnae seem to ’preciate that I’m a hot-shot reporter. She pretends to listen but she aye looks as if she’s thinking o’ something else. What dae ye think o’ Kylie Ross?”
“The newsroom secretary? Come on, laddie. She’s in her twenties and a knockout. She wouldnae look at you.”
“Thash where you’re wrong, buddy. She gave me that look the ither day.”
“What look?”
“Sort of come hisher.”
“Come hither? Tam, you’ve had enough. I’ll take you home.”
“Take me to ma flat.”
Milly had phoned Christina Balfour as soon as she had got back to Drim. “I can’t go through with this marriage,” she wailed.
“Then you must tell him,” said Christina. “You can’t go on being a rabbit.”
“What did you just say?”
“I should not have said that,” said Christina hurriedly. “But if you are going to have your freedom, you must take a stand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Milly took a deep breath. “I don’t think I need any more therapy. Thank you and good night.” She hung up. The phone rang a few moments later but she pulled the connection out of the wall.
She opened the front door and looked down towards the village. It was a Saturday night, and a ceilidh was on in the village hall. Ailsa and the others would be there. She put on her coat. She had not seen much of the village women of late, because they always asked her excitedly about the wedding.
The music had fallen silent and one of the villagers was reciting a long poem. Ailsa saw Milly standing in the doorway and hurried to meet her.
“Come and join the fun,” she said. “Where’s Tam?”
“Step outside,” said Milly. “I need your advice.”
The next day, Tam awoke with a blinding hangover. He took two Alka-Seltzer, struggled into his clothes, swallowed a glass of whisky, and then made his way to the office.
Kylie the secretary smiled at him. She was a pretty highland beauty with dark hair and creamy skin. Fuelled by that glass of whisky which had topped up his intake from the night before, Tam said, “How’s about you and me stepping out one evening?”
Kylie smiled patiently. “I have a boyfriend, Tam.”
Tam stumped off. The photographer from the night before had watched his approach to Kylie. “How did you get on?” he asked.
Tam shrugged and gave the time immemorial reply of the rejected reporter. “Ach, I think thon one’s a lesbian.”
Ailsa and Milly were at that moment in the police station in Lochdubh facing a bewildered Hamish Macbeth.
“You want me to tell Tam the wedding’s off?” exclaimed Hamish.
“Well, haven’t you heard o’ community policing?” demanded Ailsa. “It’s your duty.”
Hamish stared at them. Then he took out his notebook and wrote down, “Tam, it’s Milly. I don’t want to marry you and I’m going to pack up your stuff and leave it outside the door. We’re not suited. I am very sorry but I don’t want to see you again.”
Hamish handed Milly his mobile phone and the piece of paper. “Phone Tam and tell him that,” he ordered.
“I can’t!” wailed Milly.
“I’ll do it,” said Ailsa.
“Nobody’s going to do anything except Milly. Go on, Milly. Soften it down a bit if you must. Here!” He poured her a large glass of whisky. “Get that down ye.”
“What about me?” demanded Ailsa.
“You’ll get your dram if your friend here stiffens her spine and makes that call.”
Milly gulped down the whisky.
She slowly took the phone from Hamish. “Do you mind leaving me?”
“Leave yourself,” said Hamish callously. “It’s my home. Step outside the door.”
The cat, sensing Milly’s fear, gave a low warning hiss. “You shouldnae have a wild cat,” said Ailsa. “That beast’ll attack someone someday.”
“Mind your own business!” shouted Hamish, and Ailsa stared at the normally mild police sergeant in amazement.
They could hear Milly’s quiet voice as she stood outside the kitchen door, but they could not hear what she was saying.
At last she came in. “It’s finished.”
“How did he take it?” asked Ailsa.
“Very well. He said he was made for a better woman. He said he had been going to break it off anyway. I won’t leave his stuff outside the door. That’s rude. I’ll need to face him.”