Ripped (104 page)

'Mother's
here.'

'Murray?
You
know
what
I
regret?
The
women
I
haven't
had.
And
the
ones
I
could
have
had
but
passed
up.
Murray?
Who's
going
to
look
at
me
now?'

Letting
the
door
swing
shut
behind
him,
Murray
stepped
out into
the
corridor.

Mother
came
waveringly,
feeling
forward
with
her
stick
at
each
step.
Yet
those
milky
eyes,
he
knew,
missed
nothing
of
him.
Groping
forward,
she
held
him
in
her
blind
gaze
and
with
her
stick
beat,
beat,
on
the
roof
of
his
skull.

26
The Children of Annette Verhaeren

SATURDAY,
OCTOBER
13
TH
1988

The
gull
screamed
a
savage
brainless
cry
and
flew
up
almost
into
his
face
as
he
entered
the
gate.
Startled,
he
watched
it
rise
beyond
the
spire,
a
blunt
tower
of
grey
stone
that
matched
the
overcast
sky,
as
if
the
church
was
a
fortress
set
on
this
hill
above
the
sea.
When
he
looked
down,
he
saw
that
he
was
being
watched.
Erect
among
the
stones
marking
the
lairs
of
the
dead,
a
man
stood
motionless,
resting
his
weight
on
the
handle
of
a
spade.

'Could
you
tell
me
where
I
would
find
Mr
Sinclair?'
Murray
asked.
He
had
seen
the
name
on
a
board
at
the
gate.

The
only
response
was
a
tightening
of
the
lips.
At
a
distance,
Murray
had
imagined
this
might
be
the
minister
himself,
but
the
cuffs
of
the
trousers
were
frayed,
the
boots
cracked,
a
curve
of
torn
lining
showed
below
the
old
jacket.
Close
up,
white
hair
and
deep
lines
scored
on
the
cheeks
marked
him
as
old.

'What
about
that
then?'
the
old
man
asked.

'Mr
Sinclair,'
Murray
repeated.
'I
was
wondering
where
I'd find
him.'

'That's
a
berberis
bush.
Would
you
describe
that
as
bonnie?

Sometimes
we
just
have
to
take
a
minute
to
look
at
things.'

Spiders'
webs
by
the
hundred
were
strung
between
the
narrow
spiky
branches.
Each
line
was
beaded
with
drops
of
moisture
that
caught
a
fraction
of
the
light
so
that
the
webs
made
a
shawl
thrown
across
the
bush
.

'I
haven't
seen
that
before,'
Murray
admitted,
recognising
the
need
for
diplomacy.

'It's
the
kind
of
thing
you
miss
if
you're
aye
in
a
hurry.'
Honour satisfied,
he
took
account
of
the
question
.
'You
want
the
minister?'
Murray
nodded.

'I
doubt
you'll
not
catch
him.
Did
you
try
the
manse?
'

'I
will
if
you
tell
me
where
it
is.'

'Down
the
road
a
bit
–
behind
the
wall
on
your
left.
Before
you
come
to
the
village
.
Here,
you
know
why
it's
out
there
and
not
in
the
village?'

Professionally
patient,
Murray
said,
'No
idea.'

'So
he'd
never
have
to
pass
a
fisherman's
door
to
get
to
the
kirk
.
A
minister
passing
the
door
when
the
boat
was
out
being
bad
luck,
you
ken.
In
the
old
days,
the
only
time
a
minister
would
be
in
a
fisherman's
house
was
for
a
funeral – and
then
it
was
all
right
for
all
the
boats
would
be
in
the
harbour.
The
young
men
don't
bother
about
that
stuff.
They've
been
too
lucky
for
too
long.'
He
eased
the
spade
to
and
fro
in
the
earth
.
'It's
a
gey
while
since
a
man's
been
drowned
out
of
this
village.'

'You've
been
here
a
long
time.
You
must
have
heard
of
a
couple called
Fletcher.'

The
old
man
coughed
sardonically
and
hawked
a
loop
of
green
phlegm
among
the
silver
webs.
'Only
a
hundred
first
to
last.
It's
all
Fletchers,
did
you
not
know
that?
Or
Thomsons.
Two
families
of
Hillises,
but
they're
incomers
.
Or
Grahams
.
There's
aye
Grahams,'
he
offered
grudgingly
with
the
manner
of
a
man
making
an
admission.

'The
couple
I'm
thinking
of
adopted
two
girls.
This
would
be
more
than
twenty
years
ago.'

'Sandy
Fletcher:
And
Grace
–
that
was
Grace
Hillis
before
she
married.'

'I
had
an
address,
but
the
house
is
empty.'

'That
whole
row's
empty
now.
And
will
be
till
the
winter's
by.
They're
all
holiday
cottages.'

'Where
have
the
Fletchers
gone?
Have
they
left
the
village?'

'I'll
show
you
Sandy's
place.'

With
the
slow
rolling
gait
of
a
ploughman,
he
led
the
way, offering
obliquely
phrased
enquiries
that
Murray
parried
with
the
ease
of
practice.
At
the
church
porch,
they
came
on
a
younger,
more
rumpled
version
of
Murray's
guide,
standing
with
his
head
back
staring
upwards.
The
chain
for
the
bell
hung
from
the
tower
down
the
wall,
but
the
hook
that
should
have
held
it
up
out
of
reach
was
twisted
and
sagging
loose.