“I never dreamed any of them would know!” Miss Colquhoun said to me when I got there. “Think I’d have wised up by now, eh? They’re four, for f-”
“-uck’s sake,” I filled in, since she was a primary school teacher and she was at work and couldn’t.
“What the hell are the parents thinking?”
“Who’ll win Strictly this go-round?” I said. “It never occurred to me either, and my bar’s set pretty low.”
“Oh God no!” said Miss Colquhoun. “Look, here’s the secretary coming with Ruby now. She’s wet her pants and she’s quite upset about it, just so’s you know. But it was one of our Guardian Angels that said it-all muesli and first names, ken the type? Mummy treats them like they’re forty-five.”
“Oh, them!” I said. Ruby was plodding along beside the secretary, still in her velvet dress and shrug, but with bare legs now. “Hello, Rubylicious,” I called out to her. “I missed you. I’m glad I didn’t need to wait till four to see you again. And I bet Daddy’s missing you too.”
“Bye-bye, special sweetheart!” said Miss Colquhoun, giving Ruby a huge hug that would get her sacked if you believed the Daily Mail. “I’ll see you very soon. I’ll maybe come and see you at home at the weekend, eh? Bring you a present.” I caught her eye, pretty sure this wasn’t in the guidelines. “Couldn’t care less,” she said quietly to me. “Couldn’t give a stuff.”
“What are you talking about?” said Ruby, grizzling.
“Boring grown-up stuff,” I said. “No need for you to worry, hunny-bunny. Let’s go and get some nice treats to take home for Dillon.”
“And me,” Ruby said. “Can I get a comic?”
“Only if you let me buy you some sweeties too.”
I pretended not to hear as I walked away, but I knew the secretary and the teacher were asking each other who I was and saying Gus was lucky I was around. I took Ruby’s sticky little hand in mine and tried to think what I could get Gus in Tesco that would feel as good as a comic and sweeties but wasn’t drink and that I could afford and wouldn’t seem weird when I’d only known him a day.
And maybe that explains why I got sucked back in again and totally forgot my plan to say take care, all the best, and good-bye.
Maybe.
Nine
The farmyard wasn’t deserted this time. Two quad bikes sat there with their motors going, a collie on the back of each, plunging about and barking their heads off but so well-trained they wouldn’t shift off the bikes until somebody told them. There was a car, a big muddy 4x4, pulled off the track with its back doors open. In the yard itself, three men were strong-arming pallets into place to funnel sheep from one shed to another. One of them, in a waxed jacket, ignored me, but the two in Gore-Tex trousers and padded tartan shirts stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. A vet and two workers, I thought. None too friendly. One of them strolled over and stood in front of my car, making me stop whether I liked it or not.
I rolled down the window, working the handle round.
He frowned at me. “Is this the car fae the cattleman’s hoose?” he said. “Who’re you?”
“I’m a friend of the family,” I said. “Have you heard?”
“Heard whit?” he said. “Was that you yesterday an’ all? This is no’ the way.”
“Mrs. King has been”-I checked Ruby out of the corner of my eye; she wasn’t listening-“killed in a car accident.”
He was the type of guy that would rather die himself than show surprise, a real hard man (and to think he helped lambs into the world), but he started back a bit at that. “Aye, well,” he said, not exactly overflowing with sympathy. “If there’s gonny be loads of folk comin’ you’ll have tae get them tellt. Girthon turn.” He jerked his head. “Through the site.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I’d ask Gus. No point trying to get this one’s knuckles off the ground to give proper directions. I just wound the window back up again and went on my way.
At the cottage, Gus was sitting on a bench under the front bedroom window with Dillon on his knee, both of them staring at the sea. The baby was wrapped in a blanket-one of those old army-issue things, scratchy as hell, but he looked happy enough, sucking on some toy. Gus was wearing a suit that could have given the army blanket a good run. It was green with a kind of orange fuzz about it, brown leather buttons. I know clothes, and this suit was prewar. He had on a shirt with no collar, but when I took a close look at what Dillon was sucking, there was the collar there. Gus shuffled along the bench, gouging out pits in the gravel with his work boots.
“I’m going to have to buy a suit,” he said. “This was Dave’s.”
“It’s… ” I said.
“It fits okay,” he said, “but it’s like fancy dress. Hi Ruby-two-shoes,” he went on. “Miss Colquhoun phoned and told me you were coming.”
Ruby said nothing. She sidled up to him, wriggled between his knees, and put her head down on Dillon’s blanket. He patted her hair with the collar and then went back to sucking it again.
“Okay, then… ” I said.
Gus looked up at me. “Can you just sit here beside us for a wee bit?” he said.
“Of course.” I dropped down beside him and looked out at the sea, looking for whatever he was finding there. It was hard to stay quiet. I wanted to ask about Becky, about the police, the Girthon turn and the site. I wanted to get dry knickers for Ruby, thinking she must be cold. I wanted to help. Instead, I counted the rocks between us and the tide. Tried to name the flowers in the two beds along the fence. Red-hot pokers. Daisies. Although they might just as easily be chrysanthemums or dahlias or even asters. And an edging of those red, white, and blue things. Lobelia, salvia, and… the white ones.
“What are those white flowers called?” I said.
Gus shook his head.
So maybe Becky did the garden. Depressed and miserable and planting flowers? It didn’t go together. Unless having her garden looking good was part of pretending she was happy. But there was a vegetable patch with rows of cabbages-or they might be sprouts or kale or even cauliflowers-and who plants cabbages if they’re down already? Or cooks them, or eats them, or makes their kids eat them? I’d say if life was getting away from you, everything to do with cabbages would be near the first thing to go.
“Alice,” said Ruby.
She was right. Alyssum, lobelia, and salvia. They were like the father, son, and holy ghost of my granny’s garden.
“So the cops have been back,” Gus said after another silence. I flicked a glance at the kids. “The Fiscal’s going to review the case tomorrow. Decide whether he wants a full post-mortem. If not, should be free to have a cremation by early next week.”
“If not?” I said.
“What’s them things you said?” said Ruby, screwing round to look at him.
“Nothing,” said Gus. “Just Daddy’s work.”
I supposed you got good at hiding stuff in plain sight, with children around. Talking over their heads, making sure they missed what you didn’t want them to catch, but it still seemed wrong to me.
“Can I get a ice-pop?” said Ruby.
Dillon stirred himself inside the blanket. “Ice-pop,” he said, breaking out of its folds.
“For ten pink shells,” said Gus. Ruby marched down towards the beach, toes turned out, tummy pushed out, a right wee swagger about her. Dillon pattered along at her back.
“That’ll take them a good while,” Gus said, and we sat in silence again until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“How could there not be a post-mortem?” I said.
“Depends whether the Fiscal thinks it’s needed,” said Gus.
“Really?”
“Everybody’s seen too much CSI,” Gus said. “Nobody knows how it works in Scotland.”