"What stuff?" Kenneth said, laughing in exasperation and throwing his arms wide. "Just tell me what sort of stuff!"
Rory sat back, shaking his head. "I can't say. Really." He glanced up at Kenneth. "But things… things might start to happen soon, anyway. I can't say any more for now." Kenneth shook his head sadly. "They might have happened by now if you'd just let me see this… opera, TV series, pop-up-book, whatever the hell it is; and if you'd let me talk to a few people. I mean, if it's just that you're too close to it and you don't want me to look at it, there are people I know who're good at that sort of thing; they can see the wood from the trees; they could —»
"Aw, come on, Ken," Rory said, a pained expression crossing his face. He ran a hand through his short, straight hair. "This is my show; this is the way I want to do it. Just let me, all right?"
"I don't know, Rore," Kenneth said, sitting back. "Sometimes you play your cards so damn close to your chest I don't think you can see them yourself. You should open up a bit more, share your problems. Share some secrets."
"I do," Rory said, biting his lip and looking down at his glass.
"Rory," Kenneth said, sitting forward and lowering his voice to conspiratorial levels, "the last secret I remember you telling me was that it was you who set fire to that barn on the Urvill's estate."
Rory grinned, stirring his finger through a little patch of moisture on the side of his glass. "Hey, I'm still waiting to see if you tell anyone."
Ken laughed. "Well, I haven't. Have you?"
Rory smiled, sucking air through his teeth at the same time, clinked one thumb-nail against his glass. He glanced at his brother. "Don't worry; my secret is safe with us." He shook his head, then shrugged. "Okay," Rory sighed, trying to suppress a smile, looking away. "There might be a job with Aunty in the offing, okay?"
"What?" Kenneth laughed. The Beeb? You going to be a TV star?"
"It's not definite yet," Rory shrugged. "And it's… " he frowned at his brother. "Shit, Ken; it's just more hack-work. It's better paid, is all."
"What is it though?"
"Oh, a fucking travel programme, what else?" Rory rolled his eyes. "But anyway; we'll see, okay? It's not definite, like I say, and I don't want to get anybody's hopes up, so keep it quiet; but things might start to happen."
"But that's great news, man," Kenneth said, sitting back.
"Talking about me, I hope, boys," Janice said, returning with their drinks on a tray.
"…said, 'My God, Rory, I've never seen one that blg! and I said " — oh; hello dear," Rory grinned, pretending only then to notice Janice.
She sat down, smiling. "Talking about the size of your overdraft, are we dear?"
"Gosh-darn," Rory said, snapping his fingers, looking at Kenneth. "Caught telling tales again."
"Runs in the family," Kenneth said, taking up his glass. "Cheers, Janice."
"Your health."
"Slange."
They left after that drink and went back to the house at Lochgair; Rory and Kenneth cleared a tangled choke of bushes and shrubs at the rear of the garden, where Mary wanted the lawn extended. They sweated through the insect-loud afternoon, while the sun shone. Janice sunbathed, and later helped Mary and Margot prepare the evening meal.
Janice had taken that day off from the library. She and Rory left on the last train back to Glasgow that night.
It was the last time Kenneth ever saw Rory.
Fiona sat in the passenger seat of the car, watching the red roadside reflectors drift out of the night towards her. She was thrown against one side of the seat as Fergus powered the Aston round the right-hander that took the road out of the forest, down, into and through the little village of Furnace. She was pressed back against the seat as Fergus accelerated again. They swung out and past some small, slower car, over-taking it as though it was stationary; headlights ahead of them glared, the on-coming car flashed its lights and she heard its horn sound as they passed, a few seconds later. The sound was quickly lost in the snarl of the Aston's engine.
"If you're driving like this to try and prove something, don't bother on my account," she said.
Fergus was silent for a while, then, in a very controlled and even voice said, "Don't worry. Look, I just want to get home as soon as possible. All right?"
"Everything'll suddenly get better once we're home, will it?" Fiona said. "Kiss the kids on the head and get Mrs S to make some tea; stiff whisky for you, G and T for me. Maybe we should call up the McKeans to say we got back safely; you can ask after Julie…»
"For Christ's sake, Fiona —»
"'For Christ's sake, Fiona'," Fiona sneered, imitating Fergus's voice. "Is that all you can say? You've had half an hour to think up another excuse, and —»
"I don't need," Fergus sighed, "any excuses. Look; I thought we had agreed to just leave this —»
"Yes, that would suit you fine, wouldn't it, Ferg? That's your way of dealing with everything, isn't it? Pretend it hasn't happened, maybe it'll go away. If we're all terribly polite and decorous and discreet, maybe the whole horrid thing will just… " She made a little fluttering motion with her hands, and in a high-pitched, girlish voice, said, "Disappear'."
She looked at him; his broad, soft-fowled face looked hard and set in the dim light shining from the car's instruments. "Well," she told him, leaning over as far as she could towards him. "They won't just go away, Ferg." She tried to make him look at her. He frowned, put his head slightly to one side and lifted it, trying to look round and over her head. "Nothing ever goes away, Fergus," she told him. "Nothing ever doesn't matter." She strained over a little more. "Fergus — " she said.
He pushed her away with his left hand, back into her seat.
She sat there, mouth open. He seemed to understand the silence and glanced over, a weak smile flickering on his face. "Sorry," he said. "Getting in the way a bit there. Sorry."
"Don't you push me!" she said, slapping his shoulder. She hit him again. "Don't you ever dare push me again!"
"Oh stop it, Fiona," he said, more exasperated than angry. "One minute I'm in the dog-house because… well, because I'm not all over you all the time; next second —»
"'Not all over you all the time'?" Fiona said. "You mean not fucking me, Fergus, is that what you mean?"
"Fiona, please —»
"Oh." Fiona slapped one palm off her forehead, then crossed her arms, looked away, out of the dark side window. "Fuck; did I swear? Oh fuck. Oh what a silly fucking cow I must fucking be."
"Fiona —»
"I said something straight. I'm so sorry. I actually said what I meant, used the sort of word you'd normally only hear from your golfing chums or your rugby pals. Or does Julie use that sort of language? Does she? Do you like her to talk dirty? Does that get you going, Ferg?"
"Fiona, I'm getting rather tired of this," Fergus said through his teeth, his fingers gripping the wheel harder, rubbing round it. "I'm sorry you think what you do about Julie. As I have tried to tell you, she was the wife of an old friend and I've kept in touch since she got divorced —»
"Still stuck on that, Fergus?" Fiona said, impersonating concern. "Oh dear; we had that line back at Arrochar, I seem to recall. And what was the rest of it? Oh yes, one of her sons has leukaemia, poor little kid, hasn't he? And you've helped her and the little darling with BUPA out of the goodness of your heart —»
"Yes I have, and I'm sorry you choose to sneer about it, Fiona."
"Sneer!" laughed Fiona. "It's a joke, Fergus. Jesus, she was practically taking your zip down."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's not my fault Julie got a bit tipsy."
"She was smashed out of her brains, Fergus, and about the only thing she remembered was that she wanted to get your trousers off. God knows why, but she seemed to associate that with pleasure." Fiona gave a sort of strangled laugh, then put one hand up suddenly to her nose, and looked away, and sobbed once.