Chasing Angels (27 page)

Harry’s knock at the door came at ten o’clock the next morning. He was wearing his everyday suit, the white one, she noticed, as he entered the small flat followed by his mother.

‘You look like hell!’ Jessie said by way of greeting, and perched once again on the kitchen stool after giving it another wipe-down.

‘You try sleepin’ on a camp bed an’ see how you feel!’ Kathy replied.

Jessie looked around and, taking in the two packed suitcases by the door, she said, ‘Ah see ye’re no’ thinkin’ o’ hangin’ aboot?’

‘No’ a second longer than Ah need tae.’

‘Right, well,’ she said, looking at Harry, ‘tell Kathy aboot Peter then.’

He stared into the distance. ‘He’s in this commune thing. It’s a cult. He’s been in it for years. That’s all I know.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Harry!’ Jessie moaned. ‘Get oan wi’ it! Stop bein’ mysterious, there’s naebody here tae see ye but us! Noo tell Kathy
everythin’!’

‘Well I only know what he’s told me. He’s called Brother Peter now.’

Kathy and Jessie giggled and the guru looked peeved.

‘The cult is in California, they kind of keep to themselves. They have their own place in the desert.’

‘Whit dae they dae?’ Kathy asked.

‘They meditate and seek enlightenment,’ Harry replied, or perhaps it was Hari.

Kathy and Jessie giggled again.

‘I honestly don’t know why you think it’s so funny!’ the guru protested. ‘Lots of people seek enlightenment, it’s a good thing, they get to know their inner
selves better.’

‘Harry, son,’ Kathy replied gently, ‘Ah’ve known ma brother, inner and outer,
very
well since Ah was a wean. If he wanted to know aboot hissel’ he only
hadtae ask me! An’ as for him bein’ in a cult, the only way he’d dae that was if he was the treasurer!’

‘The leader,’ the distressed guru continued, ‘is an angel. His name is Walter.’

This time Jessie laughed uncontrollably for several minutes. ‘My God!’ she said, mopping her eyes. ‘Ah havtae admit, Ah like that! Jist thinka the effect oan Christianity if
he’d
been sent tae talk tae wee Mary insteeda that Gabriel fella. “Behold, I am the Angel Wally!” She’d have gied him the bum’s rush before he got another word
oot, so she would!’ Jessie collapsed in another fit of laughter that once again sounded eerily like Old Aggie’s and Kathy had to admit that it was the funniest thing she’d heard
in ages. Peter – sorry – Brother Peter in a cult!

‘Harry, son,’ she giggled, ‘ye must’ve got the spellin’ wrang! Oor Peter never did a thing in his life that didnae have an
angle
, no’ an
angel!
’

But though she was laughing she was secretly annoyed that her brother had picked on an angel, that he had access to an angel; angels had always been
her
thing. How dare Peter Kelly, how
like
him, to go chasing angels and find one before her! Was it any wonder she disliked him?

‘I think you’re both being unfair!’ protested the guru with a petulant toss of his golden locks. ‘I’ve often thought of doing the same thing.’

‘Aye, son,’ Jessie said, still wiping her eyes, ‘but a perra wings wouldnae dae anythin’ for ye, for wan thing they’d spoil the looka yer nice suits.
Besides,’ she said, slyly, ‘the money’s better ower here, isn’t it? California is fulla nutters, ye’d be nothin’ special ower there, they’d probably think
ye were too normal an’ send ye back oan the next plane!’

‘So, dae ye hear frae Peter regularly?’ Kathy asked brightly, trying hard not to upset her sensitive cousin, whose aura was looking severely dented, judging by the sour expression on
his beautiful, chiselled features.

He shook his head. ‘The odd card,’ he said. ‘I send him a Hallowe’en card every year.’ His face now assumed a superior expression. ‘I,’ he said,
‘do not believe in Christmas cards, you see.’

Jessie raised her eyebrows and threw in a shake of the head for double emphasis.

‘Christmas,’ continued the guru, ‘is an artificial festival, it has nothing to do with the old ways and the old religion.’

‘Aw, Harry, son!’ Jessie said with feeling. ‘Pipe doon for God’s sake! Ye’re among family here! Ye only spout that kinda crap when the punters are payin’ for
it!’

‘An’ he’s still there, then?’ Kathy asked. ‘When did you last hear frae him?’

Harry handed over a postcard dated six months before. It said, ‘It’s harvest time. We’re working hard in the vineyards,’ and was signed ‘Brother Peter and Sister
Rose.’

‘Who the hell’s Sister Rose?’ Kathy asked.

‘His wife.’

‘His
wife?
When did that happen?’

‘Oh, a long time ago,’ the guru replied distantly.

‘Ye never told
me
that!’ Jessie protested.

‘You didn’t ask,’ Harry said, then he smiled smugly. ‘You won’t believe this,’ he said, ‘but his wife’s mother is a client of mine! She came to me
a couple of years ago, worried about her daughter and her son-in-law, thought they were involved in something odd in America.’

‘The wumman must be psychic hersel’,’ Jessie muttered. ‘Whit the hell was she daein’ wastin’ money goin’ tae you?’

Harry ignored her. ‘She was very impressed when I was able to tell her exactly what they were involved in.’

‘An’ did ye tell her ye were related tae her son-in-law?’ Kathy asked.

Harry shook his head. ‘Certainly not! She came to me because she had been guided to me, it was no coincidence. She could’ve gone to any mystic, but she came to me because I had the
knowledge. We were brought together by unseen forces, the source of my knowledge is immaterial.’

Kathy and Jessie looked at each other and smiled. She turned the card over; there were six pictures on the front arranged in sequence, each one showing a different kind of front porch. Some were
made of wood, others glass, some had the traditional rocking chair carefully positioned while others were inhabited by exotic foliage, leaving little room for human beings, of whom there were none
anywhere. She and Jessie exchanged looks.

‘Musta taken him a long time tae find such an interestin’ card, no’ think so?’ Jessie asked scathingly.

‘You don’t understand,’ the guru protested. ‘It’s esoteric.’

‘Is that another word for bloody boring?’ asked Jessie. ‘Look, just gie Kathy his address. And put yer wee phone number oan the back, so that she doesnae havtae bother
wi’ a’ that code nonsense, then ye can go an’ sit in the car, son. She’ll want tae let him know his Da’s deid.’

‘Brother Peter won’t want to know,’ Harry replied, reluctantly writing his precious mobile number on the front of one of his be-spidered cards. He turned it over and wrote down
Peter’s address in California. ‘The cult doesn’t recognise family ties.’

‘Well, in that case,’ Kathy said, ‘he’s been in it since he was born. He worked damn hard a’ the years that Ah knew him tryin’ no’ tae recognise any
o’ us!’ She looked at the address. ‘What’s that they call theirsels?’

‘The Higher Seekers,’ Harry said glumly.

‘Is that no’ wanna they bands?’ Jessie asked, and Kathy laughed. ‘Were they no’ aroond at the same time as the Beatles? Sang kinda folk songs?’

‘No, Mother,’ Harry replied shortly. ‘You’re thinking of something else entirely.’

‘That’s us done noo,’ said Jessie. ‘When he calls me “Mother”, ye know he’s really annoyed, an’ that buggers his aura tae hell for hours at a
time!’ She looked at her son. ‘Away an’ take Kathy’s bags an’ put them in the car noo, son,’ she said kindly. ‘We’ll be doon in a minute. An’
try tae stop lookin’ as if somebody’s made ye suck a lemon. Sure you know we’re just havin’ a wee joke wi’ ye.’

When he’d gone she turned her attention to the forthcoming ambush of Father McCabe. ‘Right, get yer things,’ she said. ‘We’re off!’

‘Dae ye no’ want tae lay doon a few ground rules first?’ Kathy asked.

‘Ah’ve been plannin’ this for years,’ Jessie said with relish. ‘Ah don’t need tae work oot the tactics, Ah’ve been working oan it since the day Ah came
hame early frae school an’ heard Mammy an’ Daddy talkin’, hen! Get yer coat an’ let’s get this show oan the road!’

12

Kathy had only been living in Glenfinnan for a month or so when Rory Macdonald arrived to see his mother. He’d been working in Argentina when his father’s letter,
telling him of Bunty’s accident, had eventually found its way to him. She had been expecting, or perhaps she had just been hoping for, a younger version of Angus, a calm, pleasant, benign man
of adventure, but he took her unawares. He was an inch or two taller than his father, with the same solid build only more muscular, probably, she thought, because of the physical work he did, and
he had brown, curly hair and deep-set blue eyes in a square, tanned face; a handsome man, she decided. Bunty introduced her.

‘This is Kathy,’ she said, ‘and Macdonald and me couldnae manage without her. She’s come from Glasgow.’

A bored look crossed Rory Macdonald’s face. ‘Another Sassenach that thinks she belongs in the Highlands!’ he sighed, looking away as he put his hand out unenthusiastically to
shake hers.

Kathy was stung. ‘I
am not
English!’ she protested. ‘I’m from Glasgow!’

Rory sighed. ‘Ignorant, too, like all the rest,’ he muttered. He looked at her, and she noticed that his eyes were the same shade as Bunty’s. ‘A Sassenach is a
Lowlander,’ he said, with exaggerated patience. ‘The English are the extreme end of Lowlanders, I’ll grant you, but everyone who isnae a Highlander is a Sassenach too, and it
strikes me that you’re no Highlander.’

‘And it strikes me,’ said Kathy defiantly, ‘that you’re one of the worst mannered people I’ve ever met!’

‘Possibly,’ he replied, turning away and looking out of the window over the loch. ‘But it’s not something I’ll have to worry about. You won’t last six months
up here. Your sort never do.’

‘My sort? What exactly is “my sort”?’

He turned again, looked her up and down, laughed quietly without replying, then turned back to the view. ‘You know, Mother,’ he said gently, ‘wherever I go, this is the picture
I carry in my mind. I see it last thing at night when I close my eyes and first thing in the morning when I open them again.’

Furious at being ignored, Kathy looked from Bunty to Angus and back again, but neither of them seemed to be in the least surprised at their son’s behaviour. She had been prepared to make
him account for his rudeness and his hasty, unfair assessment of her, but what could she do when the fight was entirely one-sided? How could she argue with someone who did not argue, but simply let
the matter drop and die? Instead she marched from the room, then she waited outside for a moment to eavesdrop on their conversation and hear what they might say about her when she wasn’t
there. But the only remarks between them were about the happenings in Glenfinnan since his last visit some years before; they didn’t even notice that she’d gone. She had adored Bunty
and Angus from the first moment, but now she thought they must be as odd as their son. He had returned to home, hearth and family after an absence of years, yet as he’d walked in they had all
greeted each other as though he’d only been gone a few minutes. Standing outside in the corridor, listening in vain for some remark about herself, Kathy went over Rory’s arrival in her
mind.

‘It’s yourself then, Rory,’ Bunty had said, with a happy smile, admittedly, and Angus had looked up from his knitting and smiled warmly too.

‘Aye, Father,’ Rory had greeted his father. ‘How’s the leg, Mother?’

‘Fine, fine,’ Bunty had replied. ‘Have you had something to eat?’

Rory nodded. ‘And you’re all right yourself, then, Father?’

‘Aye,’ Angus smiled, ‘I’m fine, Rory, and you’re looking well yourself.’

‘The knitting looks good,’ Rory remarked, sitting down at the table by the window across from Angus and looking out of the window. And that was it; no delighted yells, ferocious
hugs, or tears of joy. With the minimum of greetings and no fuss whatsoever, the Macdonalds slotted effortlessly in to each other’s company as though they had never been apart. The only one
in the house to show any emotion had been Kathy, but her excited anticipation had quickly been turned to anger. She’d heard a great deal about Rory, and the fact that there were no family
photos anywhere in the house – Angus felt such things were unnecessary conventions – had allowed her to build up a picture in her mind of a swashbuckling wild rover. Faced with the
reality she had felt like slapping him. He had the bedroom across from hers at the front of the house, and every morning they would pass each other in total silence. She would look at him expecting
some sort of greeting, ‘Hello’ would have done, even ‘Buzz off’ would’ve been something, but not a word passed Rory’s lips, and she had the feeling that if
she’d spoken first he would’ve ignored her, so she didn’t. Kathy put up with it for nearly two weeks, the pressure of her anger building with each snub. She didn’t care if
he liked her, she just wanted a reaction. Everyone she had ever known had reacted to her, that was the basis of the way people talked about her as ‘that Kathy Kelly’. Their impressions
were often wrong, they saw her as brimming with confidence, for instance, though inside her head she always felt shy and awkward, others decided she went through life looking for an argument, and
that wasn’t true either, it was just that she didn’t let things pass, she had opinions. She didn’t really mind if the likes of Miss Smith, or Nigel Dewar and his cohort, the
besotted Ida, loathed her for her less than deferential attitude. She had long ago accepted that, apart from her mother, Lily, and her cousin, Harry, her entire family and Father McCabe spent all
their time in a rage against her, at least they knew she was alive. If there was one thing she could not stand it was being ignored, being treated like a non-person, and Rory Macdonald did just
that. He looked straight through her without the slightest effort, he regarded her as unworthy of the briefest amount of attention, civil or otherwise. Finally she could stand it no more and found
herself looking for an opportunity to have a go. It didn’t take long to appear. She had been in the kitchen arranging tea and biscuits for Bunty and Angus, and Rory had strode in, picked up a
cup and poured himself tea out of the pot she had just prepared, then he had departed in silence. Kathy picked up the tray and pursued him into the reading room, where Bunty and Angus were happily
arguing.