WEE MALKIE Large Print

WEE MALKIE Frances Mary Hendry

PIP POLLINGER IN PRINT Pollinger Limited 9 Staple Inn Holborn LONDON WC1V 7QH www.pollingerltd.com First published in this large print edition by Pollinger in Print 2007 Copyright © Frances Mary Hendry 2007 All rights reserved The moral right of the author has been asserted A CIP catalogue record is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-905665-19-8 No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without prior written permission from Pollinger Limited

Chapter 1 Gerald called me a bastard again, and I nearly killed him. Serve him right. I’d known all my life that I was. A bastard, I mean. I was born while mum was on a rebel/ hippy/ free love/ do your own thing kick. I’ll swear dad was on some kind of drugs, though mum always denied it. Whenever he was high on cloud nine he was good fun, giggly and cheerful, what outsiders saw as normal. But even at three I knew to keep out of sight when he was down, which was most of the time; he was vicious and depressed, like a weasel with toothache. Mum couldn’t protect me, he was too strong. She just cringed and told me to run for it if I could, or hide, usually in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. For some reason dad never thought to look in there. If he caught me, though, I was black and blue for days. Like mum. I was in hospital for broken ribs once, and Mum with a broken arm. Mum said she’d been papering, and I’d climbed up the ladder and she’d tried to catch me and we’d both fallen. Next time, when I lost three WEE MALKIE

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teeth, mum says they looked suspicious, but she smiled charmingly, as she could, and it went no further. I was lucky, I suppose, that was the worst. Then when I was about five dad quit on us. Maybe there was nothing left around to steal. He never got in touch. I didn’t miss him, except with relief, and neither did mum after the first shock. About three years later we heard he was dead. Anyway, mum was left with me and no visible means of support; her own parents died when she was just fourteen, and her only relative was a crazy old sister away in the wilds of Scotland somewhere. She was pretty and stylish, even on no money, with a kind of dreamy, delicate, vulnerable look, huge shadowy violet eyes surprising against her pale skin and dark hair, and kind of scatty – a real dizzy blonde, except that she was dark. Elfin, they call her. I’m small and dark too, but nobody ever calls me elfin; more likely goblin. Okay, so I’m nobody’s sweet angel. I was used to it. I just kept so quiet nobody noticed me. That suited me. Being noticed meant getting hurt. Anyway, gatecrashing the party of a friend of a friend – you know how it is – mum met Walter Melford-Jarvikksen, who was an accountant, fair, definitely well-padded, posh and divorced, with an eleven-year-old 4

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boy left on his hands and a small mouth plump under a soft, waffly moustache. So she married him, and discovered pretty soon why he was divorced. His name was about right; he really was a wally, a pompous oily prat, and sarky with it whenever he’d had a drink, even a sherry, which with business lunches and so on was a fair bit of the time. He treated her like a child, with no respect. And even less for me. He disapproved of me, you see. Not just didn’t like me, although he didn’t. It was mutual. But he loathed the irregular way I’d come into mum’s life, and so into his. Not that he ever said so – mustn’t be intolerant, so uncool, not politically correct! But his tolerance was a mile obvious, and I hated it, and sulked and acted stupid because I felt so angry and guilty I couldn’t think straight, and that gave him a real excuse to get at me. Never vulgar or violent, Walter, give him that. Just mentally; patronising when he was nice and cutting when he wasn’t. He sort of paralysed my mind till I always fell short of his precious ‘normal behaviour’, and then he’d poker up and sneer silently with his pursy little mouth, and get onto mum later for not bringing me up properly, and how her background had ruined me. She’d end up crying, and I felt like murder. Or suicide. Over and over, I did. WEE MALKIE

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I once got up courage to ask mum to run away, but she said that he was a good man as he saw it, doing his best for me, paying a lot to put me through a good school, and it’d do me good in the end, blah, blah. I thought for a while that she was just glomming onto a good thing, but then I thought maybe she was scared to leave while I was still young, so it was my fault we stayed. It all made me so angry sometimes, my manners suffered, and I got into more trouble – talk about a vicious circle! At least Walter didn’t beat me up. Gerry did that. My step-brother. Gerald, that is. He hated being called Gerry, because he knew I was thinking ‘Hitler’. He wasn’t a wally, not by a long shot, though he looked it in some lights. One of those yukky handsome glowing Californiastyle golden boys. Well in with the teachers – and the girls. Such a nice young man, Gerald, old-fashioned, if you know what I mean? Top of the class in just about everything. Not even bad at sport – if you can call poncing about waggling a fencing foil a real sport. He didn’t do team games – had to be out on his own. A whiz with computers, good at art, played the oboe, champion debater, open and friendly, upright and confident, lovely wavy gold hair, a cert 6

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for Oxbridge, a proper gentleman, a credit to his father, what a pity Malcolm can’t be like him! Yeah. And he liked to tie me up on my bed and torture me, because he knew I wouldn’t shout or tell, whatever he did. He was too big for me, well, at seventeen against thirteen what do you expect? But he never beat me, not that way. And when he noticed me wince when he called me a bastard, he started saying the word as often as he could get away with – though about real baddies, not about me, of course, not in public. I tried not to cringe, tried to hide how much it hurt, but it was like rubbing your arm with a grater; it got worse every time, till I was always waiting for the stab, every second. So the morning this story really started, I suppose, everything was perfectly ordinary, except that when I came out of the boys’ bathroom Gerry was draped elegantly against my doorpost like a male model. I froze inside as usual, head down not to catch his eye. Stuff it, I’d forgotten to lock up! Something would be missing or damaged for sure. Last time Gerry had got in, next time I switched on my computer it had a virus that had moved absolutely everything one letter or number up, so that Malcolm became Nbmdpmn and 2 + 2 = 4 became 3 + 3 = 5. WEE MALKIE

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Screamingly hilarious. It took a fortnight to fix, and I lost most of my games. Humming something classical – he was one of those maddening people who wake up quick – he sneered round as I slid past him, eyes down. “What a pigsty! But that’s where you find bastard runts, isn’t it, Wee Malkie?” he murmured contemptuously, in that cut-glass accent the teachers loved. He’d recently found a poem called ‘The Wee Malkies’ about a Glasgow gang who destroyed everything, and because dad and mum were Scotch he’d started calling me after them. “Yes, Gerry.” Bad mistake. Stupid, stupid! He glanced round fast to check we were alone, shut the door and grabbed me, twisting my arm up behind me till I couldn’t help grunting. “You’re not trying to be cheeky, are you, Wee Malkie? Mind your manners with me, you snotty little Scots bastard!” I ached to spoil that wide, charming grin he flashed so effectively – best orthodontists money can buy – but his arms were too long. Hate hate hurt hate hurt hate… “Malcolm, Gerald! Breakfast’s on the table!” Mum called on the stair. Breathing deep with satisfaction, he gave my arm a final twist and stepped back, 8

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smoothing his hair and his voice. “Better get a move on, Wee Malkie. Don’t want to be late down. You know how it irritates my father.” Not dad, or our father, you notice. Same as he never called mum anything but Beth. He went out, humming happily. I eased my arm. No, I’d not cry, no way! It was the only way I could beat him, was keep quiet. At first I’d told mum and Wally, but they just didn’t believe that a polite, smiling, innocent-eyed twelve-year-old would beat a seven-year-old with his cricket bat, or rip up his books, or deliberately push him down stairs. It just caused more trouble for mum, so I stopped. I’d never tell, and Gerry knew it. Hate hate… In helpless frustration and fury I muttered all the words I’d learned at my new posh school. But what could I do what could I do… When I finally straggled down, Mum was busy feeding our little sister Amanda. “Hi, mum.” “Hi, you!” She gave me a rather flustered peck on the cheek. “Eat up fast, you’re late down, sleep in?” She wasn’t really paying attention, it was just a pre-emptive scold, getting in before Walter did. “Amanda, sweetie, eat up your nice eggy for mummy!” Some landed on the floor. “Oh, dear!” Amanda giggled triumphantly. WEE MALKIE

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“Hi, Mandy-Pandy!” I said. At least she loved me. “Good morning, Walter.” Walter lowered the Guardian politely to say, “Mornin’, Malcolm!” in his plummy voice before he vanished again. Wasn’t reading the paper at breakfast bad manners? At least it kept him quiet and let me doze over my omelette and orange juice. Well, when my arm wasn’t sore I could. This morning I wasn’t hungry, but I had to pretend or they’d nag again. Everything just seemed to stoke up on me. Amanda finished redecorating the kitchen with egg and wriggled to get down. In seconds she was squirming about under the table tickling our legs and jabbering away in scribble, twenty to the dozen. For not quite three, she knew some fancy words. “Here’s a hijjus tyrannus rex dinner-saur coming to chomp you to gobbles!” She bit my knee. I yelped, but before Walter could do his longsuffering act mum snaked her out like an octopus, wedged her in her high chair again and gave her a banana. “Really, Beth, you spoil that child ridiculously!” But Walter peered over the top of the paper and smirked foolishly. “Everybody loves Amanda,” Gerry commented, giving me a smile that said, ‘But not you, bastard!’ Hurt hate hate… 10

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Mum looked startled and defensive. Gerry didn’t often say nice things – as she saw it. Amanda giggled and poked her banana at my face. “Wanna bit, Makkum?” I acted taking a huge bite and choking on it. She screamed with glee. Gerry chuckled, pretending to tease in a relaxed, friendly way. “Proves that man really does descend from monkeys, doesn’t it, Malcolm?” He smiled sweetly at my tight face. “Now, are you sure you’ve got everything ready for school? All today’s books? Got your homework and everything? Your punishment exercise?” I glowered. “You been in at my things again?” “Me? Oh, Malcolm!” He was all injured innocence. “Yeah, you! I’ve told you to keep out!” He was shaking his head sadly. The Guardian rustled irritably. “Malcolm, you are paranoid!” Mum sighed. “Honestly, Malcolm, Gerald wouldn’t interfere with your things, or even go into your room –” “With that enormous padlock and bolt he’s put on, what chance would I have?” “Ruined the woodwork!” Walter muttered automatically behind the paper. True enough, I’d used three-inch screws for security. WEE MALKIE

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“As if I would anyway.” I couldn’t help it, he always made me so mad. “Oh, wouldn’t you, you rotten pig!” Not loud, just a mutter, but Walter heard it. “Malcolm!” The Guardian went down with a snap. “Gerald was only trying to help! Will you please stop insulting people! Really, Malcolm, I have never known anyone so paranoid! You slink about furtively, looking harmless, but whenever anybody speaks to you, you snarl and snap, lash out as if you were being attacked! You must stop this – this – I dislike slang as you well know, but the only word is aggro! Learn some self-control.” He didn’t know how hard I was selfcontrolling. I was desperate. This time, for sure, something would be wrong with my lines, and I’d need them first period for ferocious old Tinribs Ironsides. At least that seemed to have slipped past Walter. He went rabbiting on about sullen silence, untidiness, lack of appreciation for everything everybody did for me. All I wanted was to be left alone, why wouldn’t they all leave me alone? “Please, father, it’s all right.” Gerry finally stopped him, all smarmy. “Poor Malcolm can’t help it. It’s just his way.” Mum was fluffing up, trying to get up her courage to defend me, but I had to keep her out of it. I gritted my teeth and said humbly 12

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as usual, “Sorry, sorry, I’ll try to do better, honestly, sir.” She gave me a grateful look as Gerry beamed in triumph. Whenever I was in trouble with Walter I’d get in a ‘sir’ and the pressure normally eased. This time, though, it didn’t work. “And what was that about a punishment exercise?” Stuff it, he had noticed. “Misbehaving at school as well as at home – really, Malcolm, your appalling attitude…” At last he ran down. Mum started to clear the table. “Come on, boys. Malcolm, rinse off, please. Gerald, you stack the dishwasher.” “Sure, Beth!” Gerry jumped up – couldn’t let me score merit points over him. “But can’t we leave them for the cleaner? I specially want to get in early today, I have to speak to Miss Chou about the school mag.” Naturally he was on the editorial committee. Through the fog of resentment I saw my chance to shine, for once. Though my heart was racing with rage still, I chuckled. “We’ve time, Gerry, and Mrs Blackstone has enough to do.” Consideration for others, see? Like Walter wanted. He smiled, and so did mum, but Gerry’s eyes promised pain later. My insides twisted. What had got into me today? Hate hate… While I rinsed the pans and plates, he started showing off, to keep me in my inferior WEE MALKIE

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place, dramatising all over, giving us yards of Mark Antony, the part he was auditioning for – face it, the part he’d get – in ‘Julius Caesar’, the school play. Just as he got to ‘Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!’ I dropped a pan edge-on on his toes. It was accidental, I didn’t mean to drop it, honest! Well, sort of honest. My arm twinged, I lost my grip, the pan began to slip, and I didn’t try too hard to stop it. Face it, I didn’t try at all to stop it. And I sort of organised the way it was going. Oh, what a fall... “Yeow!” He hopped all over, most satisfactorily, while I picked up the pan. “You did that on purpose! And we’re fencing Harrow tomorrow, if it’s broken I’ll have to drop out – you – you –” Then I saw his face change, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It was quite deliberate. He thought he had a good enough excuse to get away with it about me for once. He looked right at me, and he said coldly, “You little bastard!” I hit him. With the heavy, copperbottomed, non-stick omelette pan. And whether it was the sore toes, or the presence of mum and Wally restraining him, or the suddenness of the attack, or just all my pain and frustration and hateful, hating 14

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misery finally exploding, for once I won. I battered him senseless. He was lucky. I could have been holding a carving knife. I’m only sorry I don’t really remember any of it. Next thing I actually know, Gerry was lying on the floor, groaning. The tiles were supposed to be blood-red, but they weren’t, not exactly. His face was a joy, like a pound of stewing steak. Walter was dotting about, kneeling beside him, mopping at his face with a dishtowel, shaking me till my teeth rattled – I’d never believed that, but it’s true – and shouting, “You’ve killed him, Beth phone an ambulance, Malcolm you’re insane, call a doctor, call the police Beth, I’ll have you imprisoned, in a mental institution!” I’d never seen him so upset, but he still didn’t say jailed or in a loony-bin. And then I heard Amanda screaming. Mum was white as a sheet, her eyes huge and dark and horrified. She was holding my little sister; and blood was pouring down Amanda’s face. “You hit her!” mum whispered. “You hit your little sister! You could have killed her!” “I didn’t know she was out of her chair! I didn’t know I’d hit her! Mum!” My guts were roiling inside me, with a flood of sheer terror. “Mum, I’m sorry – I didn’t see her – I’d never –” WEE MALKIE

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But when I stepped towards them, mum shrank back and fled upstairs with Amanda. They can say what they like about the NHS and London traffic, the ambulance was at the door in less than five minutes, and they had Gerry on a stretcher and loaded up in another five. Walter said he’d fallen down the stair. Stupid, I thought, the nearest stair was two rooms away. The men gave me a queer look. I’d cleaned up at the sink, but my face and my pale blue sweater were still marked with blood. One of the paramedics said, “His cheekbone’s broken, but his skull’s probably okay, you’ll be glad to hear, son,” being sarky. I didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed. Mum hurried downstairs with Amanda and climbed into the ambulance with them. Walter looked straight at me for the first time. His face was all patchy white and red. His little mouth twitched and pursed. He said to me, “Malcolm, go to your room.” It was what I wanted to do, anyway. He followed me up, and I heard the hasp rattle over and my big padlock being clicked shut. I was locked in. He was locked out, too; I had the key in with me. The front door shut, his car drove away. I was alone. He’d call the police, psychiatrists, the DSS. He could call the SAS, for all I cared. I 16

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didn’t care. I didn’t care. I’d hurt Amanda, she’d hate me now, and Mum too, not just not care about me. She thought I was like dad, brutal and violent… Gerry had won. Stuff him. And Wally. And mum too, she thought it was my fault, everybody always thought it was my fault, but it wasn’t not this time – not ever. Hate hate hate. Stuff the whole world. I didn’t care. Didn’t care. Didn’t care wouldn’t care didn’t… Round and round, flooding my mind… I got out my Swiss Army knife that mum had given me for Christmas. About two hours later I heard the car, and the front door. Steps came upstairs. I waited to see what he’d say when he realised he didn’t have the key. The padlock rattled, and to my annoyance the door opened. He must have got the key I’d given Mrs Blackstone so she could get in to clean, and I hadn’t shot the bolt on my side. He stood and stared. I’d destroyed everything. Everything. Every one of my cassettes and videos, the ones Gerry hadn’t damaged for me, I’d smashed them, or pulled out the tapes and cut them up and scattered the coils over the floor. I’d ripped up my posters, and slashed the mattress and the curtains. I’d sliced open all my shoes, even my new Nike trainers. I’d cut the strings of my squash racket, and jammed WEE MALKIE

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the slide and tube of my trombone into a drawer and sat on them till they bent. My school books were confetti. The feathers from my down pillows and duvet – nothing but the best for Walter’s family, and serve him right – were puffing gently like, well, like feathers, all over the shreds of the fitted carpet. I’d pulled the doors off the fancy repro pine furniture and smashed the drawers, and gouged my skis, because no matter how hard I jumped on them they wouldn’t break. A use at last for that thing that takes the stones out of horses’ hoofs. I used it on my records and CD’s too. I won’t tell you what I’d scrawled all over the walls with marking pens. I’d thought about breaking the windows, but it was still cold out, in March. The floor felt crunchy as cornflakes underfoot where I’d gutted my clock, my ghetto blaster, my lamps, my TV and video, my mobile and my computer. Take more than a fortnight to put that lot right. All my clothes were in ribbons, including the ones I’d been wearing. I’d unscrewed my radiator, and bent it down from the wall. It was leaking all over the floor. It’s surprising what you can do when you really try. I stood there, stark naked except for my slippers – I didn’t want cut feet – and my watch that mum had given me, and stared at 18

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him. He turned green. It didn’t go with his toning pink shirt and plum cords, that’s for sure. I thought he was going to faint. My chest was full of triumphant black glory. “You think I’m bad,” I said. “I’ll give you bad.” After a minute, he just shut the door again, and the padlock rattled. Well, that suited me. I yelled after him, “How’s Amanda?” I didn’t care about Gerry. But he didn’t answer. He didn’t come back either, not all that day. He was in and out, and the phone was like a police station, but he didn’t come near me. When I got desperate for a pee, I opened the window. I got hungry and thirsty, but I wouldn’t knock and ask to be let out, not for a million dollars I wouldn’t. If I hadn’t smashed my mobile, I’d have ordered a pizza delivered – bad planning. I thought mum might have brought me something, but she never appeared. Maybe Amanda was badly hurt, and mum was still at the hospital with her? If I hadn’t destroyed all my clothes, I’d have run away, second floor room or not, I’d have got down somehow. Stuff the world. Late on, Walter opened the door, handed me a packet of sandwiches and a soft drink, marched me to the bathroom without a word, and then locked me in for the night. WEE MALKIE

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When the central heating turned off it got cold, without clothes or heating or a proper bed, though I wrapped up on the remains of the mattress in the duvet cover and the rug that somehow I’d missed, probably because it was covered with assorted electronics. Next morning early Walter brought in a gigantic youngish bloke like Conan the Barbarian, wider across the shoulders than Walter was round the waist, with a seventhhand face and a neck like a pillarbox. Walter looked past my ear, his face tight as a tent. “You know what to do,” he said. “Get him out of my life.” Then he went out again. The man looked at me, and round at the wreckage. My heart was pounding. What was he here for? He had a carrier bag in his hand. He dropped it on the floor, lifted the bent tubes of my trombone and gently, easily, straightened them. He shook his head. “Shame to treat a good instrument like that.” He looked down at me from about ten miles above my head, and asked quietly, in a voice about four octaves below middle C, “Am I goin’ to have trouble with you, son?” “Depends,” I said, trying to keep my cool. He scared me, the way Gerry never did. He’d have scared Rambo. But I didn’t care. Wouldn’t care. “You the fuzz? Or a minder in a loony-bin?” 20

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His mouth widened – it was a smile. Just. It should have creaked. “No, I’m not a copper, or a trick-cyclist. Be sensible, an’ you got nothin’ to worry about, kid, honest.” I didn’t believe him, but he just pointed a thumb at the bag and said, “You’re leavin’. Get dressed.” “Leaving? Where to?” He smiled again. “Does it matter? You want to stay? Tell you, son, I wouldn’t, not with him, not after half-killin’ his boy. Broken nose, broken cheek-bone, concussion. Make a dentist’s fortune with bridgework. Want to be done for attempted murder? Or get clear out of it?” What did I feel? Relief? Resentment? Regret? I considered, and he waited, giving me time to think. “How’s Amanda?” “Your little sister? Cut on her face needed a couple o’ stitches. Upset but okay. Lucky.” That was a weight off my heart. “What about mum? What does she say?” He blinked. “Your mum? Ain’t seen her. Just your dad.” “Stepfather!” I snarled. Oh, mum… Stuff her. She thought… I’d never trust her again! I hated her. Never trust anybody, everybody lets you down. Hurt hate hurt… “Come on, son, get dressed. Or do I have to dress you? Warn you, if I do, neither of WEE MALKIE

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us’ll like it. But you’ll like it less than me.” I shivered. He half-smiled again. “See?” he said. “You’re half frozen. Keep us all happy. An’ I don’t know about you, but I could murder a Macburger or five, an’ a gallon o’ coffee before we catch our plane.” Plane? Not a loony-bin, then, probably. He was too big to tangle with, and I was starving anyway. “Best offer I’ve had all day,” I said, and reached for the bag. We got on fine. He never laid a finger on me, didn’t have to, I’d sooner have argued with Godzilla. I got dressed in a whole new set of clothes, new Reeboks and everything, nothing but the best, specially when Walter loathed me – coals of fire, see? – and we left. Walter stood and watched from the window of his study as we got into the taxi. He didn’t wave. Neither did I.

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Chapter 2 The big man’s name was Tommy. He wasn’t a talker, but he was a good guy. He taught me to play poker on the plane to Inverness. By this time I knew where we were headed; mum’s old sister, that I’d never seen. Well, we’d met at the wedding when I was about seven, but you couldn’t count that, really. I certainly didn’t remember her. She sent birthday presents, and they weren’t bad – face paints and a picture book of Japanese heroes, or an African mask, or a sheep’s skull, horns and all, or chopsticks, or a real broadsword hilt from Culloden battlefield. At Christmas she sent pairs, for me and Gerry. Gerry’s slippers were tartan wool, mine red leather Turkish with turned-up toes. Or when Gerry got a nice tweed tie, I got an electric bow tie that lit up and whirled and played tunes – definitely different. Walter hated it, heh heh. Mum had laughed. Forget mum. Who wanted to be kissed goodbye? But she let me go without a word, sent me away. She didn’t love me. Don’t care. Hate hurt hate, round and round… WEE MALKIE

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From Inverness airport, which was a bit like the Falklands, we got a taxi. I’d expected vast open mountains with spiky trees, like the travel brochures, but it was low hills, with small fields and mostly round trees, almost like England but watered down. Some fields had humpy corrugated-iron huts, with happy-looking pigs grubbing about like sheep but dirtier. Odd, very. After about fifteen minutes we went through a biggish village called Nairn, another mile or two above immense beaches, and off through pointy trees at last along a cart track. You couldn’t call it a drive. We bumped downhill round a tall clump of bushes with big leathery leaves, and stopped. There sat a real fairy-tale cottage, except with slates instead of thatch. It had those windows that poke up out of the roof like crocodiles’ eyes, and rose bushes, and zillions of little flowers bright as confetti under the trees all round. The track ended in a sheltered yard facing south, up the hill we had come down, with a back door between a wing of the house sticking out at one end, and at the other an odd extension with wide skylights instead of windows, like a big garage. Beyond the house, you could see away down over moorland and fields and forest 24

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and a stretch of bright blue water to land again further away. All round, there were long, rolling dark trees, under long, rolling white clouds. Nothing else. Not another house in sight. The driver switched off his engine, and the silence froze your ears. We got out. And shivered. If you opened your mouth the wind would clean your toenails from the inside. Some bird started singing in the bushes. Several grey geese under some fruit trees stared at us as if we were Martians, rising on tiptoe to hiss and flap their wings. A dozen black and white hens in a pen went crazy, and a tatty ginger cat snoozing in the sun on a tarred shed roof stretched and melted down over the edge like toffee to investigate us. Tommy was going to walk round to the front, but the driver leaned out of his window. “No, no, this door,” he said. “Nobody uses front doors here except for funerals.” Tommy’s head was higher than the lintel as he knocked. “Hello! Anybody about?” “Hi! Up here! Come away through!” We went round the ‘garage’ and through an old gate, unpainted and hanging half off its hinges, into a big kitchen garden. “I’ll just finish planting out these last lettuces and be right with you – there we are now!” a woman called cheerfully, levering herself to her feet. Aunt Jean. She was older than WEE MALKIE

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mum, of course, middle-aged, fattish and dowdy, in old black wellies and brown trousers and a grubby grey anorak. Her light-brown hair was up in a kind of bun, with wisps flying out. She didn’t look any fun, that was for sure. I’d be worse off with her in this wilderness than with Walter in London. Stuff it. Out of the frying pan into the dustbin. Tommy was holding up an envelope. “Mrs Jean Mackenzie? Special delivery for you from Mr Melford-Jarvikksen. I’ve got this letter –” He broke off. She wasn’t listening to him. Her eyes were fixed on me. Gently, she put him to one side and came towards me. Behind her, Tommy was looking sort of irritated. Who did he think he was, Santa? It was getting ridiculous, the grim way this dozy old sheila was studying me, wiping her dirty hands absently on her grubby trousers. Stuff her too. I glowered at my feet, waiting for her to start complaining and scolding. “Walter Melford-Jarvikksen,” she said, “is a total berk. He makes you wish for retrospective abortion.” Shook me rigid, I tell you. Even Tommy’s jaw dropped. “Malcolm,” the woman stated. “You’re Betty’s image when she was thirteen, before she got hooked on the fashion mags and 26

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started starving herself into anorexia.” A sweet smile widened her mouth. “You’re very welcome, lad.” Within five minutes she’d sent off the taxi. “I’ll run you back to the airport for your flight back, Mr...? Armstrong? Yes, it suits you.” They both laughed. She made tea for us and opened the envelope. There were two letters, one from Wally and one in mum’s writing. I didn’t care. There were ginger biscuits with chocolate chips, home-made, that weren’t bad. While she read – she had an odd way of humming to herself, ‘H’m... M’hm!’ in a dozen tones from interest and enthusiasm to disgust – I calmed down enough to look round. It felt like Amanda’s Wendy house, specially with Tommy looming about. The living-room was a fair size, about four metres by six, but so low that Tommy’s hair almost brushed the ceiling. The walls were thick, like a castle, with small peephole windows and deep sills jungly with pot plants. Two walls were solid wood bookcases, floor to ceiling, full of well-read books – not many paperbacks. You’d think she’d sprayed the others with pictures, you could scarcely see the pale green wallpaper. A real fire with a basket of logs – for burning, not decoration, no central heating. The furniture all old, not Antiques Road Show type, just not-quite-junk in dull WEE MALKIE

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blues and greens. Comfortable, though. Solid, sort of calm. No fitted carpet, just polished floorboards round a big worn square in the middle, mostly brown, and faded blue velvet curtains. The bathroom was a tiny box tucked away under the twist of the stair that rose openplan from one end of the livingroom. I half expected a hip bath, but it was modern – cream tiles and toilet, shower, golden wood panelling even on the ceiling. No bath or bidet. No room. I could walk right in, just, but as he came out Tommy didn’t duck quite far enough and half stunned himself on the arch under the staircase. At last Aunt Jean hummed, ‘M’hm,’ in a final tone, put down the papers, poured herself another cup of tea, and sighed. “I never could see the point of Betty’s men, any of them. A pure waste of fresh air, every one. Not enough brains to keep her pretty wee ears apart, poor Betty.” I was flaming. “That why you never come to visit her?” I demanded. She didn’t take offence. “Yes,” she said simply, and smiled at me. “Do you know what’s in here, Malcolm? H’m?” I shook my head. “That man! You, Mr Armstrong?” “Not me, missus. Just hired to do a delivery, one boy, Malcolm Fraser, to here. Don’t know any more, ’cept Mr Em-Jay 28

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warned me he was trouble.” He winked at me and took another biscuit. “I’ve seen no sign of it.” “You do surprise me.” Her eyebrows quirked. “He warns me, too. Destructive, sullen, disturbed, surly, rude, violent, hostile, aggressive, psychotic even – a real list of nasties. From this, you should have horns and a tail, Malcolm.” I shrugged sullenly. “He wrote it, not me.” “Mm.” She nodded again, slowly. “But he never mentions unhappy. Your mother does.” She looked so kind, and so sad, I felt mad. Stupid old cow, what right had she to look at me like that? As if she cared? She sighed. “Well, I’ll tell you what it is, Malcolm. They want you to stay here.” Stay with this old biddy? Who looked about as keen on it as me? For good? Oh, stuff it! “M’hm. They didn’t tell you, Malcolm? M’hmm. Idiots… I promised years ago, when Betty was having so much trouble with your father, that if she was stuck I’d take you in, but when she married Walter... I didn’t expect... Oh, well. Your mum and your stepfather are taking me up on it. Walter wants rid of you. Your mum –” “So does she,” I mumbled. “No.” She looked as stern as her round face could. “She thinks you’ll do better away from Gerald.” WEE MALKIE

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“Just an excuse.” Hurt hate hurt… She shook her head. “No, really. Fair enough, I think. So they’ve sent you here, to me. Just what I needed.” My heart sank. That’s true, as well; you can feel it shrivelling up inside you. I mean to say, she was all the family I had, apart from mum. Didn’t she want me? Where would I go now? But she was smiling quizzically. “Don’t worry, Malcolm. I said when you arrived you were welcome, and I meant it. I’ll be happy to have you stay. Which I’m sure is a relief to all of you.” True. Anything was better than going back. “And he’s going to pay for your keep, which is a relief to me. Potters don’t earn fantastic salaries like vital people like accounts executives.” She frowned briefly. “How do you execute an account? I’m sure he does a great job... M’hm.” She looked over at Tommy. “What about you, Mr Armstrong? How do you come into this?” He shrugged. “Just a one-off. Pocket money. On the dole just now, missus. Used to teach judo an’ karate an’ that, but the gym closed.” She had the kind of interested attention that made you want to talk to her, and he told her a lot more than he’d told me. “Bouncer off an’ on. Like to join the police, but they won’t have you if you got a record. Bad little boy, see? Nickin’ cars, shopliftin’, 30

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all that. Never in the nick, but it was a close thing – good thing I could run fast! Been right lucky, they felt me collar often enough but I got no more on me actual sheet than a couple o’ Juvenile Courts for joyridin’. But the way things are with jobs these days, they can afford to be proper choosey, so –” She looked a touch alarmed. No wonder, if he took it into his head to go crook the Archangel Gabriel with a bazooka wouldn’t stop him. “You’ve gone straight now, though?” “Yeah, sure.” He shrugged again, his leather jacket heaving like an elephant with hiccups. “Two years back I nicked a Volvo to get home when I was pissed. Parked it in a fishmonger’s window.” I snorted with laughter. He didn’t. “Swiped a pram on the way in. Kiddie landed safe among the fillets – but it weren’t funny. It could’ve been killed. Or crippled, that’s worse. Got away before the fuzz got there, but it shook me right up. Saw sense – a bit late, but better late than never. Never put a foot wrong since, don’t even skip me bus fare, but who believes it?” “I do.” Suddenly, like the sun coming out, she smiled at him. “I tell you what we’ll do. Are you a practical man? Putting up shelves and so on? Great. I’ll give you the spare room, and we’ll get Walter to pay you for as WEE MALKIE

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long as we can swing it. If he loads a – what was it?” She checked with the letter. “A schizoid young psychopath – h’m, he’s spelt it wrong, but what do you expect these days – if he dumps that on me, with one phone call as early warning, he can just supply me with a bodyguard till I learn to cope. He can afford it, and I’ve got fences to mend and a thousand and one heavy things that need seeing to. I can do with a man about the house for a while. M’hm. General handyman. You get whatever we can squeeze out of Walter, and pay a quarter of all the housekeeping bills. For as long as it suits us both. Okay?” Tommy grinned till I was surprised his face didn’t crack. “Great, missus!” I snarled. “I don’t want any of Walter’s rotten money!” Trying to make me feel bad, as usual! Hate hate hate… Aunt Jean snorted. “You wait till you’re offered some. It’s me he’s giving it to, not you.” Her eyes softened. “Look, Malcolm. Boys cost. Clothes, food, clubs, pocket money, school trips, maybe university later –” I grunted disgust and disbelief, but she carried right on. “Maybe he wants to show what a good man he is, show Betty he’s treating you well in spite of you hurting his own son. Well, that’s understandable. M’hm. Incidentally, why did you go for Gerry with a pan? H’m?” 32

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Tommy looked interested, too. I almost didn’t answer, but... “He called me a bastard.” If I wanted to shock her, I failed. She just nodded thoughtfully. Tommy shrugged. “So what?” he asked. I glowered. He looked at me more carefully. “Ah. Join the gang, son.” “What? You too?” He nodded, not offended at all. “I like ‘love-child’ better.” Aunt Jean chuckled. “But he was trying to insult you? How old-fashioned.” She put on an odd voice. “You cad! You boundah, sah!” Cheeky old cow. Tommy nodded. “Mongrels are sharper an’ healthier than fancy pedigreed pooches. Look at William the Conk, he didn’t do so bad. An’ Jesus, if it comes to that.” He grinned at my dropped jaw. “Well, Mary’s husband Joseph wasn’t his dad, was he? Forget it. You’re you. So your parents didn’t get legally hitched? What’s it matter? Not your responsibility.” That was what mum said. I didn’t believe her, either. Gerry certainly hadn’t. Maybe that was a reason for agreeing? Think about that later. “It matters to Malcolm, and that’s what counts. Leave it just now,” Aunt Jean said. Sensible. “So you feel Walter’s sneering at you, Malcolm, trying to put you down? WEE MALKIE

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M’hm. I won’t say you’re wrong. He’ll reincarnate as a bed bug.” A shade of anger lifted in my head at her nippy tone. She chuckled. “Never you mind. Leave him to me, son. Would you like Mr Armstrong to stay for a bit?” “Tommy,” Tommy said, and she smiled at him. Well. He’d be better than just her. I nodded. “Suppose so.” “Wild enthusiasm,” Tommy snorted, and she chuckled. “Come along, then.” She stood up. “Boy oh boy, what a surprise! Exhilarating, though. I was getting dull. Tommy, do you want to make any arrangements? Tell your friends? M’hm. There’s the phone. We’ll go and get you some fresh underpants, my lad, before you stink the house out!” I flushed. She grinned wickedly. “Tommy, too.” Tommy flushed. “And we’ll have to see about getting you registered to me for Family Benefit, and so on. And there’s school – you needn’t look at me in that tone of voice! Anyway, come up and see your room, and give Tommy some privacy.” Her stairs twisted like a snake up onto a narrow landing under the roof peak, like a plaster tent with cupboards built in on both sides. She wasn’t much taller than me, but we both had to walk along with our elbows 34

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in, and our heads bent to the side to dodge the ceiling and the skylight. “This door’s my room. Keep out unless you’re invited in, or there’s an emergency.” At the far end there was a tiny square space, with two doors. She pointed to the bigger one. “The spare room above the kitchen – Tommy can have it.” The other was a little plank door with one top corner cut off to fit under the slope. “This was my daughter’s room. Judith. She’s a surgeon with Medecins sans Frontieres, in Chad just now.” She sighed. “M’hm. You’ll stay in here. Keep it clean, and as tidy as you can. I won’t come in without giving you fair warning, unless there’s an emergency. Okay?” I’d been in bigger tents. The wardrobe was cut almost triangular under the ceiling slope behind the door. You could only stand upright along the middle, and in front of the little window that stuck out above the front garden. You could see for miles, right away down to the sea. Aunt Jean grinned. “Not the palace you’re used to, eh?” “Snow-white and the seven dwarfs.” Somehow I couldn’t help being snappy. She only laughed. “So who’s Dopey?” Glowering, I plumped down on one of the beds snuggled one each side under the sloping eaves at the far end, with a low WEE MALKIE

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chest of drawers between them for a shared bedside table. Soft and saggy. Turquoise quilts and blankets, not even duvets. Yuk. Aunt Jean suddenly bent forward to peer at her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. “Hell’s bells and buckets of blood!” I jumped and banged my head on the ceiling above me. “I look like a reject from a funny farm! Must get tidied up.” She put her head on one side and smiled at me. “You’re very welcome, my dear. You’re home now.” Silly old cow. But somehow I felt warmer. And angry with myself for it. She dolled up in a crimson duffel coat and ski pants, and black high-heeled boots, like Sandra Claus. Smarter than I’d expected, considering her age and everything. But I suppose nobody wears their best gear for gardening. After Walter’s Merc, Aunt Jean’s little old Peugeot felt like a dinky toy, but she zipped it along the road like a Maserati. In a small warehouse in Nairn she swept me briskly through a full set of clothes, from the skin out. I couldn’t help cheering up. It was embarrassing, but different, anyway. She enjoyed herself, too, the way a hurricane does, and she talked nineteen to the dozen. “Vests – oh, all right, tee-shirts. Not those yukky Mickey Mouse things. Four plain white, and four any colour you like 36

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except pink. I don’t care what’s the in thing in London, in Scotland pink is sissy, your school mates would laugh at you. Socks. Put down those disgusting neon objects – a joke? I’m glad to hear it. Do you like ironing shirts? Nor me. Life’s too short. Polo-necks, then. Six, any colour. Except pink, right, you’re learning. Sweat-shirts, okay – and a sweater. Cashmere – joking again? I’m not a bloated clutoprat like Walter.” A what? I had to stop and think about that one. She was grinning, teasing me. Stuff her. Well, maybe not. The first half of it was right, anyway. And the last bit. I found I was smiling. Even if I’d lost mum and Amanda, being away from Gerry made up for a lot. And Aunt Jean made me smile. Couldn’t be all bad. Not while it lasted. But it wouldn’t. Nothing did… She was still talking. “Your anorak’s typical English, like a second-hand paper hankie. A wishy-washy tishy.” I started to giggle – couldn’t help it. She grinned. “That’s better, you’ve been looking like a month of wet Mondays. A wind-breaker for on top – okay, okay, a wind-cheater, what do I know? That one’s fine, the silver stripe will show up when you’re out cycling at night. We’ll sting Walter for a bike. Pyjamas – yes, pyjamas, my lad, this is Scotland, not Florida. Now, anything else?” WEE MALKIE

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I’d had my eye on something, but was a bit hesitant. “What is it, son?” It was a leather bomber jacket like Tommy’s, with a tartan wool lining, the kind Walter wouldn’t have let me have, not in a million years. “M’hm. Practical and good looking. And it fits the image, eh? Good choice.” I suddenly realised it had been a kind of a test, and to my relief I’d passed. I shoved the feeling aside; why should I care what she thought? She’d turn against me soon enough. “You all kitted up, Tommy? Fine, then.” She drew a deep breath. “Boy oh boy, my bank manager’ll have a hairy fit, I wish I could be there to see it.” I almost had to laugh; then I glowered again. I wasn’t going to be suckered into liking any of this. The shops were closing but it was still light. “On a clear June night it never gets really dark up here, not like down in London.” Tommy laughed. “We say down to the country, up to London. You’re so remote.” Aunt Jean’s eyebrows rose. “Look at a map of Britain. Scotland is at the top. London is at the bottom, and very suitable too.” I grinned. “And remote? Remote from where?” “From London,” he said, with a shade of doubt in his voice. 38

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“H’m.” No other comment needed, it was all in the tone. Definitely Scot Nat, Aunt Jean. For dinner, that she called tea, she made a thick golden goose egg omelette, with onions in it – not bad – on a huge red woodburning stove that kept the whole house cosy. There was home-made blackcurrant jam, and a fruit cake that she’d got at a bring-and-buy sale, not a baker’s. We ate in the kitchen, on a big battered table in the middle, with four odd chairs. Really slumming... But somehow it didn’t matter. I felt comfortably full, and warm, and relaxed. I burped, and apologised. “H’m. I must say your manners are quite passable, Malcolm. I’ve seldom seen a better behaved chimpanzee’s tea-party.” Tommy spluttered coffee, but I stiffened – she’d started nagging already. Aunt Jean grinned at me. “Scarting and scratching is Scotch folks’ wooing.” “What?” “We’re polite to people we don’t like.” “What?” “Work it out.” I finally did, and felt quite pleased. I was always polite to Walter. Afterwards she didn’t even ask, just filled a red plastic bowl in a square white china sink you could bath a St Bernard in, jerked her head at Tommy and tossed a dishtowel WEE MALKIE

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at me. “I’ll put away. I know where everything goes. You’ll learn soon.” “Home from home,” Tommy commented, getting stuck in. “No dishwasher, Aunt Jean?” She grinned. “Aye. Two of you.” Huh! I suddenly realised what had been niggling at my mind since I got here. “Aunt Jean, where’s your TV?” “I tried one, but I couldn’t be bothered with it.” Fitting forks into slots in the cutlery drawer, she grinned at Tommy’s expression. “Some’s interesting enough. M’hm. Passes the time while you’re ironing. But there’s the radio for music, and I get the Herald from Katie McPhee up the road when she’s read it, for the crossie and the news. And books. That’ll do me. I prefer time to think, rather than game shows and chat shows and political commentaries and football and motor racing and all the other boring rubbish that clogs up your mind. Life’s too short.” She smiled at us sweetly. “Don’t worry, you’ll find plenty to keep you occupied! Tonight, for instance, you’ll both be in your beds early. You’ve had a long day. And the fresh air here takes it out of you. I’ve never had a visitor yet who could stay awake past ten o’clock for their first few days. M’hm. It’s half nine now. Off you go, Malcolm. Take 40

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a book, if you like. I’ve no objection to reading in bed. You’ll find a new red toothbrush in the bathroom, and use the red towel. Goodnight. Tommy, yours are blue. Mine are the odd ones. Is something wrong, Malcolm?” I glowered. I never went to bed until eleven. But somehow my eyes were heavy. Maybe she was right, it was the fresh air. I shrugged and growled, “Okay.” As I headed for the door, she stopped me. “Malcolm!” “Huh?” Her tone was pointed. “Goodnight, Malcolm.” Who did she think she was, my nanny? She’d expect me to kiss her next! Or she’d be reading me a bedtime story. But to keep the peace on the first night, and because Tommy was frowning, I grunted, “Night, Aunt Jean, Tommy!” before I left. I slept right through till half past eight next morning. Eleven hours solid. And the next night, and the next.

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Chapter 3 I knew what it would be like. Years and years of dull and grey-brown and boring, till I was old enough to run away. If I had the courage… I crept about for days, not to disturb Aunt Jean, or Tommy. Not that I was scared – well, I was, but not of being hurt, not physically. I just felt shaky, insecure… So I smiled, tried not to look miserable or sulky, kept out of the way – and found, gradually, that it wasn’t all that bad. Not bad at all. If you like the country. It was certainly quiet. Not a house to be seen, just trees, and a few cows and sheep and lambs with comical whirly tails, and up the road Pig City, as Aunt Jean called it. The sky was higher and clearer than in London, even when it was raining, which it did less often than I’d expected. In the evening or very early I often saw rabbits and sometimes deer, and pheasants and other birds I didn’t know. Different from Chelsea. The big ‘garage’ was Aunt Jean’s pottery, where she made delicate plates and bowls, 42

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feathery and fantastic like swirls of lace or ferns in glowing colours. “I can’t be bothered with mass producing flower-pots. Life’s too short, when machines do it better. M’hm. I sell everything privately, or to a specialist shop in Edinburgh. I get good prices, too, so if you break anything, you’ve cost me plenty. So keep out, right?” As if I was going to run around deliberately smashing things… But Tommy nodded. “Right, Jean. Accidents can happen to anybody.” The workroom had no windows, just big skylights. Rows of metal racks like a library round one end and down the middle were stacked with drying pots, bins of clays and boxes of powdered glazes. Everything was neat, but white with clay dust, even the coir matting between the shelving and the flatpack boxes and papers and plastic bubble wrap for packing stacked in one corner. The door into the back passage of the house was almost airtight; “Keep it shut to keep the dust in the workshop, not in the kitchen, right?” Right. “See the gas kiln in the corner? You never ever touch that. It goes up to over two thousand degrees Celsius. M’hm. Or it may be set for a particular series of temperatures, or full of things drying or cooling at a certain rate. Fiddle with one knob or WEE MALKIE

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switch and you might ruin pots worth more than you are. So don’t. And the gas tank outside, leave it strictly alone too, right?” Right, right... Chickens are exactly like the little wind-up toys you get at Easter. I enjoyed throwing the hens their food – they went crazy over it. They were the only crowd I saw. They were a fancy kind called Wyandottes, very decorative, not just egg producers. “I’d have liked peacocks,” Aunt Jean said. “Gorgeous, but...” “Too cold for them?” Tommy asked. “Oh, no, some of the local big houses have them, but they screech like cats fighting. And they cost the earth, and the foxes take them. You have to do with things as things’ll do with you.” She had a motto for everything. The geese in the orchard were a pain, hissing and cackling, and chasing me with wings out like fighter planes when I took them their corn. If their horny beaks caught you, they’d twist their heads and give you a nasty nip. That was why Chivers was so tatty – the ginger cat – marmalade, see? There was always an ‘in’ joke with Aunt Jean. Even when the geese got to know me they’d keep on trying to sneak up behind me, but when I turned to stare them in the eye they’d lift their heads and doddle on past, all innocent, just out for a stroll... A bit like Gerry. “When 44

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the windfall apples and pears ferment, they get drunk,” Aunt Jean told us. “It’s a scream.” The second week, I left the gate open. Well, I remembered it when I was halfway in for tea, and I couldn’t be bothered to go back. It’d be all right for half an hour. It wasn’t. The havoc they made of Aunt Jean’s vegetables was incredible. What would she do? Fuss? Scream? Hit me? Get Tommy to hit me? Whine? I sank my head in my shoulders and waited. It was always my fault – only this time it was… She just sighed, sort of long-suffering. “Oh, well. I don’t know how pruning and transplanting affects strawberries, but it’s early yet, they should recover. We’ve lost the first lettuces and cabbage, but I’ve got more seedlings due to go in anyhow, and the onion setts should grow again if you stick them back right away. You can re-sow the radish and turnips and carrots.” I gasped. “Me?” “You bust it, you mend it,” Tommy rumbled. “You’re old enough to be responsible for yourself.” Mending the fence while watching that I put the plants all back straight, Tommy said, “Won’t forget again, mate, eh?” Too right I wouldn’t. It was too sore on the back. Three hours’ work, just for a minute’s forgetfulness. WEE MALKIE

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But I didn’t do it again. And ever after, the geese wandered over to inspect the gate every couple of hours, just to check... The nearest neighbours lived half a kilometre away. Old Fakkie MacPhee and his ancient grandmother, a fierce old lady who scared me stiff. Aunt Jean went in to see her every day, officially to do the crossword, actually to see she was okay. She did huge jigsaws, 3,000 pieces and up; they weren’t bad. Neither was her state-of-the-art computer; she was well off, Aunt Jean said, from playing the Stock Market. Their smallholding wouldn’t keep them in jigsaws. The very first day, she called me Malkie, and noticed when I twitched. “What’s wrong? Is that not your name, son?” “Malcolm, m’hm,” Aunt Jean assured her, grinning at me. “Up here we often add ‘ie’ onto a word or a name, Malcolm. Means small and likeable. Boatie, horsie, that kind of thing. Fakkie – from Farker. It’s Scots – you don’t sound the ‘h’.” “What ‘h’?” She spelled it for me. “Farquhar. Here, look at these.” She wrote out Urquhart, Kilconquhar, Milngavie, Avoch, and read them to me, with that half-spitting, clearing-your-throat Scotch sound. “Urkert, Kinyoocher, Mulguy, Och.” I glowered. “Crazy language.” 46

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“Huh! There’s the English for you, scoff at other folks when they’re just as bad. What about Beecham or Wooster or Fanshaw?” In her wheelchair, Mrs McPhee was laughing creakily. I didn’t get it till Aunt Jean wrote them out too – Beauchamps, Worcester, Featherstonehaugh. Oh. “Anyway,” Aunt Jean said peaceably, getting back to the main point, “Malkie’s just the Scots way of saying nice wee Malcolm.” Oh. Nothing to do with gangs, then. Oh. “It was my brother’s name. He died when he was three.” Mrs McPhee was brisk, trying to hide sentiment. Oh. Like calling Amanda Mandy. Well, I suppose... “You call me Malkie if you like, Mrs McPhee. I don’t mind.” Well, I did. I twitched every time, like getting an electric shock. But after a while, it stopped jarring so much, and then stopped mattering at all. Aunt Jean started using it too, and even Tommy. Malkie = nice wee Malcolm. Stuff Gerry. I wrote – Aunt Jean insisted. To Amanda. Mum would read it to her. But I didn’t write to her, not direct. Nor to Wally or Gerry. I was to start in Nairn Academy after the Easter break. Meanwhile, I helped Tommy. WEE MALKIE

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Aunt Jean had us hard at work all day, even in the rain if it wasn’t too bad. When I mumped, she quoted Kipling at me. “‘Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo, if we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo, We all get hump, cameelious hump, the hump that is black and blue-oo-oo!’” When I glowered, she just grinned wider. “Go on, lazybones, or you’ll be black and blue-oo-oo! All over!” I never got the chance to get the hump. Breakfast at six. Yeah, a.m! And if you came down late, she’d be calling you, “Come on, dozy, the day’s half over!” But after a few days – well, you can get used to anything. “Slave-driver!” Tommy grumbled out loud. Privately he said he’d been getting soft, and enjoyed the exercise. Anyway, he liked showing how much he could do, and after a while so did I. “I’ve got about nineteen acres, mostly just the way the glaciers left it, and mostly overgrown with whins – gorse to you, Southrons – and broom,” Aunt Jean told us. “I let the cleared bits to the neighbours for cows or sheep. But now I want the rest cleared, and a garden, and a fence all round.” Tommy just shrugged. “Okay by me. Got nothing special on tomorrow.” “Show-off,” she snipped, laughing, and started a song. Between them they knew 48

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more musicals than I’d ever heard of, and hundreds of student and army or navy songs. They made me blush. I mean, an oldie like Aunt Jean, singing about frigging in the rigging! I ask you! Aunt Jean swapped a fancy bowl for a loan of a chain saw to cut back the jungles of bushes. The gorse had spines and prickles like demented porcupines, and even with my leather jacket and heavy work gloves I hung back until Aunt Jean said sympathetically, “If it’s too tough for you, son, just take it easy, we’ll manage.” She was hauling half a forest along at the time. I had to get stuck in then. They’d not give me a turn of using the chain saw. “Think I want a Texas Chain-Saw Massacre?” she demanded. “Leave it to Mr Muscles!” Tommy shoved back the visor of his helmet, flexed his biceps and grinned. “You ain’t got the skill or heft to handle a chain saw, son,” he told me. Cheeky sod. “Not yet. Give it time, you’ll grow into it.” Oh, well. Instead, I got big razor-sharp loppers to deal with branches. Tommy warned me, “You’re in charge o’ them, so watch it! Keep your fingers out an’ your mind on the job. Chop anything off, toes or fingers or whatever, don’t blame anybody but yourself.” They kept a pretty sharp eye on me for the WEE MALKIE

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first few hours, I suppose. I didn’t mind. I’d never done anything like this before. And if I felt down, chopping up bushes made me feel better. After we’d struggled with the stumps for days, Tommy went on strike. “Hoy, this is ridiculous! Me hernia’s givin’ me gyp.” Aunt Jean put her head on one side. “Limits even to Superman, eh? Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” She organised Fakkie MacPhee to come along every couple of days with a gigantic black Clydesdale with feet like hairy white buckets. Called Tiny – ridiculous, eh? When we clipped its chain harness round the stumps, it just leaned on them and walked away. “Way to go!” Tommy approved. “Always take the easy way out, eh? Specially if you’re lazy, like me.” Tiny dragged the bushes and roots down the hill, and we piled them in a prickly mountain in the middle of a clear area. Fakkie let me ride the horse. Well, sit on it. It was a mile high and half a mile wide, like doing the splits on top of a jumbo jet. Not bad, specially when he let me kick it to a slow, steady canter, bouncing down the hillside like an avalanche. Aunt Jean borrowed a gigantic corkscrew called a post-hole borer, to set in new fence posts and stretch wire between them. From 50

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a nursery she bought hundreds of little trees, and shrubs and climbers to plant along the line of the fence, for wood, flowers or fruit, decoration or shelter. She slapped them in with a handful of fertiliser and told them, “Go to it, you’re on your own now!” Gardener’s World would have been horrified, but it worked. They grew like crazy. My hands and back, and the backs of my legs, ached like mad for the first few days, but then they got better, and the blisters on my hands hardened and dried. “You’re toughening up, son,” Tommy said. “You’re a good, solid worker. Reliable.” I just grunted, but I was pleased. At first we just made a terrible mess of stumps and broken ground, but soon enough you could see how things would look in the end. It felt good to be making something, to see what we were doing taking shape, to look at a neat line of fence or watch the little trees for the hedge starting to sprout all sturdy and green. I could forget about Walter and Gerry and mum and Amanda for longer and longer. All day, even. Living in the country here was sometimes not as bad as I’d thought it would be. Not bad at all. Every lunch-time and night when we came in, Aunt Jean had a huge meal ready, as well as doing her pottery and giving us a hand a WEE MALKIE

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lot of the time. Tommy thought she was marvellous. She was right about one thing – we didn’t miss the telly, we were far too busy and tired. After a while I managed to stay awake long enough after tea to learn how to play backgammon, cribbage, darts and ludo, and a million and seventy card games. Aunt Jean was a demon at poker; talk about a stone face! Chess and Monopoly took too long, we fell asleep. We talked sixteen to the dozen, about everything under the sun: Nelson’s navy – that was Tommy’s hobby; Egyptian gods; wasps’ nests; unicorns; computer programming – I was the expert on that, and I’m no expert; Communism v Capitalism; magic mushrooms and poisons; diamond smuggling; breeding ostriches; Picasso; sea serpents. “You don’t believe in the Loch Ness monster, do you?” I demanded. “Nessie? Why not?” Aunt Jean’s eyebrows were quirking. Tommy snorted. “Cause it’s a load o’ cobblers, that’s why not. Whipped up for the tourists.” “Well, of course!” Aunt Jean admitted. “Wouldn’t you? But I’m not going to call all the people who claim to have seen it, liars. There are more things in heaven and earth...” 52

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That sounded familiar, but I had a more important thought. She was into everything, like a kid. “Is there anything you’re not interested in, Aunt Jean?” “Well… Football, I suppose.” While Tommy groaned in fake horror, she chuckled. “I was lucky. I found out early on, Malkie, that it was boring to be bored. Life’s too short.” Tommy agreed. “Any guy that’s bored all the time, he’s usually stupid underneath.” “I knew a good few guys like that. Ear-toear concrete.” “M’hm.” Aunt Jean nodded approvingly. “You’ve a good turn of phrase, Malkie. I’d have expected maths, and you living with an accountant!” I glowered, but she eyed me consideringly. “You do well at English, don’t you? Your father wrote poetry – and not bad stuff, either. M’hm. You’ll maybe turn out a writer, or a journalist.” I hadn’t given it much thought. But a journalist, or a telly presenter going into all the trouble spots... Not a bad idea... After about three weeks, I had a bad turn. I felt kind of off for three or four days, mopey and down, as if I had a bug of some kind. Dinner one night was mince, stewed chewed-up beef, and then a baked macaroni pudding, and I grumbled, “Worse than school dinners!” WEE MALKIE

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Aunt Jean’s lips thinned. “You don’t have to eat it,” she said. I shrugged. I was being rude, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t asked to be there. “It fills a hole.” Tommy’s mouth opened, but Aunt Jean shook her head – at him, not me. I felt the way I did when I’d got away with being cheeky to Walter, until I saw that she was watching me placidly. When she caught my eye, she said, “Cars go smoother with oil, life goes smoother with manners.” She suddenly chuckled. “You look like Rumpelstiltskin, all humphy-backit, and a boose a plane could land on.” “Huh?” “A hunchback and a pout,” she explained, crouched her head between her raised shoulders and stuck out her lower lip, to demonstrate. I was insulted, I didn’t look like that, like a sulky brat – and then I realised my head was away down and my lip was away out, and they were both laughing at me. I slammed up from the table and headed for the door. “Oh, Malkie, I forgot, there’s a letter for you,” Aunt Jean called after me, ignoring the way I was acting. That annoyed me even more. I snatched the letter from her and flung off upstairs, bumping my head on the cut-off corner of the door-frame. Stuff this 54

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stupid house. Cramped and poky, and her and Tommy slave-driving, as if I hadn’t twenty times more brains and manners than that muscle-bound moron. Oh, why did mum stick me here? It wasn’t my fault I hit Amanda! Blame Gerry not me! But if I’d kept my temper – but then he’d have gone on hurting me – at least he couldn’t, not while I was here – but I’d lost everything, but they blamed me – but it wasn’t me – hate hurt hate… Round and round. The letter was from mum. She hadn’t written before – not that I wanted her to, of course, sending me away like this, but why did she need to wait so long? It was just a note, chatty and cheerful. Amanda was fine, and asking for me. The gash on her forehead had mended without a scar, which made me feel pleased and rotten at the same time. She was sorry I’d had to move, but really it was for the best for everyone, I’d soon see that. – Huh! – Walter was well, and Gerald was out of hospital but would have to miss the end-of-term play. – Ha ha! – She hoped I was settling in. She missed me and sent me all her love. Love, after sending me away? Hypocrite! Hurt hate… Everything was going on okay at home – but it wasn’t my home now – oh, mum, and WEE MALKIE

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Amanda – but here wasn’t my home either – hurt hate hurt… I ended up flat on my bed, furious and ashamed of myself. Why was I so miserable? No, I wasn’t crying, certainly not. The door opened quietly as Aunt Jean tapped on it. “Can I come in, Malkie?” “No!” I yelled. Humiliated, I flung myself over on my face so I needn’t see her, and she wouldn’t see me. “You said you’d keep out! I don’t want you! Or anybody! You don’t care! I could die and you’d just be glad! Be no bother to you then!” She came in, in spite of what she’d said. Her hand smoothed over my hair. I tossed my head violently. “Go away! Leave me alone!” Hate hurt… “All right, Malkie.” Her voice wasn’t hurt, just gentle. She turned away. I’d told her to go, but I felt dismayed that she went. Tommy’s voice rumbled. The door didn’t close over completely, and I heard her as she went down the stair, “No, just homesick. Nothing we can do – just leave him be, to work his own way through the miseries. By the way, have you been telling him not to bother me? M’hm. Well, don’t, please, Tommy – it was a kind thought, but he’s no bother, and anything he feels just now’s better out than held in. Now, what about tea, eh? I don’t suppose he’d –” The kitchen door shut. 56

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Homesick? For what? Walter, and Gerald? Mum had betrayed me, and Amanda would have forgotten me already. What had I to be homesick for? Besides, only sissies or kids were homesick. Stupid old cow. I was ill, that was it. My head was all hot, and my chest hurt. I must be ill. Plague, or Legionnaire’s Disease, or something unknown to medical science. Nobody would care if I died. She hadn’t even offered to get the doctor, or bring me a snack on a tray later, or anything. I was all alone, all alone, and nobody cared. She’d be sorry when I was dead, and she had to dig her flaming garden herself! I lay and sobbed in furious self-pity and misery. Yes, I was crying. Scalding, shameful tears. At least she stayed away, and Tommy. They didn’t see that. When I woke up in the morning, I hadn’t died. Embarrassing. At breakfast I was fairly shy, but Aunt Jean said nothing about the night before’s blowup, so I just got on with eating. I was starved, and had two plates of porridge – she sniffed at cornflakes and suchlike as kid’s saps, and it wasn’t too bad – as well as boiled eggs and toast and honey. Chivers came and rubbed against my ankles for the first time. Tommy was asking, “That stream, Jean, don’t it flood the low bit by the alder trees where we’ve got the gorse piled up?” WEE MALKIE

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She nodded. “Every spring, when the snow melts up the hill.” “Yeah, thought so. When it’s been dry for a fortnight, fancy hiring a digger and making a proper pool? Used to be one there, you can see by the peat, but it’s silted up.” “A digger? Can I try driving it?” I asked, and waited for them to refuse. Stuff them. They exchanged a glance. “Don’t see why not,” Tommy shrugged. “See what we can do.” Great! Well, not bad. Unstuff them. Like I said. Dull. Nothing ever happened – nothing big. But somehow, when I thought about it, boring was the wrong word.

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Chapter 4 After Easter I started in Nairn Academy. I did an hour or so in the garden every morning, had a second breakfast and then went in by bike – it was only three kilometres, and not a bad road once you got onto the road, if you see what I mean. At least it was easier than clearing gorse. The Academy was like a honeycomb, all octagonal rooms and crazy angles. For a fortnight, every time I changed rooms I got lost. I’d expected it to be rubbish – away in Scotland, and not fee-paying, and so on – but it was okay. Not as well equipped as my school in London had been, but I had enough sense to keep shtum about that. I’d never done any woodwork, but they played rugby, and I was well ahead in French and chemistry. There was a good brass group, and as soon as they found out I played I was stuck into that, with a school trombone. It wasn’t too bad. Almost everybody was white, which felt odd after my multi-coloured London class. A bit dull. The others were stiffish at first – only WEE MALKIE

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natural, and not as bad as my own class in London had treated a new boy. I didn’t make many friends, not right off – Tommy advised me not to push it – but I got on okay with most of them. Not the pin-up boy of the Second Year, but okay. Apart from Chris Carnegie and his gang. Nobody liked them, but they were big and bullying and all worked together, shoved into the head of queues, grabbed sweets and took bites before handing them back, if they did, enjoyed looming over smaller people till they jumped out of the way, and so on. Every couple of days, one of them unscrewed the top of the salt before I used it, or kicked my anorak into a corner, or unhooked my bike chain, or hid my bag or stuffed dog dirt in it. Standing up to them would be more trouble than it was worth, specially alone, and who’d back me up? So I kept my head down, didn’t make a fuss, watched my gear – and seethed inside. One lunchtime I went for my trombone practice, the only time I could relax and enjoy myself. I’d booked one of the small practice rooms, but to my annoyance the person before me was still in there, struggling with something classical on the piano. Oh, no – typical, it always happened to me – I only had half an hour – should I go right in? As I hesitated, the piano switched 60

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to ragtime, and a girl began singing – and she was cracking good. Sparkling rhythm, and her voice was bright and sure. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I had to get in there. In the corridor outside, I put together my trombone and joined in. She hesitated for a second, and then went on, and we finished together in a flurry of arpeggios – not bad at all. The door opened, and a girl in my class peered out, all apologetic. She was even smaller than me, meek and quiet as a mouse in spite of her short dark red hair, with a permanent startled look round large, shallow-set eyes in an oval face. “Am I running late? Sorry.” “It’s okay. I was enjoying it,” I said. “What?” she whispered. She thought I was making fun of her. “Yeah,” I said. “You’re good. Great beat, and your voice is rich, got a real lift. I’d never have dreamed you could play like that.” She flushed as she realised I meant it. “Oh, no – well, well, thanks. You – you’re good on the trombone, too, Malcolm.” She knew my name – great! “You’re Anne, aren’t you?” “Alex. Alex Sinclair.” Shows you how much I’d noticed her. “Sorry. Want a jam session some day?” WEE MALKIE

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Eyes down, she shook her head and scurried off. Typical, I thought, nobody wanted to talk to me, not even a girl with a face like a softboiled egg. Stuff her, anyway. I got stuck into my scales and exercises. They didn’t let you down. Next day when I went into physics, my usual stool was broken and the only spare was at a table where Alex and her pal Brenda were already sitting. So I slid in beside them. They just nodded. About halfway through the lesson, Brenda fished about in her bag. She glanced at me and whispered, but Alex shook her head. Next time Mr McLeod was writing on the board, Brenda tossed something towards the front, to land just by his feet. It was a stink-bomb. He did his nut, but Alex and Brenda were coughing and choking and yelling “Oh, pew!” all innocently overdone just like the rest. Of course, I joined in and didn’t let on. Afterwards, Alex grinned at me. “Told you he wouldn’t clype,” she said to Brenda. Clype? Tell, it must mean. Maybe she was just shy. I never thought of that. After that Alex and I sort of glommed together, with Brenda – called Big Bertha but not to her face – and her boyfriend Simon, a tall, thin, nervous guy. It was good 62

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to have friends. When I found out that Alex’s mum had divorced her dad two years before, for deserting them, I felt specially close to her. Sort of protective. Alex was learning keyboard as well as piano, Simon had his own drum kit, and Brenda was okay on guitar and vocals. We started jam sessions at lunchtime in an empty music room. The music teacher, Mr Pinter – Milko for short – said we weren’t at all bad, for beginners. Chris Carnegie was in the brass group. He started coming heavy on Alex, saying he was her boyfriend although she wouldn’t have given him a cold in the nose, telling dirty jokes and lies about her, sniggering with his mates and winking when she passed, and so on, specially when he saw it upset her. He glowered whenever he saw Alex and me together. Brenda was big and strong enough to face him off, but Alex wasn’t; she shrank in on herself and tried to keep near Brenda or simply out of his way, like me. He wanted to join our jazz combo, but Brenda wouldn’t have him. “He hits the right notes, I suppose, but…” “Yeah,” I agreed, “he’s got rhythm like an egg’s got feathers!” They all laughed, and then I saw Chris listening with a face like fury. Luckily, WEE MALKIE

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Mrs Patterson was near, and he couldn’t do anything, but I’d peeved him extra. I felt apprehensive – he was trouble, all over again, that I thought I’d left behind… After a while, when the newness wore off, I had a fight, with him and another boy. I didn’t even know the other one’s name. Tuesday lunchtimes was the brass group’s practice time, in Music Room 2. Half the group were there. Alex was jazzing up Handel in a practice room just along the corridor. Milko was in Room 3 next door. He was short and round, and he played the French horn. I made a silly joke, something about players looking like their instruments. Chris looked furious. “Oh, so you’re long and thin like a trombone, then?” I’d forgotten he played the tuba. I smiled nervously, trying to keep the peace. “Scarcely. Alex isn’t much like a piano.” The other boy laughed. “Want us to tell her you said that?” “That she’s not square and heavy and big teeth? Go right ahead.” Chris took offence at what I’d thought was a joke. “Oh, Mr Smart-ass! Think you’re great, don’t you, better than anybody ’cos you’re la-di-da English, rich arrogant snobs!” And so on – I don’t even remember 64

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half of it. A lot of Scottish Nationalist stuff, like Aunt Jean but nasty. “Oh, that’s stupid!” I said. Okay, so it wasn’t tactful. He snarled, and his mate backed him up as he loomed over me. “Hard man, eh? No pans here, though!” How did he know? Aunt Jean been yakking? “Think you can beat me, eh?” The others sort of jostled round us like horses before a race, some egging him on, or me, and some trying not very hard to calm things down. There was a bit of pushing and shoving, and then he said, “Snooty bastard!” Like a trigger, that was, just like before. I was climbing him before I knew what I was doing. Then I realised, and hesitated just as he and his mate got started. I got in a good belt or two, but they were both twice my size, so it was really like four to one. I went down, luckily among the desks where they couldn’t get right at me. It wasn’t five seconds, I suppose, before Milko erupted into the room. But even two seconds feels a lot longer when you don’t like it. Chris and all the other boys melted into the woodwork. Milko sent me along with a prefect to the medical room to get cleaned up. I insisted I’d fallen over a desk, and the WEE MALKIE

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other guys were just helping me up. He didn’t believe me, not for one second he didn’t. Mr Johnstone, the Deputy Head, came in while I was still washing, sent out the prefect, and eyed me reflectively. I waited, resigned, for him to start in on me. “Mr Pinter says you were fighting,” he said mildly. I snorted, which was a mistake, and I had to start wiping blood from my nose again. “Me, fight Christopher Carnegie? Oh, sure, I surrounded him. No, sir, I fell over a desk. He just tripped over me – maybe it looked like fighting, but –” He chuckled, which surprised me a bit. “I don’t know if you know it, Malcolm,” he said. “We got a report on you from the headmaster of your last school.” Naturally, I clammed up. It must have spread somehow, you couldn’t keep that kind of thing to yourself, I should have expected it. I was glad it wasn’t Aunt Jean. He shook his head. “We give people a fresh start, and your aunt expressed herself very strongly on your behalf –” good for her! – “but we have to keep it in mind. We don’t like people fighting. We will not put up with it, understand?” I nodded, still dabbing. “But you’re not the only one with a reputation, so this time, I’m going to give you each a punishment exercise, and let it go at that. 66

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For now. But if it happens again, I’ll throw the book at you!” Well, strictly illegal – a punny ecky for falling over a desk? Bruises from a bully, and now this? Always happened to me… But he wasn’t stupid. And it was extra French, easy. I seethed, anyway, but it could have been worse. Punny ecky? I was getting real Scots. Alex was waiting for me in the corridor, with my bag, as angry as ever I’d seen her. “You’re dumb!” she snapped at me. “Look at the state of you! Fighting never solves anything!” “It solved Chris,” I muttered. “Sure, for now. He’ll be after you again tomorrow.” “Only if he’s got his pals with him. And anyway, how could I help it?” I protested. “It wasn’t my fault!” She just snorted. The bell rang, and she didn’t wait for me the way she would have done earlier. She dropped the bag at my feet and marched off to join Brenda. But she’d made sure Chris didn’t wreck my books for me. All afternoon I could feel him glowering behind me – he always sat at the back. Stuff him. Hate hate… And my head was buzzing with worry. What would Aunt Jean do?. Mum would have cried, Walter would have gone all WEE MALKIE

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pompous and sarky, and Gerry would have had a lot of fun. What would Aunt Jean say? Would she be angry? Upset? Sympathetic? Would she throw me out? Where would I go next? Back to mum and Walter and Gerry? Not my fault… What would she say? Round and round and round. Hurt hate hurt… When I got home, I was sore outside and quaking and sullen inside. Could I sneak in unnoticed? She was usually in her workshop or out in the garden with Tommy when I got in. Maybe I could clean up before she saw me... She was in the kitchen putting custard on a trifle. I’d taken off the Elastoplast, but my nose and lip were puffed away up and I had the start of a black eye. She looked at me with her head on one side. “Dangerous things, desks,” she said. “Sorry, Aunt Jean, I tripped over a –” My brain caught up with my ears. “The school phoned you.” “Of course. Your teeth all solid?” She took my chin, gently, and turned my head to the side to look at my eye carefully. “M’hm. A right keeker you’ll have tomorrow.” She lifted my hands. My knuckles were all red and puffy, too. “You can break your hands, defending yourself from desks,” she said. I couldn’t 68

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believe it! “Ach well. Boys have to find their place in the pecking order, and there’s worse ways than a wee rammy. What was it this time? Somebody else call you a bastard?” “Two of them! Just because I’m English!” “English?” She didn’t move, but I got the feeling she reared up like a king cobra. “Your dad came from Falkirk. And your mother was born in this very house, like six generations before her. English, in the name o’ the Wee Man!” She was more upset about that than about the fight. I almost had to laugh in bewilderment. She tutted at me. “Lads! Look, Malkie, fighting is not an acceptable way of winning arguments. You stop thinking, go back to being an animal.” She sighed in resignation. “Ach, why blame animals? Humans do worse. Ask Gerry, eh? And I suppose there’s some fights you can’t dodge, however clever you are at getting on with people, which you aren’t, not really… I’m glad you can stand up for yourself, anyway, even if it is a bittie... Nobody wants you to be a doormat. M’hm. Ach, I don’t know...” She puffed, and flapped her hands to shoo me out. “Go away and shower and put on a fresh jumper while I make a cup of tea.” “Don’t want tea,” I mumbled. “Well, you’re not getting a dram, we keep that for emergencies. I need a cuppa, even if WEE MALKIE

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you don’t. Bring that jumper down for washing. Go!” I grumphed up the stair. Animals? They were the animals, not me! I hadn’t started it. But I’d not let them walk over me, not any more, not anybody – she was right about that anyway. And she hadn’t raged at me. But how dare she say I wasn’t good at getting on with people – but maybe she was right – but what could I do about it? They had to get on with me, too., if they were rotten what was I supposed to do? And of course I didn’t want her to gush or have hysterics or anything, but she might have been a bit worried, too, she didn’t care or she’d have been upset. But why should she worry, I wasn’t a baby, I could look after myself! Okay, so I was all jumbled up. The tea wasn’t bad after all. Tommy didn’t pomp and patronise me, the way Walter had done. He didn’t actually approve, but he didn’t scold either. He offered to teach me a bit of judo and karate. “‘Case you run into any more vicious desks. An’ once they know you can handle yourself, bullies mostly keep off – look for somebody weaker. Besides, if you know you can fight, you don’t feel so helpless an’ desperate an’ defensive an’ ready to explode.” Just how I did feel – and I could do something about it? 70

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I could feel the hope fizz inside me like a warm coke can. “Just remember what your Uncle Tommy tells you,” he warned me. “You’re responsible for what you do. Nobody else. So make sure what you’re fightin’ for’s worth the hassle. Dodge it every time if you can, make friends with ’em if you’ve got time, make ’em laugh, yell for witnesses – they often back off then – ignore ’em, apologise, distract ’em, call the cops or the teacher to sort ’em out for you, agree with ’em – foxes ’em proper, that does, just say, ‘Yeah, you’re quite right, mate, I am stupid!’ an’ see their jaws drop. Run away, even.” Aunt Jean’s lips were twitching. “Very pacifist, Tommy,” she commented dryly. “Pure coward, that’s me. No sense gettin’ into what you can’t get out of if you can help it. But if it’s important enough or you’re stuck in the sh– er – in trouble, well, better be good at it an’ walk away than not. Right?” “H’m. A bit simplistic,” she suggested. He made an idiot face at her. “Simple Simon.” They both started laughing. Simple? Yeah. Like a computer; userfriendly, but dead complicated inside. We shoved back the chairs and spread out the rug. He didn’t teach me to punch, as I expected; he started by teaching me to break-fall. You slap the floor hard with your forearm a split second before you land, to WEE MALKIE

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bounce you up enough so you don’t wallop down quite as hard. It’s easier to do than to describe. Well, in a way it is. Tommy could do a somersault over a sofa and land soft on his back! I got on okay, though it was sore on my bruises and elbows. Aunt Jean stopped us after half an hour. “You’ll wear out my rug and not be able to move tomorrow. Tea’s ready, anyway. There’s a Tae Kwon-Do club in the Centre on Wednesdays. Fancy it, Malkie? Okay, we’ll see about it. M’hm. Teach you self-defence – and self-control.” She eyed me, chuckling. “You’re the right shape for it – short and wiry. Low centre of gravity, not far to fall. Like me.” I laughed at the picture in my mind of her bouncing round a mat like a beach-ball, her hair flying out of its roll the way it did whenever she got excited. “And what are you chortling at, laddy-o?” she said snootily. “You, doing martial arts!” “H’m!” She just walked up to her room, and we heard her rummaging about in a drawer. Tommy actually started to grin like a pillar-box. She brought down a white bundle. “Here. You might as well have this.” She waggled her eyebrows at us, and went into the kitchen. It was a judo jacket and trousers. “A black belt? Top grade?” Tommy was laughing like 72

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a drain; I tried to pick up my jaw. “This is Aunt Jean’s? Honest? But – I never knew –” “Never asked. Third Dan, she reached. Fought for Glasgow Uni.” I was flabbergasted. “Would you believe it? An old woman like that –” He laughed even louder. “Nobody’s born old. An’ she ain’t, anyway, not by a long shot. Only about forty.” “That’s ancient!” He snorted, then sobered up, and looked thoughtful. “Word in your ear, son – never say Jean’s old, or you’ll get your head in your hands to play with. Now come on, try it on.” The suit fitted fine, loose and easy, and yet firm and tough. I wore it all evening, and went up to bed that night as Bruce Lee. Enter the Dragon – and Malkie’ll see it off! Wait till Chris tried it again – I’d wipe the floor with him! Karate Kid move over! Wee Malkie, Champion of the Martial Arts Tournament! Greatest fighter of the century, crowds cheering, telly interviews, films... Gerry green with envy... My imagination was on fast load. Next week we all went along to the Tae Kwon-Do class. I joined; Tommy paid the fee for a practice session. When the instructor, David Bolton, saw how good Tommy was, he looked thoughtful, and asked him to lead WEE MALKIE

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the exercises for a while. At the end he chatted for a minute, and then said, “You’re Judo Fifth Dan? Karate as well? Interesting... Got all your certificates?” “In London, but I can get ’em.” David nodded. “Right. If they’re all right, and you get me references – well – there’s too many pupils in this class, and scads more wanting to join, but the hall’s not big enough and I’m busy already, twice some nights. Looking for a job?” “Your assistant?” David nodded. “Done it before, see, in London. References, no sweat. Partner later, if it works out?” David looked a bit startled. “You’re a fast worker – but why not, if it works?” “You’re on, mate!” Tommy was fairly bouncing as we left. “A start, innit? Lookin’ up, eh?” And that meant he’d be staying on, not just for a month. It was six weeks already, anyway. Was Walter still paying? Or would a part-time judo job pay his way? Oh, well, I thought, he can look after himself. Good not to lose him, too. A few days later, before heading for home I had to collect a painting I’d left to dry in the art rooms. Alex had a piano lesson with old Mrs Gow after school. We shoved through the doors from the assembly hall together, and then I went on down the corridor past 74

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the music department while she went into a practice room to get her music ready. Somebody had moved my masterpiece, and it took me a minute to find it. As I came back down the corridor, I heard a gasp from the practice room and a muffled yelp from Alex. “Stop it! Please! Leave me alone!” Mike, one of Chris’s buddies, was keeping watch at the window in the door out to the hall, with his back towards me. He turned when he heard me, but I was already inside the practice room. Chris and another of his mates had trapped Alex in an angle out of sight of the door. They were leaning on her, shoving her back against the wall, kissing her, having what they’d call a bit of fun. I froze. My heart was pounding and I felt sick with fright. I wanted to run away. As usual. But – leave Alex? She’d never speak to me again, and quite right too, and yes, that mattered. They were bullying her. Like Gerry bullied me. Stuff it, I had to do something. What? What would Tommy do? Dodge it? How? Make them laugh? Ha, ha! Yell for a teacher? Mrs Gow would have a heart attack. Distract them – how? Set off the fire alarm? Smash a window? Bit drastic if I was seen, or if Chris ratted – and he would. Hurry up – Alex was crying. Stuff them... WEE MALKIE

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Hate… In the split second this all took, Mike was filling the door behind me. Too late to back off… I hauled at Chris’s arm. “Stop that!” “You!” Pleased to see me, specially when he had two pals on call, he came for me. His arms were a foot longer than mine, like Gerry’s, but even in these few days I’d learned a trick or two. Terrified, my guts shaking me, I did as Tommy had said. ‘Don’t go for the face, it’s showy but you can break your hand, go for their guts!’ So I did. Instead of backing off I stepped towards Chris, inside his arms, and punched as hard as I could, just the way I’d learned at Tae Kwon-Do, but not stopping short. My fist sank deep into his big flabby belly. He doubled up, gasping – yayy! It worked! His mate grabbed my arm and tugged, I tripped over a bag but broke my fall fairly successfully, he came in at me again and still on my back I kicked him on the knee. He staggered back into Chris’s arms, yelping. Mike kicked at me, too, but Alex swung her bag at him, her mouth wide in fright at her own daring, and he backed off. Run if you can – Alex dragged me up and we fled into the corridor. At that second Mrs Gow came through the hall door. “What are you two up to?” she demanded. 76

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“Nothing, miss!” We tried to look surprised and innocent, but couldn’t manage it well enough. Alex was scarlet, I was out of breath, and we’d been hugging each other for balance. The old lady’s lips tightened and she reamed us out like a bandsaw for flirting – flirting, talk about old-fashioned! I thought Alex would tell her about the bullying, but she didn’t. And she gave me an imploring glance, to keep quiet as well. So I did. Nobody loves a fink. A clype. The worst of it was that Chris and his pals had time to sort themselves out. They came out together, all virtuous and upright, said, “Excuse us, Mrs Gow,” politely, walked out into the hall and stood peering though the window behind her, making faces, while she scolded us. They had caused it, but they walked off without a stain on their characters. Stuff them. That time, though, Alex didn’t tell me that fighting was silly. While Mrs Gow went on into the room, she gave me a sheepish grin. “Thanks. Sorry.” Mrs Gow called her sharply. Chris and the others were swaggering off down the road, swearing and laughing, punching the air and jumping in triumph. When I went out to my bike, the tyres were slashed. Stuff Chris all over again. But oddly, I didn’t feel as burning, impotent, frustrated WEE MALKIE

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mad as I expected. I wasn’t helpless, not any more. I’d done the right thing, fought my corner, and got off with only a telling-off, which slid off me as I didn’t deserve it, and a few bruises – and they had as many as me. I felt quite good, actually. I could have walked it home, but I waited for Alex’s lesson to finish. “Hi,” she muttered. “My hero!” She exaggerated it, rolling her big eyes, but underneath she meant it. She shrugged and tried to laugh it off. “Rotten swines, they’re bigger than me.” “And three of them,” I agreed. “Sure you don’t want to report it? It was bullying. The head can sort him out for you.” She looked as alarmed as when the boys had tried to kiss her. “And get all embarrassed again? Not on your Nelly! I’d die, having to describe it all to a teacher. I couldn’t!” I tried to persuade her, “It’d restore my reputation, I’m no glamour-boy!” “No way! Would you?” Well… no. “But thanks. Honestly.” I felt like a million dollars. When her mum came to pick her up, Alex made her give me a lift home, with the bike in the boot. I’d dropped my painting, and when I went back for it it had a huge boot print right across it. It had been good, too. Oh, well. 78

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Aunt Jean lifted an eyebrow. “Had a bit of trouble,” I said casually. “Fighting?” Tommy demanded. “More desks?” “Same desks, in fact.” As they frowned, I tried not to grin. “But I did what you advised – dodged out as quick as I could, and got away, just about. But they did in my bike tyres. Never mind, it was worth it.” Aunt Jean’s other eyebrow went up, but they just exchanged glances, and didn’t say anything more. Next day, Alex brought in a cake that she and her mum had baked, and we ate it together at lunchtime. Not bad. She got me new tyres, too. Chris and his pals, though, went about gloating. They kept smirking, and told everybody I’d been caught kissing Alex, to make people laugh at us. Everybody knew Chris had it in for me, but there was nothing I could do, not against three of them. Not when they didn’t actually do anything. After a few days of it I could feel the black fury starting to roil like acid in my stomach all over again. In the Tae Kwon-do classes, where I was free to punch and kick, Tommy had to tell me to cool it.

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Chapter 5 I’m not sure just when I realised that things had changed in the house. The floorboards just inside Tommy’s room, next to mine, creaked whenever he went in or out. Every night I sort of waited for it, even if I was half asleep. And then the creaking stopped. I felt odd, till I worked out what was missing. And then I realised that he wasn’t going in there at night any more. Well. Who’d have thought it? How did I feel? Disgusted? Shocked? Excited? Pleased for them? My mind felt like a jelly in an earthquake. Lots of my schoolmates’ parents had partners, like mum and dad, I suppose. Or were gay, or whatever. But an old woman like that, and a young bloke? She was ten – fifteen years older than him. I could understand her, no bother. But why should he...? Maybe Walter had stopped the money, and this was how he paid his way. Like a gigolo. I didn’t like that idea, but it was all I could think of. 80

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I did my best to be fair. It was their own business, anyway, not mine. Tommy had said he didn’t think of her as old, so maybe it wasn’t too bad. Just different. I knew a fair number of peculiar couples in London, although Walter had disapproved – maybe that was a reason for approving? Even so, I couldn’t help feeling it was a bit off. Very off, actually. It’s not what you expect from respectable elderly aunts and Terminator lookalikes. Specially your own family. They made a matching couple like a cushion and a chain-saw. You’d think they’d have more sense. Or sense of style. Though come to think of it, she did seem to be dressing better these days, and acting even perkier. And he was smiling more, and more relaxed. So good for them – I tried to think. Then I started to get edgy. Aunt Jean was my aunt; if she was interested in Tommy as well, it changed everything. And Tommy was – well, not a substitute dad, but like my big brother, though I knew he wasn’t really. And if he – and she – oh, stuff them both! At least they didn’t make a big fuss about it – no lovey-dovey stuff, not in public. So I tried not to show how embarrassed and awkward I felt until one day I came into the kitchen unexpectedly and found them WEE MALKIE

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kissing. My face fired up – what the Nairn boys called a right beamer. Oddly, Tommy blushed scarlet, too. Aunt Jean jumped, and then turned, still in his arms and only slightly pink, and grinned at me quizzically. “Gobsmacked,” she offered helpfully. “Gasted up to the back teeth with flabber.” Keep your cool, Tommy said, most especially when you’re hot under the collar. Exploding busts things up, including you. “Huh! You’re joking. Remember last week I complained you hadn’t reminded me to take my gym kit? You said, ‘You’re old enough and ugly enough to look after yourself.’” I shrugged, hands up Italian-style. They exchanged a glance, and then they both started to laugh, till Tommy had to sit down on a chair, heaving and chortling. “Modern youth,” Aunt Jean said. “Seen it all on the dratted telly. I told you it wouldn’t worry him.” Little she knew... or maybe she did. Some things are better not said. She smiled at me sympathetically, and reached for the teacaddy. She always made tea to calm things down. Like a cat washing. I smirked, sort of superior. “Anyway, I’ve known about it for ages.” Tommy struggled to control his mouth. “More than I have, then,” he finally managed. “She only told me last week.” 82

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“Told you what?” He was still quivering with laughter. “That she fancied me, same as I fancy her.” What? That really did startle me. “She told you she fancied you?” “Yeah. No maidenly modesty at all.” “After being married for fifteen years?” She was laughing. “The Merry Widow – as long as you ain’t a Black Widow, eh?” “And you fancy her?” My voice squeaked with surprise. “Really?” “Well, thanks a bundle,” Aunt Jean sniffed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean...” “Oh, yes you did! Cheeky monkey!” “Would I kiss her if I didn’t fancy her?” Tommy looked soppily at her. “My dreamgirl!” They both giggled. “You getting married, then?” I asked, trying to hide the shock with a joke. “I’ll be bridesmaid!” He shook his head, near explosion again with mirth. “She won’t have me.” “You mean you’ve asked her? And she refused?” All my ideas were upside down. He nodded, sobering up. Aunt Jean came and stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder, and they smiled at each other – embarrassing. “It’s much more fun having a bidey-in.” WEE MALKIE

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“A what?” “Local dialect, Malkie. What do they call it down south – a significant other? Pompous twaddle. A toy-boy.” “Or a call-girl!” “Well, thank you, kind sir! Compliments will get you everywhere. Elegant, expensive bird of paradise, that’s me.” She posed, sticking out a plump hip and giving him a ridiculous sexy wink. “One way to put it.” He pulled her onto his knee. “Cheap old hen, I’d say.” “Ach, you cheeky –” She whipped back up to her feet again, grabbed a mail-order catalogue off the table and started belabouring him. “You clarty skyble! Scleurach! Rapscallion!” “What the blazes are they? Don’t swear in front of the boy!” Laughing, he cowered away, hiding behind his huge arms. “Hey, watch it! Help! Save me, Malkie!” Fortunately, the kettle boiled, and Aunt Jean had to leave him to make the tea. She grinned at my confusion, and sang a bit of an old song mum used to sing; “‘Make ’em laugh, make ’em smile...’ Have a bit gingerbread, and try not to look so wandered, son!” I escaped back upstairs with a cuppa and a cake and a total confusion about golden oldies. 84

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Real love? But she wouldn’t marry him? Why not? How could they? How could he? It irked me, made me fidget and avoid them for days. But I finally decided I had to get it clear, so I looked for a chance to catch them alone, and find out what was really going on. In the kitchen I was peeling potatoes. Outside, the chain-saw was buzzing and roaring as Tommy filled up the wood-stack. I tried to sort of edge up to the subject, but Aunt Jean had as much tact and delicacy as a hippo in a swamp. “Come on, son, out with it! You’ve been like a canary in a cattery for the past three days. Life’s too short. You’re agitated about me and Tommy, right?” I nodded. “I thought – up here, everybody seems so – well, old-fashioned...” “Respectable and fuddy-duddy? That’s London thinking. You think Tommy and I are old and past it, at least I am, and it’s ridiculous and embarrassing?” I had to nod, while she stirred gravy salt into the casserole. “M’hm. You prejudiced, arrogant, impertinent brat.” My jaw dropped, but before I could get as peeved as that deserved she was off again. “Put the peelings in the wee bucket for the compost later. Pick your chin up, son, before you trip over it and I get jailed for justifiable pesticide, and get me out the rice, I’ll WEE MALKIE

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do a pudding to cook with the ham. Young people complain when oldies judge by appearances, don’t they? So don’t you do it. I’m still young inside, though I know you see me as Methuselah’s big sister.” Eh? “Look it up in the Bible. But we both know it won’t last. Tommy’s young, he’ll want a family of his own that I can’t give him. Have you eaten all the syrup? Greedy wee pig. The brown sugar then – what you got you put, what you don’t got you don’t put. And when he’s forty, still in his prime, I’ll be sixty. A nippy sixty, I trust, but still...” She shrugged, rather ruefully, while I tried to keep up with her mental switching. “He’s a good lad, he likes me, he makes me feel young again, I like him a heap, I care for him, so I’ll not tie him down. Nor lay myself open to him feeling his oats later on, breaking my heart and making me look a right idiot by chasing young girls on the sly – or in the open! So no, I’ll not marry him. Open the oven for me – use the cloth, you gowk! He can stay here as my lover – don’t blush, Malkie, it spoils the image!” She was laughing at me, drat her! “For as long as we’re both happy. But he’s free to go whenever he wants to, no hard feelings, well, not many, and we’ll stay friends. I’ll dance at his wedding, and be an honorary gran to his children. Okay?” 86

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Well, okay. She winked. “Besides, look how he improves my image.” Respectable, huh! But then, with her glasses and rolled hair-do she might look like Queen Victoria’s nanny, but she wasn’t conventional. Not underneath, where it counted. She didn’t care what was the accepted thing, she did what she thought was right. She was like mum. Come to think of it, in spite of her freelove past and scattiness, mum was basically a lot more conventional than plump, ordinary-looking Aunt Jean. Building a dry-stone wall that afternoon, Tommy said much the same thing. “Different, she is. Not a daft dolly-bird, but full of life – makes me feel great, doin’ things, creatin’ things that’ll last, like this wall. But she won’t get hitched.” He grinned wryly at me. “She’s right enough. No kids to make secure for, see? Fun while it lasts, good memories.” He was a bit shy of talking about it, though, and cut it short. “Okay, enough lallygaggin’, that hammer’s not just a decoration for your hand! That stone’ll fit here if you knock the corner off.” It helped, a bit, but... I could see their point, both of them, but... We’d finished clearing most of the gorse near the house, and a good bit of the easier WEE MALKIE

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ground further off, leaving some banks as wind-breaks. Now we had an incredible mountain of dead bushes piled in the clearing near the boggy patch. Tommy was a bit worried about them. “Ain’t that a fire risk, Jean?” he was asking when I got down for breakfast next day. “Yes indeed, o Socrates.” Aunt Jean nodded wisely, and grinned at me. She was always making references to things I knew nothing about, it drove me nuts till I traced them. I hated being like Walter in London, not understanding what was going on round me so that everybody could laugh at me. “But I know what I’m at, Tommy. Trust me, I’m a doctor! I thought we’d have a wee do on Saturday night. Fancy it? M’hm? The forecast says fine weather for a week. We’ll have a huge old-fashioned bonfire, it’s been wet so there’s not much fire risk, the ash’ll be a good fertiliser, and a barbecue when it’s died down a bit. Kenny can bring his accordion for a ceilidh – a party to you, Southron!” “I know that!” he protested. “All me school prizes were for playin’ hookey, but I ain’t thick! Smashin’! Can we get fireworks?” Tommy was smiling quite a lot, these days. “Good thinking, Batman! I love rockets!” She patted his head approvingly. “You can 88

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ask your pals from school, Malkie.” I waited for her to say something about Alex, but she didn’t. She wasn’t bad, Aunt Jean, I thought. The bonfire did sound good fun. At school Alex, and Simon and Brenda, and several of my other pals were all for it. I didn’t ask Chris, but he heard about it. He and his sidekicks herded me into a corner next day. My heart was pounding – what did he want? “You’re havin’ a barbie up your place on Sat’day. We’re invited.” It wasn’t a question. “Or…” one of his mates grunted, “or, you might not have a bonfire. Some nasty hooligan might just light it by accident, or not, the night before.” “An’ you might just be in it. Roast English piggie,” the other one snorted, grinning. “Lots o’ cracklin’!” “So we’re comin’, eh?” Chris sneered down at me. What could I do? Tell? Tell what – and who – and who’d back me up? Nobody else could hear; Chris and his pals would deny it. They hadn’t done anything, anyway, just threatened to sabotage the bonfire. And Tommy would be there to keep an eye on them… “Okay,” I said. Immediately, I felt sick. Well, sicker than before. Hate hate… WEE MALKIE

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Chris smirked, patted me on the head. “Learnin’ sense, piggie!” He slapped my head so that it rang, and they swaggered off. I gritted my teeth – yes, you can really hear them crunch if you do it hard enough. They’d won again. But I’d beat them some day! I would! Then on Friday, Aunt Jean blew it. Or I did, maybe. She was talking about it at tea, bubbling over as usual. “The fireworks came today, Malkie, three big boxes! And wait till you see the larder – I’ve emptied the freezer centre. Ten kilos of sausages and venison burgers, and six freezer packs of onions – they say an onion’s worth a cry, but I don’t want flooded out. I’ve ordered twenty dozen rolls. And ketchup and pickles and mustard by the gallon – did I say a wee do? More like a Hunt Ball! A hundred and forty, at least! How many of your friends, Malkie? A dozen or so? Fine! Lots of records, and Fakkie’ll have his accordion, if anybody wants to dance. All my friends are looking forward to meeting you. Most of them knew your mum.” Suddenly I felt livid. Furious, sick, disgusted, embarrassed – outraged. A bonfire was okay, having a laugh and a blow-out with some mates would be good fun even with Chris there – nothing’s ever perfect and we 90

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could keep out of his way. But having to be polite, on show to a lot of mum’s old friends as if I was something in a zoo, in front of Alex and the rest? Yuk. My stomach churned, all acid again. I went out to cool down outside. It was still light – it would be, till about eleven o’clock. I walked down the garden, past the hen run. They came running over, thinking I’d brought them more food, squawking and fluttering. That was what it’d be like on Saturday, all the old biddies cackling about my mum. ‘How is she, dear? You don’t look like her. You have a wee sister, don’t you? Aw, how sweet! Is Tommy a relation?’ And prying at Aunt Jean and Tommy, too, the way the geese were peering across at me now, ready to nip chinks out of us all. And Chris. In a wide clear space by the stream the enormous pile of bushes was gently crackling as the heat of the sun went off it. I’d helped stack it, I thought, it was mine as much as anybody’s. I didn’t want this stupid barbecue on Saturday. No, I didn’t! Hate… I wished I didn’t have to meet all the old fogeys, and Chris lumbering about, and all… I wished it was all over. Hate hate… I wished I’d said no to Chris, and he’d come and set off the bonfire so there wouldn’t be a party at all. I wished… WEE MALKIE

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And in my pocket I had some matches. I was shocked when it caught. I hadn’t properly expected it to. Well, I did and I didn’t. I was sort of outside myself. It didn’t seem to be really me, really happening. Or the match wouldn’t light, or the gorse wouldn’t be dry enough, or Tommy would come out and stop me, or something… But he didn’t, and it was, and it did, and then I couldn’t stop it. I have to say it was a brilliant bonfire. The gorse was dry underneath, and loose, full of air, so that when it caught it burned fierce and fast. It roared like – well, like a forest fire, with a fusillade of exploding seedpods. The sparks flew above the treetops, away up to turn to black confetti against the gold of the sky. It suddenly struck me that there was a real fire risk, if it caught the trees and spread – that wouldn’t have been funny, with all the trees right round Aunt Jean’s house. But I was lucky. It had been showery that afternoon, and there wasn’t much wind, so the sparks weren’t carried far. I watched it very carefully, and stamped out any sparks that landed any distance out. I thought that would make Tommy and Aunt Jean less angry when they came out to see what was wrong. Maybe I could say it was vandals, and I’d just found it, or something... But they didn’t come out. 92

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I should have enjoyed it, and one way I did, it was exciting and glorious, but there was a nasty twisted triumphant darkness deep inside me that spoiled it. Like when I wrecked my room – no, I’d not think about that. Guilt, I suppose. It took about three hours to die down into red embers, that I thought I could leave safely. I stayed as long as I could, to put off having to face them. When I went back in at last, about nine o’clock, I didn’t know what to expect – screaming hysterics, or a belting from Tommy, or what. But there was nobody in the kitchen. Cautiously, I opened the living-room door. Tommy was sitting on the sofa, reading, apparently quite calm. I clenched my teeth and went on in. He didn’t look up. “Load o’ sausages an’ stuff to go in the freezer. Now.” Well. Fair enough. I came back blowing on my fingers. That might be that, if he wasn’t too angry... He held out a sheet of paper to me; a long list of phone numbers and names. “These are the people Jean’s asked,” he told me coldly. “You call ’em an’ say it’s cancelled.” “Why me?” It took me right aback. “You expect your aunt to call ’em all, make excuses on top of what she feels?” I stared like a frightened rabbit. “I can’t. I won’t!” WEE MALKIE

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He didn’t smile, or shout, or anything. Didn’t need to. He just swelled a bit. “You will.” “But I don’t know what to say... It’ll be dreadful...” “Tough.” “But I don’t know these people –” He glared me down. He was indeed angry. Under the tight calm, he was practically incandescent with rage. “So that’s why you spoiled our fun? Upset your aunt so’s she’s up in her room, cryin’? You didn’t know ’em, so you didn’t care? You didn’t want to know ’em, so you made sure they wouldn’t come? Or just to hell with ’em, you wanted the excitement of the fire all to yourself?” “It wasn’t like that –” I started to protest, but he wasn’t listening. He was dialling the first number. As it rang at the other end, he handed me the phone. “Here. You mucked it up it, you sort it.” I was so desperate I slapped down the receiver to cut off the call. “Not my fault…” But it hadn’t been. I tried to argue. “What right have you got –” The fury in his face stopped me. It would have stopped a bolt of lightning. “I care for her. Obviously you don’t.” I shrivelled up inside. “Can’t we have the party anyway? Without the bonfire?” 94

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“With how we’re feelin? Don’t be daft. Get on with it.” It took ages to reach everybody. I said the fire had gone up by accident, which was sort of half true. It got easier after the first five or six calls, and then worse again, because everybody was so nice about it, all sympathising, and saying how they’d looked forward to meeting me, and they hoped we weren’t too disappointed, we’d try again another day... I was crawling inside. Tommy didn’t help, either. He sat there like a simmering volcano while I struggled on, breathing deep and angry through his nose, listening to me lying. Tell you, he worried me sick; what I’d done in London didn’t seem half as bad, not when it was only Walter I had to face. When I’d finished the last call, I made myself hang about for at least ten seconds to pretend I wasn’t scared, before I crept for the stair. But he was there before me, glaring down at me. “Lookin’ forward to that bonfire, we were, till you wrecked it.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t know you wanted it so bad...” I trickled off. What was he going to do? I clenched my fists, all my muscles, to hide my trembling. This was worse than Gerry twisting my arm. WEE MALKIE

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He didn’t touch me, just sneered in contempt. “Think that’s why? Just losin’ the party? No. Jean ain’t that petty. See, her and me, we were proud o’ you. Thought you were doin’ fine. No badness, spite o’ what Walter said. Seems we were wrong.” There was a pause. “Maybe your step-dad was right enough about you.” I dodged round him and belted up the stair. Halfway up, “Hey!” His deep voice halted me. “You know what you got to do.” I got into bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I lay fuming and trying not to feel sick. I wouldn’t let myself admit I was guilty, but I knew I was – and the taste of it was sour in my throat. Was Walter right about me? Sneaky, destructive… No. No, it was Chris, bullying me. And everybody. Not my fault. No, no, no... Hate hate hurt… The stairs creaked as Tommy came up. He tapped a fingernail on Aunt Jean’s door, and went in. I could hear the deep rumble of his voice and Aunt Jean answering, till the door closed again. She sounded as if she’d been crying, right enough. Stuff her. Stuff them both. What right had he to boss me about? Just because he was bigger than me. Might is right, eh? Like Chris, and Gerry. Hate… No, not like them. Not really. 96

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What could I do to get my own back? But I’d already spoiled their plans, it was their turn to get their own back, not mine. They hadn’t done anything. I had. Yes, me. Admit it. I’d given in – to spite and fear and Chris. He’d beaten me. No! Stuff them. Hurt… I fell asleep and dreamed that mum was there. Silly, I knew it was a dream even while I was in it. But it was comforting. Next morning I lay late. Yeah, I knew what I had to do. Apologise. Properly. And I hated it. I felt far worse than when I pretended to crawl to Walter. So I tried not to accept the idea. Why should I apologise? But if I didn’t, things would never be right. At last, if I lay any longer I’d be late for school as well, and that’d just add more stupid trouble. I had to get up. Maybe Aunt Jean would be out in the garden or her workroom, put it off... She was standing in the kitchen writing a shopping list. She glanced at me, and then turned away again as if she couldn’t stand the sight of me. The back door opened and Tommy came in like Paul Bunyan. He dropped half a ton of logs in the woodbox WEE MALKIE

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with a tremendous clatter, and stood, waiting. No sense in hanging about. Go for it. “Aunt Jean, I’m sorry. I don’t – I’m sorry.” I waited. Would she preach at me? She looked down at her list. “M’hm. Sorry for what?” Er… “Lighting the bonfire.” “Nothing wrong with lighting a bonfire. You’d have done it tonight anyway.” I thought. “For doing it at the wrong time. Spoiling your party.” At last she looked at me properly. “Why did you? Why did you set light to it?” Her voice was cold. “I don’t know.” “If you don’t know, you may do it again. So think. Why?” She waited for me to find words. I struggled to say what I meant. “It was all right when it was just us, you and Tommy and a few of my friends, even your friends, but when you said they were all coming to see me – I lost the place. I don’t like people prying at me.” It sounded so feeble... But I didn’t want to mention Chris. “That’s not all, though, is it? You were upset and angry anyway. Being sent here. And this Chris boy at school. And then this between me and Tommy does bother you, in spite of what you said. M’hm. So you hit 98

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back. A bit drastic, though? You could have just told us how you felt, and we’d have seen what we could do. Talked it over, at least. Wouldn’t that have been less – less drastic?” “Yeah – I mean no. I didn’t think. Just – blew up.” Tommy stirred. “Like when you trashed your room.” “No!” They just looked. “Well... Yeah, I suppose so. Look, I said I’m sorry.” What more did they expect? What more could I do? “So you’ll think in future, before you go charging over the top?” Tommy’s tone was grim. “I promise!” I would, too. Anything to stop Aunt Jean looking so sad and disappointed. She looked a bit startled by the depth of feeling in my tone. She looked at Tommy. He nodded, shrugged. She drew a deep breath, right down to her toes, and nodded. Her shoulders relaxed. She came to me and hugged me, even though she wasn’t smiling yet. Behind her, Tommy’s face wasn’t friendly, but at least it wasn’t grim. It was a start back. Tell you straight, I nearly burst into tears. Soppy, eh? WEE MALKIE

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Chapter 6 One afternoon about a week later, when I got in from school I found an enormous pile of boxes had arrived for me, from Walter. All my stuff – well, replacements for what I’d wrecked. I felt sick. I didn’t want to touch any of it, but Aunt Jean had no patience with me. “Don’t be daft, Malkie. There’s lots you need, and more you can be doing with, that I can’t afford for you. Let’s see what he’s sent – and then see what we can get into your room. You’ll maybe have to sleep on the landing!” She was like a kid at Christmas, gleefully ripping open boxes, ignoring my bad temper, which I had to cover up – she was friendly enough, but I still felt a bit nervous. “Skis! I’ve always wanted a shottie at skiing. I’m the right shape, well padded for falling and not that far to go. Ski boots – wowee, what a size! Malkie, you’ll look like one of those wee dolls you can’t knock over! Football boots too – Nike – well, naturally, keep your end up with your pals, eh? What’s this? Clothes?” She held up a sweater against herself. “Dear lord, red 100

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with big gold stars, you’ll look gift-wrapped for Christmas. And look at the size – fit an elephant. M’hm. Typical Walter, but your mum should have more sense.” “Maybe she’s forgotten how small I am.” I couldn’t help it. Aunt Jean tutted at me. “Don’t be daft! It’s to grow into – you’re about due for a spurt, your father was nearly six feet tall. Mind you, your mum’s wee. Never mind, worse if it was too small. We’ll stash it away for you. And baggy’s the fashion, if you don’t grow into it, I’ll pinch it.” “Thought it would fit an elephant, Aunt Jean?” I couldn’t help it, I was grinning. “Cheeky wee monkey!” She slapped at my head. She really was relaxing back to normal. “It’ll fit me,” Tommy suggested. “I’m not proud!” Aunt Jean made a face as I tossed it to him. Revenge on Walter! “Ta, mate. Boy, it’s a cracker!” He tugged it on and slunk across the kitchen floor looking snooty, arms tight at his sides, hands turned out, swivelling his shoulders and hips like a model on a catwalk, putting on a posh voice like Walter’s. “End now heah’s owah own sexy supahman, Thomas –” “Thomas the tank engine!” I shouted. He gave me a thumbs-up. “Displaying the latest Italian sensation, a really ravishing WEE MALKIE

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little numbah in gorgeous cwimson an’ gold for all you sexy hunks out theah!” We fell about laughing. He looked great, though. Aunt Jean started ripping at another crate, yakking away. “A computer desk? That dreadful black ash, like a crematorium. Easy to erect? M’hm? Probably half the screws are missing. Just like Walter.” Her eyebrows waggled. “You and Tommy’ll have to wrestle it into submission – best of three falls or a knockout. Is that what they call a ghetto blaster? Well, if you deafen me I’ll blast and you’ll get it, I warn you. Computer and printer – and a crate of software! Will it all fit in your room?” She just lifted an eyebrow at the portable TV as I whipped it off up the stair. Tommy and I took one bed apart, which just made room for the desk and the WPC squashed in under the sloping ceiling, and the TV sat on the chest of drawers at my bedhead. I was half happy and half disgusted. Okay, I wanted a T.V and WPC and all that, but... There was an envelope inside one of the boxes. When we had everything fixed, even the desk – which practically put itself together when Tommy growled at it, and I don’t blame it – Aunt Jean held the envelope out to me. I wouldn’t take it, at first. My insides had just recently settled down. Why spoil it? 102

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“Face it, son,” Tommy said firmly. “Always better to face it.” Oh, stuff him... stuff them both... and particularly stuff Walter. Stirring me all up again... I read mum’s note first; short and chatty. She hoped the clothes fitted. She’d try to come up during the summer. Amanda was asking for me, and here were a couple of pictures she had drawn specially for me. Lots of love, mum. So okay, what did I expect? Come home all is forgiven? Whatever it was, I didn’t get it. Walter said he was quite well, and so was Gerald. The Rector had called personally, to say how glad Gerald’s teachers were that he’d recovered in time to play Mark Antony at the end of term. Drat! He hoped I was settling down well, not giving my aunt any trouble. Sarky swine. He realised that personality conflicts were at the root of much of our problems, but – there was always a ‘but’ with him – I must strive to control my temper – I didn’t read any more. I shoved the letters into the stove and ran off into the woods by myself, to do just what he said. They’d brought it all back, all the bile and misery and heart-ache. Stuff him stuff him stuff him. And her too. Tommy started to come after me, but Aunt Jean called him back. Good for her. WEE MALKIE

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For ages I stomped through the woods, swearing and yelling, and smashing up rotten branches on treetrunks. “Walter!” Thud! “Gerry!” Chunk! Oh, mum, mum… and Amanda… Hurt hurt hate… “Gerry!” Crunch! “Walter!” Whack! At least I had room to do that, out here. Not trashing anything important this time. It didn’t help as much as I thought it would. After a while, it just felt silly. What was I doing? Scaring squirrels. I headed back through the stretching shadows. Maybe it did help, at that. They must have kept tea back for me, but Aunt Jean didn’t say a word about it. No sermons, no scolding, no sympathy. She just welcomed me with, “On the table in three minutes, just time to wash your hands.” She wasn’t at all bad. By the time I’d polished off pea soup, ham salad with one of the lettuces I’d planted, and toffee pudding, I was just about able to talk without spitting. I told them about Gerry and the play. Tommy nodded. “About the right part for him. Always thought Mark Antony was a chancer.” He’d picked up a lot, although I didn’t think I’d said all that much about Gerry. “Chancer?” That cheered me right up. “Yeah, suits him right down to the ground, smarmy –” 104

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“Oy.” Tommy looked at me quite gravely. “No need for you to be mean too, son. He’s not worth it. Leave him behind. Forget him.” I grumphed. Aunt Jean chuckled. “Not that easy, Tommy. But it’ll come, eh, Malkie?” I shrugged. “Suppose so.” “Nothing lasts for ever, not even the bad things.” She got up, ruffling my hair with one finger, a bit surprising, she didn’t often touch me. “Come on, halfling! Dishes – and then I’ll beat the pants off you at ludo.” I made a face. “Ludo? I’ve got a telly at last!” She laughed at me. “All right, then, go and get square-eyed. But dishes first!” But when I flicked through the channels, nothing was worth watching. A western was just finishing in the usual bloodbath, with the hero shot in the shoulder – baddies are rotten shots; a quiz that might have puzzled a three-year-old; a deadly serious documentary about some morons killing other morons about religion, as if everybody didn’t know how some people enjoy cruelty on any excuse, just a grown-up kind of bullying; a soap; and some hysterically unfunny ‘new wave’ humour. Big deal. Tommy and Aunt Jean were laughing downstairs, so I went down. They moved over to let me in on the next game without WEE MALKIE

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any comment. Boy, what a change from Gerry! Their version of ludo wasn’t a kid’s game; twos were wild, threes moved backwards, you put in a penny for every man knocked out, winner take all, and cheating and trying to confuse and distract and mislead your opponents were all part of the game. I lost eighty-two pence, and went to bed with a sore throat from shouting at Tommy – he kept nudging his men along a space or two with the thick sleeves of his new sweater, the rat, and knocking mine back, till I insisted he rolled them up. The sleeves, not the men. Aunt Jean just sat and smiled like a brass Buddha, and rolled the pair of us up. “Luck o’ the devil!” Tommy accused her. She smiled smugly, eyebrows raised at us. “Luck? Huh. All it takes is genius.” When I went up to bed, I tried the telly again. The ads were the best bit. I looked at the black fake ash, and the shiny plastic, next to Aunt Jean’s worn, shabby, homely wood, and I felt – I don’t know just how I felt. Disgusted, and resentful... It interrupted my new life here. It upset me all over again. Stuff Walter. Hate – oh, why bother? As Aunt Jean kept saying, life’s too short. At least he was down in London and I was up here, so that was all right. 106

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The last three weeks had been dry, so Tommy booked a big tractor with a digger attachment to dig the pond for Aunt Jean. We drew up rough plans, and cleared a path for the heavy machine to the stream edge. Then we had to put it off for a few days. And then again. The little trees we’d put in as hedges were being ripped out night after night, about a hundred yards a time. Deer, we decided it must be. We had to replace them, which meant more trips to the nursery, which took up more time. One morning, while we were getting ready to start out, Fakkie rattled down the track on his ancient tractor. “Did ye know there’s a car hit one o’ yer new fences? Up by my corner. It’s whipped out fifty feet or so, wire an’ posts both. Steamin’ home from the pub, likely, that he didna stop in an’ tell ye. Nae consideration – my cows could’ve been right in yer auntie’s garden. A shame, that – ye’re makin’ a fair job o’ it. His car must be in a right state, mind – if ye want tae find him, a word wi’ the local garages about a bodywork an’ paint job might get ye his name.” Tommy was frowning. I could understand that; more repair work holding us back, when we were hoping to get on. “Can you give us a lift up there, mate, so’s we can have a look? Ta.” WEE MALKIE

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“See!” Two minutes later Fakkie pointed to the fence. Talk about wrecked! About ten posts knocked sideways into the field, coils of broken wire all over – a proper mess. But Tommy didn’t set to, as I thought he would, and get stuck into the repairs. He shouted to Fakkie, “Hang on! Come down a minute – take a look. I want a witness.” Intrigued, Fakkie switched off and jumped down. “Look at that.” Tommy was pointing to the earthen edge of the road at the ends of the broken fence. “No sign o’ wheels. An’ the grass ain’t crushed at all between the posts, right? An’ look at the post holes – if a car had hit ’em, the posts would’ve been bashed straight forward –” “Right enough, man.” Fakkie peered down at the holes. “Wide all round, eh, no just the one way. Somebody’s been wagglin’ them tae loosen them, an’ then shovin’ them down there tae look like a car hit them.” “An’ see here.” Tommy picked up an end of wire. “If it had been tugged till it snapped, it’d be thin an’ stretched.” I could see what he meant. “It’s thick and straight across – it’s been cut.” “Yeah.” He nodded to me. “Sabotage.” “The hedges as well?” “Could be.” 108

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“Sabotage?” Fakkie’s eyes were bright with outrage. “Ach, the filthy – Ye know who it is?” “Chris. Give you odds, Fakkie,” I snarled. “Get the bobbies in?” Tommy looked grim and nasty. “Think about it. But you’ll bear us out about the fence, if it comes to it, eh? Ta.” “Luck, man.” Fakkie eyed him for a moment. “If it was me, I’d prefer the police.” Chuckling, he clambered back up to his seat and drove off. I repeated. “Chris.” “Could be.” “He was flaming mad when the – the bonfire was cancelled.” I bit my lip, but Tommy didn’t comment. Flaming had been the least of it; Chris had been furious. “I bike in to school, he could easily bike out. What’re we going to do?” He gazed thoughtfully down at me. “Mend the fence, o’ course.” “But what about –” “First things first. You start collectin’ the posts. I’ll nip down for me tools, right?” With a nod, he strode off through the trees. I knew he’d not just let it rest there. What was he thinking of? When we came in for our lunch, I told Aunt Jean all about it. Tommy just ate. She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Well, Tommy? What have you got in mind?” WEE MALKIE

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He grinned. “There’s faith for you!” “You’ll sort him out somehow.” “Yeah, Tommy,” I burst out. “What you gonna do? Beat Chris up? Sit up for him with a shotgun?” My toes curled in anticipation. “Bloodthirsty little devil, ain’t you? Wait an’ see.” He sat back smugly with a mug of tea. “We can take a few precautions. What we were talkin’ about last week, Jean.” “Ah!” Aunt Jean’s eyebrows rose. “Of course!” “What?” I was lost. “What were you talking about?” They grinned devilishly. “Ahah! What about this afternoon, Tommy? The sooner the better. We’ll find something suitable between Inverness and Elgin.” Aunt Jean reached over to the sideboard for the phone book. Tommy poured down his tea like a fountain in reverse. “Come on, son, let’s get tidied up. Trip to town.” I wanted to hear who Aunt Jean was calling, and what she was saying, but Tommy chased me upstairs to change. Suitable? Something they’d been discussing last week? I was dying with curiosity. When I clattered down again, Aunt Jean was putting on her anorak. She nodded to Tommy. “Just in Nairn. 7a Park Street. Very nice, Eddie says, but Mrs Main just can’t cope.” 110

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“What is? Who’re Eddie and Mrs Main?” But they wouldn’t tell me. It was a tiny house in a tiny street in the Fishertown. As we opened the gate of the cement front yard there was a terrific burst of barking. A huge dog started bouncing inside one of the low windows, scrabbling at the net curtains till the glass shook. “Mrs Main?” Aunt Jean asked the old lady who appeared. “Eddie Masson the vet said you had a dog for sale.” A dog? A dog! Oh, great! Magic! Walter wouldn’t have one. “Not kind to keep a dog in a city, Malcolm, lots of exercise, lots of time, school and homework, can’t expect your mother, with Amanda – no, no.” Wally. Bursting out past Mrs Main rushed a greyhound wrapped in a grey goatskin rug, as high as my waist. Higher. Should have had a saddle, not a collar. It bounded round us on the path, barking, snapping at our legs with teeth like a tiger shark. The old lady, small and frail, was in a right tizzy. “Bullet! Naughty boy! Down, now! Down! Go to bed! Down, Bullet! Bed! Oh, dear, I’m so sorry – down!” It paid not the slightest attention. Aunt Jean shrank into herself, hands and elbows in, feet together, to give the dog nothing to get a grip of. I nipped back out of the gate again pronto. Tommy simply reached down a huge hand, gripped the WEE MALKIE

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scruff of the dog’s neck, lifted it half off the ground and held it up casually like a giant fox-fur dangling from his fist, snarling and kicking. Standing on its hind legs it was taller than me. “This him?” “Oh, dear, yes.” Mrs Main was rubbing her hands in worry. “He’s not vicious, not really. It’s just – he’s young, and too... We can’t give him the exercise he needs.” She was obviously desperate to get rid of the dog, and scared he’d put us off with his behaviour. “He was our son’s dog, you see, but he’s gone to America, a job offer, a promotion, and he couldn’t take Bullet, but we can’t look after him, he’s too big –” Far too much for her, that was clear. Aunt Jean was looking at Tommy. “What do you think?” “Lurcher, ain’t he? Greyhound, wolfhound, bit of Lab an’ Alsatian? Good mix. Young, eh? Year an’ a half? Worst age – teenage for a dog. No wonder he’s a bit over the top.” It lunged and snapped at him. Mrs Main squeaked in dismay, but he just grinned. “Well, I’d not be that happy if somebody was chokin’ me.” He glared at the dog. “Quiet, Bullet!” He set it on its feet, yanked it back as it tried to break away, and slapped its muzzle and shook it brisk as a duster when it snapped at him – which made the old lady squeak again. He winked to her, 112

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then returned his glare to the dog. He even snarled at it, showing his teeth. “Yerrgh! Quiet, Bullet! Quiet!” To my astonishment, it seemed to understand him – or maybe it just gave up. It stood still. “That’s it. Good boy. Good Bullet.” He gently offered it the back of his hand, holding its collar in case it lunged. It sniffed cautiously, and seemed to relax a bit. Carefully, moving slowly, he slid his hand under its chin and rubbed its neck. He grinned across at me. “Way a dog sees things, either you’re boss, or he is. Gotta be you, or neither of you’s happy.” Stars in her eyes, the old lady was nodding fervently. “Okay, son, your turn. Let him smell your hand. Go easy, don’t startle him.” “You hang onto him, then! I don’t want to end up as Captain Hook!” Gingerly I held out my hand. To my surprise, Bullet licked it. I felt all warm – soppy, eh? “Hey, he likes me!” “More likely he likes the crisps you were eating in the car!” Aunt Jean was chuckling. “Will he make a good watchdog, Tommy?” He gestured at the ripped curtains. “Looks like he is already. Feed himself, too, just about, catchin’ rabbits. Bred for poachin’, see? He ever been near sheep? No? Good. Needs trainin’, but a bit of TLC an’ a firm hand an’ he’ll do fine.” WEE MALKIE

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I blinked. “TLC?” “Tender loving care. Not the same thing at all as spoiling. You’re in favour, then, Tommy? And you, Malkie?” My head nearly nodded itself off. Aunt Jean smiled at the old lady. “How much do you want for him?” “Oh, well, I don’t know...” There was a bit of shilly-shallying, with Aunt Jean actually insisting on paying more than the old lady asked for, until they settled on £50 for Bullet and all his gear. When we left, the old lady looked happier than she could have been for weeks. On the way back to the car, Tommy held Bullet tight by his side all the time, though he kept on trying to break away whenever anything caught his eye. “Bullet’s about right for him, shootin’ off in all directions. Young yet. Can’t expect miracles. He’s bright, though.” When we reached the little Peugeot, Aunt Jean shook her head. “Oh-oh. This is something we didn’t consider. Can’t get two gallons in a pint pot. You’re bad enough, Tommy; but the car’s not elastic.” Tommy grinned. “We’ll put down one o’ the back seats, an’ I’ll squeeze in with him or he’ll be all over. Malkie, you hold him while I do it. Don’t let him go, he’d be off like a shot, an’ we’d have to wait for him to come home here – unless you can run faster’n him?” 114

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Well, no. Right. Grimly, I slipped my hand right through the heavy plaited loop for security, crooked my elbow round a lamp-post and gripped hard. Just as well. Bullet had been bouncing along, happy to be going out, wanting to run, held firm by Tommy’s enormous strength. Now he looked at me, realised that the boss wasn’t attached now, and headed for the seashore at a thousand miles an hour. I imitated a tug-of-war rope. He wasn’t heavy, but boy, was he ever strong! Aunt Jean and Tommy paid no attention, got on with loading the car and left me to manage. And I managed. Just. He didn’t escape, though it was a near thing whether my hand got ripped off or the lamp-post broke first. Bullet was bright, just like Tommy said. He came when he was called, if he felt like it, and sat, and lay down. Not reliably, but he’d get there if we worked on it, Tommy said. We rigged up a wire and slip-chain between two trees, so that Bullet could run about a bit when he was alone, and a kennel beside it for shelter. “He can’t stay there, Aunt Jean!” I protested. “No, but he’s not coming right in either,” she stated firmly. “Murphy’s fifth law; clutter expands to fill all the available WEE MALKIE

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space. M’hm. Including dogs. Let him in and either the whole house starts smelling doggy or the housework doubles. No way! He’s a respectable working dog, not a pampered pet. He’s due his proper place, and indoors that’s his bed in the passage to the studio, and his blanket aired every day and washed every week. He can come into the kitchen, same as Chivers, on the vinyl, but no further. Understood?” That night when we went to bed Bullet whined and barked and howled and scratched at the door till I couldn’t stand it any longer. I knew how he felt. I got up to creep down and comfort him. Tommy was waiting for me on the landing, with a sympathetic grin. “No, son. He’ll never get used to it if you go down – he’ll just learn that complainin’ gets him company, an’ he’ll do it every night.” “But he’s miserable and lonely and homesick!” “Yeah. He feels bad.” He shook his head. “But in fact there’s nothin’ wrong with him. Leave him be. He’ll get over it. Go on, son. He’ll settle down and do fine, once he learns we’re still there in the mornin’.” It sounded very hard, and I didn’t believe him, but it was true. The howling stopped in half an hour. Twenty minutes the next couple of nights. Then ten. Then peace. 116

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Bullet was a bit like me. A mongrel, not pure-bred, all-sorts, mixed up. Lonely, but nothing actually wrong. More than a bit. Yeah, okay, I loved him.

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Chapter 7 Now we had an extra job; dog-handling. ‘Sit’, ‘Lie-down’, and ‘Stay’ were easy, we only had to show that we meant it. A general ‘NO!’ meant, ‘Whatever you’re doing, stop it!’ We did his lessons near the hen run and yelled “No!” if he twitched an eye or ear at them, till after a few days he’d pay no attention to the hens at all. They soon ignored him, too. The geese actually chased him, hissing, flapping their wings and pecking lumps out of his coat till he fled to Tommy for safety. Aunt Jean laughed herself silly. The first day, Bullet found Chivers asleep on the coal bunker, her tail dangling, and sniffed at it. She woke with a wild jump, hissing and fluffing up to double her normal size. Startled, he leapt back and barked at her. I grabbed for his collar and yelled, “No!” He looked at me – you could see ‘Spoil-sport!’ all over his mind – barked again to make sure she knew who was top dog and tell her how lucky she was, turned away in resignation, and folded up like a camel in a patch of sun. 118

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For three days Chivers huffily mountaineered across shed roofs whenever she was outside. Then one day when Bullet was asleep I saw her sneak down and investigate him cautiously, and a fortnight later she was cuddling in the curve of his neck, thoughtfully washing his ear. We made a special point of finding fields with animals, cows or pigs and specially sheep – we stayed outside the fields with pigs, they bite. Tommy would lead Bullet right past or even among the cows or sheep, holding him close in. Every time he looked at them, even, we both shouted at him, and Tommy picked him up by the scruff and shook him. “Must train him not to touch ’em, straight off. Once he starts he can’t help chasin’, it’s dog nature. An’ then he can’t help turnin’ killer. An’ that’s a one-way trip. No!” He slapped Bullet’s neck. “Leave ’em! No!” He glanced down at me. “You mind that, eh? You’re in charge. He’s just a dog, he don’t know no better. You’re the one is responsible. So you never let him get away with even sniffin’ after a sheep. Not once, not never. An’ if he does attack sheep, you tell, right off, no hesitatin’. You don’t hide a killer. He’ll be put down. But it’ll be your fault. Got that?” It was scary, the responsibility. All my fault… I’d better not. I wouldn’t. WEE MALKIE

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After a week, we could walk Bullet through a field of sheep off the lead, and he didn’t even look at them. He learned really quickly. He needed three walks a day, of at least three kilometres each, though chasing balls and sticks could use up a lot of running. He loved racing along the beach after gulls, and going for a swim, or he’d lope beside my bike along the quiet roads. When I said, “Want a run, then?” he knew what it meant, and got to the bike before me. We’d planned to leave him on the wire while we were working, but on the third day he slipped his collar and came after us, turning up pleased as Punch, carrying a big rabbit. “Deer next time, eh?” Tommy said proudly. “Told you he’d feed himself! Us, too. Well done, good boy, Bullet! And no chasin’ sheep, either! Glad he can come with us – didn’t like leaving him. Go on, mate, get us another two or three.” And he did, every day – rabbits, hares; he once leapt hugely after a pheasant we put up, and got it too. “Wahey, go for it, Bullet!” “Chris isn’t a sheep, Tommy. Why not train Bullet to go for him like a hare?” Tommy snorted. “Said you were bloodthirsty. Don’t be daft.” “Well, I suppose there are limits.” 120

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He chuckled. “You’re learnin’.” It was great, having a dog. Not that I couldn’t talk to Tommy, or even Aunt Jean, but they listened, thought about what I said, and commented. Bullet just grinned, and still loved me whatever I told him. So I could tell him how I felt about school, or Aunt Jean, or Gerry, or mum, or Chris, or Alex – anything. He was... just great. He was a good guard dog; he barked like crazy at everybody who arrived, but we trained him not to attack, same as with sheep, for which the postie – the nice wee postman, Scots, see? – thanked us. The geese had always made a noise when anybody came by; now, the din was tremendous. Aunt Jean started to give Bullet a row for barking so much, but Tommy stopped her. “You leave him be. Just what you want, that is. Lots o’ racket, scare villains off, no hassle, no violence. Okay?” But we spent a good while teaching Bullet ‘Speak’ and ‘Quiet’. In the middle of all this, in the middle of June, the phone rang during dinner. “Never fails, pick up your fork and – Hello?” Aunt Jean answered it. “Oh, it’s you, Walter. What can I do for you? What? No! Is she all right?” Her voice rose. My heart half stopped – was it mum? She called loudly, “It’s all right, Malkie! Betty’s had a car accident, but not WEE MALKIE

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too bad. A touch of concussion, a broken collar-bone and some cracked ribs, but she’s not in any danger. She turned into the path of a lorry that couldn’t stop.” “She’s a rotten driver.” I tried to smile at Tommy. Considering how mum had betrayed me, it was odd how deeply I felt about her being hurt. “She says she drives on the selective attention principle – she selects where she wants to go and everybody else has to pay attention! She’ll be all right, Aunt Jean?” She sat down again, puffing. “Apparently. She’ll be home in a week. No, you’ll not go back to London – where would you stay? With Walter and Gerry, alone?” Oh. “No, you phone and write every day, and let Betty know you love her, and you’re thinking of her. M’hm. And I’ll invite her up here for a week or two to convalesce, during your summer holidays. That way you’ll have her all to yourself, no hassle. And we can talk about what you’ll do.” “What I’ll do?” Aunt Jean looked sympathetic. “M’hm. Whether – or how long – you want to stay here. You’re welcome, lad, you know that. But if you want to go back I won’t mind, you’ll always be welcome for holidays.” That was like her; she’d tell you what she thought – specially if you’d done something wrong! – but it was one of the best things 122

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about her, that you felt free to make your own decisions. “It’s up to you and Betty to sort it out. And Walter. And even Gerry – it’s his house too.” Fair enough, I suppose. So I did as she said, sent cards, wrote, phoned... It’s no business of yours what we said. We were coming up to the end of term, as Scottish schools close at the end of June, not July, for six weeks. Anyway, the brass group was going to be playing in the endof-term concert, and so was our jazz group. We practised the brass every lunchtime, and our jazz combo after school almost every night, and it was all coming together nicely. On the day of the concert, the other trombonist fell over his big floppy feet and sprained his wrist. Moron! When I told Aunt Jean she laughed. “Well, you’ll just have to blow twice as loud!” That night, she swept into the crowded hall on Tommy’s arm and paused where everybody could see her, her hair piled high, wearing a silk anorak and skirt in glowing dragonfly colours. Tommy looked hunky and smartly casual in my brilliant new sweater and his worn leather bomber jacket. Film stars incognito – they only needed shades. “Let’s sit over on the far WEE MALKIE

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side.” She glinted up at him. “I want to sashay right across the front on your arm, and show you off.” He grinned down. “Behave, now!” “Of course!” Her head was very high. I suddenly realised that she was a bit nervous, too, in front of her friends and acquaintances, with her irregular man. It made me feel a touch better, to know I wasn’t the only one with the collywobbles. “How are you feeling, Malkie?” “Fine.” I wasn’t. “Liar. Butterflies like vultures, I’ll bet. Don’t worry about nerves. Give you an adrenaline boost.” That helped, too. “Break a leg.” What? “Traditional for actors, on the lines that what you wish for doesn’t happen, okay? Go on, now. Knock ’em dead!” “You can do it, mate. Just make sure you’ve got plenty spit.” Tommy nodded, and led her off. The musicians were to wait in one of the music rooms, our instruments stacked on the centre tables. Chris and his pals were there already, sniggering over comics in the far corner. The recorder group tootled quietly, heads together. The strings were tuning up at the piano. In a practice room a pianist was limbering up his fingers. I got out my horn that Tommy had burnished to gold, tried a couple of glissandos to be sure 124

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it was working, laid it with the rest, and joined Simon and the girls. Our jazz spot was on about sixth in the first half. I was so tense I felt sick. The other three were as bad. Alex and Brenda fidgeted about, fiddled with their hair and make-up, hummed and strummed scales and bits of the songs. Simon rattled his drumsticks. I sat and sweated, and tootled my mouthpiece, pretending to be cool while Milko nipped in and out, trying to keep us quiet and calling the other acts. I grinned weakly. “Like the heroine tied on the railway track, waiting for the train.” Simon blinked. “What? Oh. I get it. Yes. What are we doing first?” Third time he’d asked me. “St Louis Blues, 12th Street Rag, Muskrat Ramble. The Saints for an encore.” “How do we look?” Brenda asked for the umpteenth time. “Great. Honest, you’re fine. Gorgeous.” We all were, in shiny green and silver lurex waistcoats Alex’s mum had made to match Simon’s drums, and black skirts or trousers. I don’t know about Simon, but I felt a real prat. Alex gave me a grateful smile, and went on warming up her voice. Milko came in. “Right, people? That’s the gymnasts going on. You’re next. Three minutes, okay?” WEE MALKIE

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We nodded, and gulped, and I went to get my horn. Chris and his mates, in the corner beyond the table where I’d laid it, looked up from their comics and grinned. “Good luck,” they said. “Play well.” They had that stuffed-up look you get when you’re trying not to laugh. My heart seized up. They’d done something. I knew it. Just like Gerry. What had they done? My trombone slide was jammed. I tugged at it. It wouldn’t move. “What’s wrong?” asked Milko. I tugged harder. It was stuck solid. “Let’s see.” He tried it, full strength, till his face went purple. Not a vibration. “Can I have it a minute?” I said. I looked carefully. If you held it sideways, you could just see... “Some b’s squirted glue in it.” “What?” Alex flushed bright crimson with fury. There was a general chorus of disbelief and dismay. “Oh, no!” That was Chris, all sympathy. “And Alan isn’t here to lend you his. Does that mean you can’t play? How dreadful!” Milko gave him one deadly glance that shut him up like a book, and then went as cold as ice, and all efficient. He told a startled pianist to go on in the first half, instead of the second, to fill in our spot with a rather agitated Moonlight Sonata. Then he 126

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hunted up another trombone from the instrument store. It was old and worn, and the slide stuck, and it needed a polish, but it played, more or less. We tried to find out who had done it. “Somebody must have the glue. What about searching everybody?” I suggested. I was flaming mad. “We can’t do that,” Milko said. “We’re not the police.” “Why not?” Simon demanded. “I don’t mind being searched.” He started to turn out his pockets. “Right!” Alex said. “Nobody’ll mind, not if they’ve got nothing to hide.” She and Brenda lifted their coats and bags, and there was a general nodding and movement as other people reached for their coats too. In the bustle, I tried to keep my eye on Chris, but I couldn’t. After a second, he thrust forward among the rest demanding to be searched. He’d dropped it somewhere... yes. I pointed. “Look, under the piano.” But short of calling the police and getting it fingerprinted, I couldn’t prove he’d tossed it away. And the school wouldn’t want such a scandal. Chris smirked, exchanging fat slimy smiles with his pals. We went on in the second half, in the pianist’s slot, but we were all to bits. Brenda WEE MALKIE

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fluffed chords and riffs that she knew perfectly the day before. Simon’s nerves came through as oomph on his drums, so much that he drowned out the rest of us. Alex’s fingers were all thumbs on the keyboard. Normally she came right out of her shell when she was singing, you wouldn’t believe it was the same quiet, shy little girl, but tonight her voice was strained and thin, and she actually forgot the words. And though I’d done my best with that new trombone, it was sticky and awkward. We didn’t need to play the Saints. The brass group did okay at the end of the show. Chris played excellently. Alex came out with me at the end, to carry the trombone case. Tommy and Aunt Jean were waiting. She tried to be kind. “Not bad, Malkie! A bit nervous, maybe but – Oh, here’s your mother, Alex.” She turned away in relief, while I clenched my teeth. “Pat, she’s got a lovely voice. And the waistcoats really pulled the group together!” Alex’s mum wasn’t having any of that. “It was lousy! I’ve heard you do far better after school. What happened to you?” I hefted my horn, which of course wouldn’t go into the case when I couldn’t take it apart, and we explained in angry duet what had happened. Just as we finished, Chris and Mike came past us, sniggering, carefully not looking at 128

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me. Alex and her mum glared. Aunt Jean expanded another six inches in all directions and started towards them, but Tommy gripped her arm. “Leave it. No, leave it, Jean. And you, Malkie. Okay, so tonight was a disaster. Everybody has ’em sometime. Just pick yourself up an’ do better next time. Come on, let’s get home, before you say something you shouldn’t.” He looked over towards them, smiling gently, and they suddenly decided that hanging about snickering wasn’t such a good idea after all. That calmed me down quite a lot. Must be great to be big and overwhelming, without having to do anything. Next best thing is to have somebody like that, on tap. A minder. ‘My dad can beat your dad.’ Okay, so it’s childish, but it feels good. I just wished he’d actually done something! When we got home, while Aunt Jean made the inevitable cuppa Tommy picked up the horn and squinted at it. “What is it?” “It’s a trombone.” The feeble joke fell flat with Aunt Jean, but Tommy nodded approval. “Superglue. We found the tube.” “Right off, that. Got some solvent in the shed. But got to get it in there. Let’s see...” He started to tap and twist gently, feeling how the tubes reacted to the strain. WEE MALKIE

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“You’re sure it was Chris?” Aunt Jean was pouring out the tea. “Him and his mates,” I snarled. “Milko – I mean Mr Pinter – and the Deputy Head asked questions, but nobody clyped. We all know who it was, but there’s no proof. Anybody could’ve done it while we were waiting. Big crowd in there. Why does it always happen to me? It’s not fair.” “It doesn’t. Could happen to anybody. Your turn this time. Good lesson. Life’s not fair. Never has been. Complain to God.” “What?” I wasn’t listening to her, not really, my mind was still in a tizzy. “I’ll get him back, though! I’ll –” She was watching me, her face very still. “Okay, okay, I’ll think first!” She smiled. “But I’ll do something!” “Sure we will.” Tommy was on my side. Instantly my head and stomach felt less stiff. Down with bullies! He beckoned me with his head. “Can put this right, at least, without sending it back to the makers and all that hassle. Take the poker, and tap gently, just there. Not to dent it, just jar it a touch.” His muscles bunched smoothly, and he poured strength into a straight pull on the grips, while I taptapped. “Bit harder, son. Harder yet.” He didn’t even turn red, but his knuckles whitened... Just when I thought the grips must snap, there was a click and a scrape, 130

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and the slide shot out. Grinning, he eased his fingers. “Gotcha! Could feel it moving one side, wasn’t too solid. Now we’ll soak it in solvent, get the glue out, and then oil it well. Usually a way to sort things without too much fuss.” “Great, Tommy! Thanks a bunch! I was scared I might have to pay for mending it.” “My hero!” Aunt Jean gave him a hug. “And from Friday, Malkie, six weeks of freedom – except for slaving for me, of course! And in August you won’t be the new boy any more.” Can’t say it cheered me up, but though I was still angry and frustrated and embarrassed after that dreadful show, I’d normally have felt a lot worse.

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Chapter 8 After the Academy closed, Alex and I biked round to each other just about every day. Once Aunt Jean let us into her workshop while she was there to keep an eye on us, which I resented, rather. I couldn’t manage turning pots on her wheel at all, the clay always just wobbled and collapsed under my fingers, but Alex did a nice bowl. I finally had to coil and pinch a rather lumpy ashtray. I didn’t like the feel of the clay, to be honest, although Alex didn’t seem to mind getting the muck all over her, in her hair and under her nails and all. Aunt Jean showed us how to mix glazes for our pots, and fired them in her own next batch. Mine cracked. “Kid’s stuff. Shan’t bother again,” I said – to Alex, I wasn’t daft enough to say it to Aunt Jean. Alex just laughed at me, and took her bowl home in triumph. I started calling her mum Auntie Pat, same as Alex called Aunt Jean, Auntie Jean. Auntie Pat was young and smart, with short fair hair and a chuckle that set off everybody within 132

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hearing distance – they should have paid her to go to comedy shows. She had dozens of computer games, because she worked in a big electrical shop that sold them, but somehow I couldn’t be bothered except on wet days. There were better things to do. More productive. She was a great gardener. Aunt Jean swapped piles of plants with her. After a week, Alex went off to visit her grandmother in Wales, and I settled in to work with Tommy again. We hired the digger at last, a tractor with a scoop on the front and a little bulldozer blade on the back. Yes, they let me drive it, on the straightforward bits. I felt like Ming the Merciless, once I’d got over being terrified of toppling the brute. We dug a million ditches and holes for future trees and hedges, and by the middle of July were ready to excavate the pool. Then one night Tommy was shaking my shoulder. “Come on, son! Quick, into your work clothes.” “Wass wrong? What’s up?” I rubbed my face to wake myself up. “Bullet’s barkin’. Geese are alarmed. Got visitors. Quiet, don’t wake your aunt.” “Chris?” “Could be. Hurry.” I was dressed in ten seconds flat. We’d get him this time! WEE MALKIE

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Bullet was scratching at the door. Tommy put him on the lead, warned him, “Heel! Quiet!” and we set out. I picked up a poker, but Tommy frowned so I put it down again. Plenty of branches and stones about if I needed them. With Tommy there, I probably wouldn’t. Wow, I was nervous and excited, just like Bullet… It wasn’t really dark, even at midnight. We crept along up the path to the road, Bullet and I both having trouble keeping quiet, following the way Bullet tugged us, until we’d just passed the orchard fence. The geese were all up at the top end here, hissing and honking, covering our noise. There was somebody grunting gently as he moved about along the newly-planted hedge nearer the road. A bulky figure... “Yeah, it’s Chris! Wrecking the hedge again, the rotten pig! We got him! Dead to rights! What do we do?” I whispered. Tommy crouched beside me, holding Bullet’s lead. “Quiet, Bullet! Quiet! Ummm... Is that his bike?” I peered cautiously. “Further up the track there? Yeah.” He chuckled under his breath. “Okay, son. Now tell you what to do. You wait here, an’ hang onto Bullet. I’m goin’ for the car. When Chris sees the headlights comin’ up from the house, he’ll run. Don’t try to stop him. I’ll pick you up.” 134

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“What about Bullet?” I whispered, but he’d faded away into the shadows. I waited, calming Bullet, for a century and a half until behind me the car engine suddenly roared into life. Up the track, Chris belted for his bike. Tommy drew up beside me. “Okay, son, nip in. No, leave Bullet outside, take off the lead.” He leaned out of the window. “Speak, Bullet! Speak!” The hillside exploded with the din. Chris pedalled off up the path like the Tour de France. “Great! Good boy! Want a run, Bullet?” Tommy called happily. “Gotcha! Go on, then. Go with the bike, Bullet. Want a run?” I joined in joyously. “Go on, Bullet, good boy! Go for a run!” A bit doubtfully at first, Bullet started to trot after Chris on the bike. We cheered him on. Chris looked back, saw the dog in the car headlights, and speeded up. Bullet took that as encouragement, barked, and moved into second gear. Chris hit the tarmac road, turned for home and stepped on the juice. Bullet started to canter, enjoying the unexpected treat, and fell into his normal place when he was out with me, on the grass verge about level with the back wheel. Tommy and I tooled quietly along behind, lighting up the scene. Chris was like a circus clown, all over the road, knees and elbows flying, yelling and swearing. Bullet loped WEE MALKIE

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happily beside him. Whenever Chris glanced over, the huge grey beast was still there, drifting along tirelessly, his red tongue dripping between his gleaming teeth, Hound of the Baskervilles also ran, so Chris speeded up and yelled some more, over and over. Tell you, it was better than any comedy on the telly. At 2 am the roads were empty, so we just followed the pair of them for the five minutes or so till Chris fell off his bike at his front gate and staggered up to the door. In his flurry he dropped the key and turned at bay, to fight off the ferocious hound. Bullet trotted up the path, waving his long tail, grinning wide-mouthed, panting and slavering. Chris sank down on the doorstep, gasping and screaming, “Keep it off me! Help! Dad! Police! Help!” Happily, Bullet nosed forward to lick this new friend who’d taken him for a run. Chris hit out at him, and Tommy whistled Bullet into the car, before he snapped playfully at the striking hands and got himself into trouble. I couldn’t move, helpless with laughter – until a police car drew up beside us. Then we were all inside the house, talking to Chris’s dad. Well, trying to. Talk about Babel! All the voices jumbled together. “Attacked me – Where’s the toothmarks, 136

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then – Report of a disturbance – Could have killed me – Pity it didn’t – Belt up, Malkie – Now, calm down – Vicious brute – Gentle as a kitten – Set it on me – Stop yelling, Chris – Shut up, dad – What started it – Just managed to keep it off – Quiet a minute – Down to the station tomorrow – Doctor examine him – should be put down – Oh, Chris – Shut up, dad – What were you doing there so late, anyway?” That, of course, was the jackpot question. I opened my mouth, but Tommy got in first. “School mate o’ Malkie’s, visitin’. Didn’t realise the time. When he left, Bullet got out, an’ started to follow his bike, same’s he does with Malkie. We called, but only had him a month, see. Had to come after in the car to pick him up. Sorry if he scared you, son.” I nearly objected – Chris getting away with it? But I held my tongue. Tommy always had his reasons – and he hadn’t told a single lie, either! The fuzz accepted it, no bother. Tommy had a kind of solidity that made you take him seriously and not want to argue. It wasn’t just his size – well, only partly. And Chris certainly wasn’t going to pipe up about wrecking fences and hedges. So it was all settled amicably, on the surface, and we stood smiling in the littered hall and waved the police car goodbye. WEE MALKIE

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Then Tommy looked down at Chris, and further down at Chris’s small, waffly dad. He seemed to swell up, as Chivers could do, to twice his normal immense size, like one of the faces on Mount Rushmore – I’d forgotten how awesome he could be. They both shrank away. “No sense involvin’ the law for a stupid brat holdin’ grudges. Right? So I kept you out of trouble.” The smile faded. “This time. Next time you damage anythin’ of ours, son, you’ll get more trouble than you can imagine. Right?” He waited for an answer. Chris’s dad nodded. “He’s been a nuisance? I’m sorry –” “More’n that. Tearin’ up hedges, fences – cost us money an’ time.” The man seemed to slump inside his grubby purple pyjamas. “Well, sorry…” He was saggy, whiny, totally ineffectual – I could see why Chris was a bully. He fumbled in the pocket of the tatty anorak he’d put on as a dressing gown, found cigarettes, and lit up without offering Tommy one. “Trouble is, on the dole, see, my arm, industrial accident, but the union was useless, no compensation, didn’t fight my case properly, useless, see, all of them, can’t lift it, see, haven’t worked for eight years now, see, and...” He ran out of puff. Standing behind him, twice his size and obviously beyond his 138

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control, Chris was sneering. Then he saw Tommy’s glare, and rearranged his face to look polite. “Hundred quid.” Tommy was grim. “What?” Three jaws dropped. “Not half what it should be. Not a quarter. Two coils o’ fence wire, five hundred nursery trees, more’n twenty hours’ labour to sort it. Gettin’ off light.” He gestured at the drooping cigarette. “Less’n five hundred fags. Or do I go an’ tell the coppers?” “I don’t have that much, not in the house, I don’t know...” “Right. I’ll call for it tomorrow, two-ish.” He returned the cold glare to Chris. “An’ you, mate, you behave yourself. Don’t want to upset people again, do you? They wouldn’t like it. An’ nor would you. So be a good boy, see?” He paused, till he was sure he had Chris’s full attention – not that he hadn’t before, but he waited till Chris looked up at him. Then he smiled, just slightly. His voice was gentle as a cat purring. “Or you’ll get your bum for earmuffs.” I nearly gasped with delight. I don’t care what the pi guys say, revenge is sweet! Chris nodded sullenly. Tommy jerked a head at me, and I followed him out. Bullet was almost trained to lie quietly in the back of the car, but he was excited after his night run and decided my ears needed WEE MALKIE

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washing. We were well down the road before I found the freedom to demand, “Why didn’t you tell the fuzz?” Tommy was chuckling. “Coppers have enough to do fightin’ real villains – an’ their lawyers. Stay out from under their feet if you can. An’ the money – well, Chris ain’t the kind you can reason with. Needs to be made pay for it, scare him off next time he thinks of it. Run home might do it. Show him we’re ready for him all hours. But he’ll forget. But his dad’ll reinforce it if he has to shell out. He can afford it, he smokes enough. He’s the useless one, not the union, but he’ll whine till Chris is fed up. Maybe remind him to leave us alone.” Great! Specially if it extended to Alex as well. It might have worked, too, if Chris hadn’t got reinforced another way. At last, Walter phoned. Mum wasn’t totally recovered yet, her concussion wasn’t clearing up as it should, but the doctors thought a holiday might do her good. Gerry was going off on a school trip to Rome and Florence, lucky swine, for the last fortnight of July, and Walter was due a break himself; so he’d decided to fly up to Scotland with mum and Amanda. “Maybe he can’t bear to let her out of his sight, Tommy suggested.” 140

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I snorted. “Huh! You mean he really, really cares?” Tommy just shook his head at me. While Tommy got on with the pool, Aunt Jean grabbed me for a flurry of cleaning, tidying and hoovering. I massacred Aunt Jean’s roses, bucketfuls all over the house. When Aunt Jean and I went to the airport, Tommy stayed home to finish off the pool, because the digger was to go back next day. I was fidgeting with impatience at the lounge window, all sweaty – and not just with the heat. Mum – great. Amanda – magic. Wally – oh, well. Plenty room to get away from him, and lots of excuse with the dog and the garden and all. Didn’t see him scrambling across peaty, heathery moorland, or trudging over damp sand, in his natty suede shoes, just to be with me. Aunt Jean was excited, too, with a new blouse ‘in honour of the occasion’. She kept calling to me, “Sister Ann, Sister Ann, do you see anybody coming?” – something about Bluebeard’s wife – until at last the plane drifted into sight, landed. I was breathless... Walter came out first, in purple cords, plum suede golf jacket, lilac shirt and cream scarf. Real country wear. Then mum, thinner and lighter than ever in brilliant pink, waving, just the way I remembered her. She started down the steps, limping slightly but WEE MALKIE

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under her own power. Amanda followed her, refusing to be carried, clambering down the steep steps. I was choking with excitement and happiness. Then Gerry stepped out, posing in the plane doorway, tall and elegant in red school blazer and grey flannels, smiling at me personally.

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Chapter 9 Stuff him. The rat, spoiling everything as usual! My heart was pounding, I was scared – yes I was, my brain froze, same as it used to… It was all starting over again. Beside me, Aunt Jean hissed a long, deep breath in through her teeth. “Malkie,” she said swiftly, gripping my shoulder, “if ever there was a time for ‘Noli illegitimi vos carborundum!’ this is it.” I was scarcely attending. “What?” “Wake up! Fight, son! Don’t let him beat you!” She tugged me round to stare into my eyes. “He’s bigger than you are, but so’s Chris, remember! So stick in there, buddy!” Then they were on us. Amanda ran ahead. “Makkum! Makkum! You here! Love you, Makkum!” I picked her up and hugged her almost desperately. “Love you too, horrible!” She screamed in delight and half throttled me. She’d forgiven me, anyway. Aunt Jean hugged mum warmly. “Oh, Betty, pet, it’s good to see you again!” WEE MALKIE

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Mum gave her a kiss, and then held out her arms to me. “Hello, love. My, you’ve grown!” “Hi, mum.” Well, what do you say, first off? Aunt Jean, bless her, was covering for me, yakking away, welcoming Walter and Gerry most politely and scolding them, also politely. “I thought you were going to Italy, Gerry?” “Meningitis, Mrs Mackenzie. Two boys got it. The school’s closed early, and of course we couldn’t go abroad. Talk about panic stations!” “M’hm? Call me Aunt Jean. I’d have been grateful for some warning that I’d have an extra guest, though.” Walter actually looked abashed. “It all happened just yesterday, Jean – lucky to get a seat for Gerry – Beth said you’d not mind – I do apologise… I hope Malcolm’s not been too much trouble –” Gerry smirked. I dropped my eyes and waited for it. I’d been rude, to start off with anyway – and the geese wrecking the garden – and starting the bonfire – and all the hassle with Chris... “Trouble?” Aunt Jean sounded puzzled. “Not at all. He’s a pleasure to have in the house and an incredible help in the garden.” Wow, thanks! I could scarcely believe it. The 144

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tension in my chest eased a bit, and I almost grinned. “And Betty was quite right, it’s no bother. We can make up a bed on the sofa for Gerald, or I’ve a folding bed you can put up in the sitting-room.” Gerry’s face was a picture. Folding bed? Sofa? For His Lordship? “Isn’t there a spare bed in Malcolm’s room?” He’d been looking forward to tormenting me, and was all disappointed. Heh heh. Aunt Jean looked regretful. “No. Sorry. But Malkie might be willing to give up his room to you? H’m?” She nodded encouragement to me. What? Not in a million – hold it! Polite to people you don’t like – build up a good reputation, show how I’d changed, wipe his eye – “Why, sure, Gerry! It’s no bother. My pleasure.” Walter’s jaw dropped. So did Gerry’s. In spite of her obvious tiredness, Mum’s eyes were dancing, like Aunt Jean’s. “And my WPC and everything’s still as new, so feel free to use them.” So now if anything was damaged, everybody’d know it was him. I could scarcely breathe with fright at my daring, but it was brilliant! You don’t hit them with punches, you hit them with kindness – and they’ve got to say thanks! Manners are fun! To take everybody and all the luggage, Aunt Jean had borrowed somebody’s WEE MALKIE

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Landrover, which was just as well. Toddlers apparently need more stuff than any two adults. Amanda sat on Wally’s knee in the front, while mum was wedged in with Gerry and me in the back. I could feel her heart thudding, and she was as white as milk and silent, frightened by the car, not bouncy and chatty. She wasn’t well yet, not by a long way. As soon as we arrived, Aunt Jean ordered, “Bed, Betty. Now. You’re ready to drop. You’re at home, pet. You don’t have to impress anybody here. Malkie, you give Walter and Gerry the grand tour, while I organise tea and take your mum up a cuppa.” Introduce them to Tommy, she meant. Right. I steadied my heart and led them out with a smile. We met Bullet first. He was clipped to his wire, straining to come and meet the visitors. Walter made himself hold out his hand like I told him, to be sniffed and recognised. Not bad, when you could see he was quite scared of this near-wolf. Amanda squeaked when Bullet licked her face, but he was good with kids and soon she’d be using him as a toy. When it was Gerry’s turn, I hoped Bullet would prune off a couple of Gerry’s fingers, but he didn’t, he just wagged his tail. Gerry smiled at me, 146

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knowing what I was thinking. “I always get on well with animals, Malcolm.” I just smiled back. “Call me Malkie, why don’t you? Or Wee Malkie. Everybody does up here, Gerry. It means nice wee Malcolm.” His jaw clenched. He never would again. Heh heh. “Same as Gerry means nice wee Gerald.” Double heh heh. I smiled wider, rising on a high, and boasted about how smart and well-trained Bullet was, and how good at catching rabbits and ignoring sheep. I led them past the vegetable garden up to the orchard and the geese. To my disappointment Gerry didn’t try his charm on them. Amanda was scared when they hissed; “No! No! Go ‘way, geeses!” She put up her arms for me to lift her, not Walter nor Gerry. I warned them about watching their backs, and about always shutting the gate. Then down again to the front of the house, looking north over the Moray Firth. Walter breathed deeply. “Ah! One can feel the primary vibrations of the universe, deep in the very core of one’s being. Simple, elemental. Revitalising! Magnificent!” He coughed as the first fresh air in years hit the bottom of his lungs. What a wally! “Yeah. It’s magic. Thanks for sending me up here, Walter.” I’d meant to annoy him, but he looked a bit sheepish under the pomp. “I’m glad WEE MALKIE

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you’re getting some good out of it, Malcolm.” “It’s been great.” Better not praise it too much, though, in case he didn’t ask me to go back. But did I want to go back? “I didn’t realise Jean had so much ground. Quite an estate, eh?” Impressed by wealth, Walter was. Snob. Not my business to tell him it was mostly rocks, gravel and peat. Half what he was admiring was neighbouring farms anyway. Oh well, if it kept him happy... “A bit on the bleak side, maybe? You’re not too bored, Malcolm?” Gerry, niggling. “Away out here? Without your computer games –” “Too busy to be bored. I’d rather have another two hours in the day than a computer!” It was true, too. My turn, now. Show how reformed I was. “Sorry about the pan.” He blinked, as if he’d not expected me to mention it in front of Walter, and momentarily his face was so full of hatred I nearly jumped back, and my mind froze in a fuzz of terror. But Walter was answering me. “We’ll say no more about that, Malcolm. You both had some excuse.” Eh? Oh, yeah – the hurt toes. “Your assault was outrageous, of course, and what you did to your room quite 148

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unacceptable, but – well – you were upset. We didn’t realise you were so sensitive.” He’d realised I could be hurt? Maybe he had changed. Gerry hadn’t. Walter wasn’t finished. “I hope you can understand my action, too. Sending you here, I mean. I also was extremely upset. I did what I thought was for the best – for us all.” He wasn’t apologising, was he? He was, as near as he could bring himself! “Oh, that’s okay, sir.” Drat him, spoiling my view of him as a right berk. I’d have to rethink my attitude to him. Gerry was still there. Did I dare niggle back? Yes! Stick in there, Wee Malkie! But polite… “How did the play go, Gerry? Glad you could do it. We all thought you’d be great in the part.” And no reason to say why. That lasted us down the path to the pool. Amanda squealed with glee. The digger was delicately scooping slooshy dollops of peat from the edge of the pool, backing along the deeply rutted track to splodge them down on the banks, and creeping back for the next. I did my tour guide impression. “It’s grown from what we first planned. It’s over eighty metres long, but only about waist deep in the middle. Don’t want anybody drowning.” Amanda tugged to get nearer, WEE MALKIE

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and I took a fresh grip on her hand. “Not even you, horrible, and it’s all mucky and yucky, so stay away from the edge, okay? We piled the peat all round, see? For flowerbeds next year. It’s a right – er – very tricky, working so that the digger doesn’t bog down too much in the peat. It’s so soft, the wheels just rip it up. And if the tractor slides into the water, it could stick, or even sink right down into the ooze – we don’t know how far it is down to the rock below. That narrow strip Tommy’s working on now, between the pool and the burn –” “You mean the stream?” Gerry was loftily mocking. “Growing very Scottish, aren’t you, Malcolm? Back to your roots, maybe?” He was hinting at the gang again, trying to hurt. He missed, though. I just grinned. “Yeah, thanks!” As his lips pursed like his father’s, his toothy smile shrank from a concert grand to a concertina, heh heh. Walter’s actually grew, seeing us being friendly. Twit. “We left that strip to keep down the water till we’d done the middle. The digger’s going back tomorrow morning, so Tommy’s got to get it all finished off tonight.” Tommy gave us a wave, and started to back off to park the machine on the bank. Walter stared. “Tommy? You said Tommy? Isn’t that – isn’t he –?” 150

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“Tommy Armstrong. Yes.” I grinned again, sincerely this time. “He stayed on. He runs five martial arts classes now. He lives here. With Aunt Jean.” “With her? You mean –” Walter’s face stiffened. “Are they going to marry?” “No. She says never try to nail down happiness.” Gerry’s eyes lit up. “Runs in the family, I see,” he murmured gently in my ear. This time, I knew what to say. “Loving? Better than hating.” Okay, it was embarrassing, saying it out loud like that. But why not? And it shut him up. It shut Walter up, too. Not at all bad. Tommy switched off and jumped down. “Mr Melford-Jarvikksen? Remember me? Tommy Armstrong. Call me Tommy. I’d shake, but my hands are oily. Good flight?” Definitely the host welcoming a guest. Walter responded stiffly at first, but Tommy ignored it and was so friendly that Walter started to thaw out – specially when they started talking money, his natural language. “Cheaper’n you’d think, for the size o’ the result. Just the cost o’ the hire an’ the actual materials, with Malkie an’ me doin’ the labourin’. Helps if you ain’t in a hurry – small trees cost less, an’ in five years you won’t know the difference. An’ Jean’s rootin’ cuttings from the fancy heathers she WEE MALKIE

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wants. Buy one, grow a hundred for next year.” Gerry tried to put him down. “Must try to keep the costs down, of course, when there isn’t much money about.” He got a look of amused scorn. “Doesn’t everybody, sonny?” ‘Sonny’? It slammed Gerry shut like a coffin lid. Rock on, Tommy! I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop my grin spreading round the back of my neck. I let Gerry see it, too, which didn’t please him. Triple heh heh. While Amanda got washed – she got herself covered with peat, don’t ask me how – I took Mum up her tea on a tray. She worried me, all droopy, although she tried to perk up for me. “Thanks, Malkie. Isn’t that what Jean calls you? How are you getting on here?” “Fine. Yes, honest, mum. It’s – it’s just great.” I chuckled. “Even Walter says he likes it.” “I should have thought to send you up here before – before you went pop. I’m sorry, love, I didn’t realise the strain you were under.” She studied me dozily. “Had a fight with Gerald yet?” “Course not, mum! I’m being as good as – platinum. Totally polite.” “Hah!” She snorted with gentle laughter. “That’s Jean’s idea. Manners as a shield and 152

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a weapon. I knew she’d do you good. Keep it up, love!” She wasn’t as flyaway as before – well, she was tired, and still half doped with tranquillisers. Her eyes were so heavy she could scarcely stay awake enough to eat, let alone talk much. But it was all right again. After tea we all except mum went out for the final Great Flooding of the pool. I’d have loved to do it, but not in front of Walter and Gerry, in case I mucked up. So Tommy drove out onto the narrow bank, poised the scoop, and looked over at us. “Dig in!” Aunt Jean called, as if it was dinnertime. “For what we are about to receive...” Walter intoned. It was meant to be a joke. The shovel bit down and lifted once, twice, three times. Amanda screamed with excitement, pointing and wriggling. A trickle ran through the cut from the stream beyond, into the wide puddle of seepage. Then a gush. Then a torrent of water spouted through, tearing more of the bank away. We all cheered. The flow was ripping peat out from under the wheels of the tractor, but Tommy was backing deftly towards safety on the solid bank. The pool swirled black and oily with peat. Aunt Jean was explaining to Walter, “No, not goldfish. I’ll maybe put in some young WEE MALKIE

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trout. M’hm. It’ll be fun to catch our own breakfast in a year or so. And water lilies, white and yellow. Malkie, Bullet needs a run. Would you like to go out with them, Gerald?” Regretfully, Gerry shook his head. “No, thanks, Aunt Jean. It’s been a long day.” “I’m tired too, Jean.” Walter sounded surprised. As I ran off to collect Bullet, I couldn’t help grinning. Just like me, at first! “Well, there’s no reason why you can’t just go to bed. Would you like a cup of cocoa?” “Cocoa?” Gerry’s voice was horrified. “Er – no, thanks, Aunt Jean!” Bullet was hurt that he’d been left alone so long, and full of bounce. I decided to go down the forestry track to the beach, let him chase the seagulls. If mum looked out of her window she’d maybe see me. I took my bike down the path, towards the others watching Tommy turning the machine to face the road, parking and switching off for the night. Bullet stopped for a pat from everyone, and then while I was getting the bike past them he ran ahead and dived straight into the pool. “Oh, no! Bullet, come out of there!” I yelled. Everybody turned round to laugh at the big dog surging across the pond, barking in excitement, his grey head wigged black 154

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with peat. “Come here! Bullet!” In his excitement, it took him a minute to respond, and I was all embarrassed, after the way I’d been boasting earlier how obedient he was. However, at last he clambered out, black and not so much dripping as pouring, and pranced happily right among the crowd. “No, Bullet!” I yelled. “Come here!” “Go away!” Aunt Jean’s voice was shrill. But he didn’t know that one. He simply shook himself vigorously. Talk about a lorry going through a puddle! Sopping wet peat showered over everybody. I could feel my face burning even redder. “Really, Malcolm!” Walter. Stuff him. Once they’d stopped screeching and flapping at Bullet, and Aunt Jean had convinced Walter that he mustn’t rub it, it’d brush off when it was dry, they all kindly agreed it wasn’t my fault. Specially Gerry. Which didn’t stop my beamer. I should have gone round the far side of the pool, and called Bullet out over there. A great impression of the new, thoughtful me that had made! Oh, well. I worked off my embarrassment in a fine long run. The tide was so far out, the beach was like the Sahara. I cycled across the hard sand while Bullet raced round me, for over an hour, and came back all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and good-tempered again. WEE MALKIE

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I splashed the bike across the stream, shallower than usual because so much of the water was still spilling into the pool fifty metres upstream, and called Bullet firmly to stay by me and keep dry – which he did, being tired at last. Then I came round a clump of birch trees, glanced across at the new pool – and my heart stopped. The tractor... “Tommy! Tommy!” I shot up the path like Bullet himself, and burst into the kitchen shouting, “The tractor’s in the pool!” Tommy was already through from the living-room. “How far in? Still on its wheels?” Walter came rushing after him, a glass in his hand, and Bullet bounded up on him, knocking the glass flying. “Really, Malcolm!” he flustered. “Even in an emergency –” I paid no attention to Walter’s fuss. Aunt Jean was there anyway, soothing him. “Er – it’s upright. The back wheels are right in. Don’t know about the front ones. I didn’t stop to see, just belted right home.” “Is the engine above water?” “Can’t remember – I think so.” He had his boots on. “Come on, son, let’s see.” The tractor was squatting in the water like a diplodocus in a swamp, the scoop and 156

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front wheels about three metres off the bank, the big back ones farther in, almost submerged. “Can you get it out? Pull it with the cars? Will I go for Fakkie and Tiny, or his tractor?” “Calm down, son.” Tommy didn’t seem as concerned as I’d expected. He was studying the ground where the machine had stood. “What is it?” “Did you come climbin’ round here after I went up? No? Well. No great harm done, anyway.” “Eh? But it’s got to go back tomorrow! Can you get it out in time?” “Sure.” He turned to Walter and Aunt Jean, hurrying down the path holding Bullet. “No sweat. Out in half a jiff.” “Can you just drive it out, Tommy?” “Not likely, Malkie. Don’t want to try, either, case she just digs deeper in. Bottom’s all ooze, see? But we’ll get her out.” Aunt Jean was flustered. “Malkie, keep your voice down, you’ll waken Amanda and your mum, and Gerald – he went up just after you left. How did it happen?” “See about that later, Jean.” He looked round. “Soft – an’ no trees near. We’ll manage. Come along, son.” He rummaged in a shed for some rope. To me it looked strong enough to hold a WEE MALKIE

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battleship, but Tommy whistled doubtfully as he slung it, a chunk of old tyre, and a coil of fence wire over his shoulder. “Short, an’ old – well, we’ll see.” He lifted the sledgehammer. “Can you carry three o’ those fence posts, son?” Within ten minutes he had the three posts driven deep into the peat in a triangle about twenty feet up the bank, and a kind of triple loop of wire tied round to catch all three evenly. “Should hold.” He slung the bit of tyre over the wire loop, and tied the rope round it; then took the other end and waded out to the tractor. The rope was just long enough to fasten to a drum between the front wheels. “Marvels o’ modern science. Lot o’ tractors got a winch built in, see? An’ we just happen to be lucky.” He grinned at my astonishment. “How do you know about all this? Ropes and so on?” I demanded. He shrugged. “You don’t learn everythin’ in school. Me uncle had a garage on Dartmoor. Called out for everythin’, he was, crashes an’ trees down an’ horses in bogs. I run off there whenever I could, an’ picked it up.” He climbed onto the tractor, which roared brightly to life. “Still warmish. This switch gear’s rusted solid, though.” He fiddled with the control for a minute and then sploshed down into the water and gave 158

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something a good kick, like at Tae Kwon-Do. “Hah! That’s it! Stand clear! Rope’s not great – could snap.” “Are you sure about this?” Aunt Jean sounded a bit tense. He grinned, and blew her a kiss. “Live fast, die young, an’ have a good-lookin’ corpse!” “With your face? That’s a laugh!” He thumbed his nose at her, and let in the clutch gently. Slowly, the drum turned. The rope rose and tightened till it creaked. One of the posts started to drag forward with the strain. I ran to put a foot on it, but Aunt Jean hauled me back. “Think I want to tell your mum tomorrow you’ve lost a foot, or an eye?” “You’re letting Tommy risk it!” “Letting him? Huh! Could I stop him? Playing with his toys...” But she sounded worried. As the winch inched round the creaking rose in tone, like tuning a piano. Just as well the tyre was there to stop the wire cutting right through the rope – foresight, see? Then the tractor stirred. Slowly, slowly, it rolled forward. Tommy steered it straight for the posts. Front wheels on the verge, pause, heave up onto dry ground; back wheels – just as they lifted onto the bump the posts pulled flat, one two three, WEE MALKIE

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the rope slipped off and leapt towards the tractor – but Tommy had slammed in the driving gears, the tractor clawed for a foothold, roaring, gouging deep into the bank, spraying peat and water behind it, and at last surged up out of the pool. Wahey! I cheered. Walter was beaming as if he’d done it himself. Aunt Jean sighed with relief, and then again as she listened and didn’t hear Amanda or anyone else stirring. This time, Tommy drove the tractor right round to the yard to park it. By the time he had changed into dry clothes, Aunt Jean had made tea and was ready for a post-mortem. “Right, Tommy. How did it happen?” He looked from me to Walter. “Sabotage. Yup. Somebody let off the handbrake an’ dug out a bit under the back wheels, an’ then levered her backwards to roll into the water. Left marks, see, footprints on top o’ mine, an’ square cuts from a spade.” She nodded. “I thought you’d left it safe. M’hm.” Walter was staring at me, his mouth tight. For a minute I couldn’t think why, but then I realised... “Hey, it wasn’t me!” “Who, then? You’ve not changed, Malcolm –” That did it. “Gerry! That’s who it was! Ever since you married mum, he’s been 160

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getting me into trouble, but you’ve never believed it –” I was panting with shock, and my brain blanking out as usual. Hurt hate… “Really, Malcolm, why should I? Why should he? But you’ve always been jealous of him, and of me, because your mother married me, you’ve never settled down, no matter what I did! Accusing Gerald – nonsense, Malcolm. Nonsense. Impossible! How could Gerald have got out?” Walter demanded in triumph. “We were in the living-room from the moment he went off to bed until Malcolm came back. He couldn’t have come down the stairs, we’d have seen him!” My heart sank. I couldn’t breathe. It did seem impossible, if it was true... But Walter hadn’t finished. “I believe you did it, Malcolm, simply to accuse Gerald of doing it to make trouble for you! As you’ve done before!” “Oy!” Tommy interrupted him. “Hold it there, both o’ you! No proof it was either one, Malkie or Gerald. Could’ve been Chris again.” “Chris? Is this someone else you’ve upset, Malcolm?” I was going to yell – well, it was either that or burst into tears of frustration – but Aunt Jean held up a hand. “Quiet, Malkie.” “But –” WEE MALKIE

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“Quiet! I’ll deal with affairs in my house. Chris is a bully at school, Walter. We’ve had trouble with him before. Tommy, is there any way of proving who it was?” Tommy’s vast shoulders shrugged. “Left her on a slope, not too hard to get her movin’. Everybody was trampin’ round, getting’ peat on their shoes, leavin’ prints. Spade’s in the garden shed, easy to find. Plenty time to clean hands.” “M’hm. This was the only chance for this particular trick. And each boy could say he wasn’t stupid enough to do it on the very first night Gerry was here.” “But Gerald couldn’t have got out without us seeing him!” Walter insisted. Aunt Jean sniffed. “My daughter Judith used to climb out of her window and down onto the toolshed to go to dances in Nairn on her bike, when I thought she was in bed, and back the same way. So did I, if it comes to that. And round the end of the house, with the dog away, nobody would notice him. M’hm.” Good for Aunt Jean! “But then, Malkie could have come back earlier than he said.” Hey, whose side was she on? She hadn’t finished, though. “I’ve known Malkie for four months now. He’s not as Machiavellian – that means cunning, Malkie – as you seem to think. But he does intensely dislike Gerald. Would that be 162

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enough to make him try a thing like this? What do you think, Tommy?” “No.” Tommy nodded solidly to me. One on my side, anyway. “No, I don’t think so, either. But then, Walter says that Gerry’s not bad either. And I’m sure Gerry would deny it just as strongly as Malkie does. M’hm. I think we have to leave it. Whatever was intended, by whoever it was, no great harm’s actually been done, apart from Tommy’s good trousers getting wet.” She smiled faintly at the feeble little joke. “And we don’t want to upset Betty, do we?” Everybody shook their heads. “That’s more important than anything else. M’hm. So I think we just express total disgust and anger, to Malkie now and Gerald tomorrow, privately.” “An’ keep a good eye open, case whoever it is don’t take it to heart.” Tommy’s voice was a deep, angry rumble. He eyed me thoughtfully. “Cool it, son. Right down, okay?” “Okay, Tommy.” I could scarcely get it out. I felt rotten. Disgusted, sick, shivering, terrified it was all starting again… Hate hate… We left it there. Well, nobody was happy, but with no proof, what else could we do? Tommy believed me. Aunt Jean wanted to believe me, but she wondered... WEE MALKIE

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But I knew it wasn’t me, so it must be Gerry. He was the one who’d brought this choking, paralysing suspicion into the house, spoiling everything all over again. I’d been feeling so much happier, too! And I knew he’d try again. Naturally, next morning Gerry was horrified. “I’m sure it was this Chris. But I don’t blame Malcolm for thinking it might be me, I know how he distrusts me.” He shrugged in manly regret and noble understanding. “Whatever I do is wrong... I do my best, but...” I clamped a lobster’s grip on my tongue. One consolation; Tommy’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. Walter might be taken in, but the big guy wasn’t; and Aunt Jean hummed in her most blighting tone. Gerry did me a good turn without meaning to. We managed to keep all the hassle away from mum. She had been wakened by the tractor engine, but hadn’t come down. The accident had taken all the spark out of her, not that she ever had very much. She spent a lot of time lying on a sun-bed in a sheltered corner, or curled up on the sofa, nursing Chivers, smiling vaguely when I went past, dozing sixteen hours a day, leaving me and Aunt Jean to look after Amanda. Not that that was hard; the kid was happy toddling about with almost no clothes on, stealing 164

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strawberries and peas, modelling scraps of clay, chasing hens and running Bullet ragged. Chivers climbed high and stayed out of reach. It hurt to see Mum so draggy. “Is she okay?” I asked Aunt Jean. She nodded. “M’hm. The painkillers make her dopey, and her head’s not mending as it should – I suspect she cracked her skull, though nothing showed up in the X-rays. But she’ll sleep herself better. Just give her peace. Don’t forget, it’s marvellous she’s as well as she is – she could have been blinded, or crippled, or any of a hundred other catastrophes.” I sighed. “Just be glad you got her back at all. Right?” “Yeah, sure. But a bit further back would have been even better.” Her smile was a bit stiff these days. Or was I imagining it? I got out of the house as much as I could, with Bullet and Tommy, and Alex when she returned from her holiday, planting heathers and trees and building walls and gravel and bark paths. Gerry was charming and helpful, in public, and in private I kept clear of him. To my dismay, Alex liked him. Like Wally and mum, she was totally taken in. “Are you sure about this, Malkie? Not that I don’t believe you, but… I just can’t see Gerald torturing anybody.” WEE MALKIE

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“You think I’m imagining it? Or exaggerating?” She shook her head – but she did. So I seethed, and shut up. She’d learn… I hoped! I was lucky. I went out with Amanda one day to pick cherries. We’d penned the geese with wire mesh in one corner, and I’d mown the grass, so Amanda was free to run across under the trees, waving her punnet basket, and start looking for fallen fruit, pouncing with squeals of delight whenever she found one. Gerry walked over to lean on the gate, not noticing that Alex had cycled down the track, and was hidden by a clump of rhododendrons as she parked her bike near the back door. Maybe this was my chance to show her..? Don’t stir him up, leave it all to him. Trying not to tense up I nodded, friendly, and called, “Coming to give us a hand, Gerry?” Amanda had found a cherry and was stuffing it into her mouth. She was screaming, “Lots an’ lotsa cherries! Whee!” Gerry smiled kindly at her. I’d almost have thought he was sincere in liking her. “Okay, Mandy!” he called, and the smile twisted as he looked at me. “You could do with a hand, to actually get some cherries taken back to the house, Malcolm.” Amanda’s din must be covering the sound of Alex’s feet on the path. Would Gerry say 166

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anything nasty before he noticed her behind him? Hope hate hope… “A hand’s what you need, isn’t it, instead of snuffling them up in your snout, you runty little pig? What a pity you’re so subhuman, you might be some use in the world, with proper training!” All in that lovely clear voice… Behind his shoulder, Alex’s face changed. She had stopped when he began to speak, and her smile faded. Her jaw dropped in sheer shock at the malice in his voice and his words. Yayy! He saw me looking past him, and turned just enough to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye. I could see him wondering just how much she had heard, and he chuckled, switching instantly into charm mode, teasing gently. “Come on, then, I’ll bet I can pick more than you can!” He turned a few degrees more, and jumped as if surprised. “Alex, hi! Nice to see you again! Want to help? Beth likes cherries, and I don’t suppose Aunt Jean will mind if a few never make it to the house.” She nodded uncertainly, and came on in. When he tried to pick from the same tree as her, she moved away, not rudely, just keeping her distance, playing with Amanda, not meeting anybody’s eyes. Mum came out. “There’s mummy!” Gerry said. “Run and give her all these lovely WEE MALKIE

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cherries!” Amanda picked up the basket and trotted over to the gate. He smiled at us, waved a casual hand, murmured, “See you later, I hope, Alex,” and drifted elegantly after her. I looked at Alex. “You saw that? And heard it?” “Yes.” She puffed. “Incredible! Wouldn’t it sicken you? One second so – and then – and changing so quickly…” She glanced sideways at me. “I didn’t believe you, Malkie, sorry, he really is like you said. Would he have – hurt you?” “No, not with Amanda there. She might tell – and anyway, he seems sort of protective to her. Or maybe he really does like her.” She chuckled. “Hey, what would he have said if she’d heard, and asked at table tonight what a runty little pig was? And Auntie Jean asked where she’d heard it? Taking a chance, wasn’t he?” We fell about laughing at the thought, me in relief and pleasure, her to wipe out embarrassment. “It was like putting on a mask,” she said. “Or taking one off. Which is the mask? The nasty face or the nice one? Or maybe both?” I felt so bucked up, I almost loved Gerry, at that moment, but that was going too far. “Both? Get away!” “M’m, no, maybe not.” She grimaced. “But everybody else gets on okay with him, 168

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I don’t see how he could keep it up all the time if it was always false. Maybe it’s just with you.” “Why should he go mental at me?” I protested. “I’ve never done anything to him.” “I read in a book about step-brothers not getting on –” I tossed a cherry-stone at her. “Doesn’t matter. As long as you know now. Come on, let’s move the steps to that tree, there’s a scad of cherries on those high branches.” I felt great. Next day, Gerry caught me alone. But Bullet was with me, out of sight among the trees. I whistled. He didn’t know what was going on, of course, but dogs can sense trouble, so he snarled and snapped in a halfhearted sort of way that might have got serious if I’d really yelled. Faced with those teeth, Gerry let me go. He smiled at me, his face red, his nostrils all white. “You won’t have minders all the time!” “Maybe I don’t need them, Gerry dear! Seig Heil!” He eyed me with dislike. “Getting cocky, aren’t you? But not in public.” “Same as you,” I sneered right back. He drew a deep breath, but just puffed it out and stalked off. I made a fuss of Bullet, to reassure him that it was all right to snarl at Gerry – he WEE MALKIE

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was a bit upset by it, not being attack trained. I felt great, able to stand up to Gerry at last. I knew he was just waiting his chance, though. How would I do without any help? I soon found out. Next day I thought Gerry was off castle-spotting with Walter, but on my way back from taking her shopping to old Katie McPhee, about half a kilometre from the house, Gerry stepped out of the trees in front of me. “No pals or dogs here, you little bastard!” I waited for that switch to explode me as usual, but it didn’t. I felt angry, but not berserk. I was so surprised, I just stood still – for a second too long. He grabbed me. “I’ll give you pans! Three teeth I’ve got bridged because of you –” “Tough! Who started it?” Suddenly the judo and karate and Tae Kwon-Do just came together. I didn’t even need to think; I kicked, grabbed, twisted under his shoulder and bent fast as Tommy had taught me. Exactly as he was meant to, he flew over me and walloped flat on his back. I don’t know which of us was more astonished. But I know who was more pleased. I could do it – all on my own! Breathless with amazement and delight I nearly hung about too long, gloating, while he struggled to his 170

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feet. I woke up and ran just before he could grab me again, while he was still winded. It worked, it worked! Yayy! As soon as I was out of his sight, I danced all the way home, laughing and grinning like an idiot, almost exploding with joy. But I knew him. I kept an eye open for trouble, and just as well. I woke up next morning early, as if something had wakened me. A footstep upstairs, or somebody creeping down to the bathroom? Could be. I stretched, looked at the clock – nearly five, not worth going back to sleep. Besides, something was bothering at me. I rolled off the couch, and flung back the curtains. The geese were just waddling into the kitchen garden, happy smiles all over their beaks. In my pyjamas, I raced out with Bullet and herded them quietly back to their pen. The chicken-wire gate was ajar. I pulled it shut and looked round. The curtains of my room twitched; Gerry. I stuck out my tongue at him – not manners to a guest, but what the heck, nowadays I dared, yayy! – and whipped back in to dress and do a quick repair job on the lettuces. A quiet word to Tommy got a padlock put on the gate, with the key kept in the kitchen, safe hidden among a dozen similar. But I could see Tommy wondering too, WEE MALKIE

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whether I wasn’t stirring it up again... Stuff Gerry. Twice over, and sideways on Sundays. What precautions could I take? I begged some barbed wire from Fakkie and got Tommy to staple coils onto the roof of the woodshed to block that way out, and I started letting Bullet into the livingroom to sleep by my couch. That was a bit embarrassing once or twice when people came down to the bathroom, but it meant Gerry couldn’t get out again without waking me. Aunt Jean humphed when she found out, but she didn’t say anything out loud. Although Walter acted happy, raving about the scenery and history of the area, and the beauty of the simple life (“Simple life? Carpets, shower, stove, hot water, inside toilet and soft toilet paper, spring mattress, shops five minutes away?” Aunt Jean commented dryly) he was fretting. Withdrawal symptoms of losing his hightech office, I suppose. Or of the business lunches – Aunt Jean didn’t dish out the drink the way he was used to. She eyed him shrewdly, and kept him on the hop. She sent him and mum out every morning for a walk with Amanda while she put in a stint in her workshop, and in the afternoons we went touring. He hired a car, big enough to take us all without playing sardines, and we 172

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visited everything around – ten castles, Culloden battlefield, Strathpeffer spa, Elgin Cathedral, Landmark visitor centre, Moniack winery, Cromarty, the local zoo, you name it, we did it. Walter kept buying mum presents – sweets, antique dolls, flowers, jumpers... It surprised me, I tell you. Maybe he’d realised what he’d nearly lost. Two days before school started – my school, not Gerry’s, he had a fortnight yet – Aunt Jean sent Walter and Tommy off up to Thurso with Fakkie’s trailer to get a load of rough slate slabs for a path, to save delivery costs. “Drop me off in Nairn, will you? I’ve postcards to buy,” Gerry asked. “I’ll walk back.” Aunt Jean went off to pack bowls for posting, and catch up with her paperwork. I gave Amanda paper and crayons, and managed a good talk with mum. She was as eager as me to get together again, but doubtful, too. She wanted to stay with Walter. Well, I’d expected it. He could take care of her – and face it, the way he was going on, he did love her, in his own woolly wally way. But she was doubtful about me living with them. “Whenever Gerald talks about you, I can hear the spite in his voice, Malkie, I may be dizzy but I’m not daft. Since you left, he’s been more open, maybe… I really don’t think... And WEE MALKIE

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you’ve settled in well, and you’re happy here, so – well – what do you want to do?” That was the first time anybody had asked me, actually asked what I wanted. But I had to shrug. “Don’t know.” Talk about wimpish! “No, neither do I.” She sighed. “I love you, and I want you with me, but with Gerry the way he is I think I’d really rather you stayed here safe, and we could meet at holidays. Oh, I do hate to lose you, love, but...” Yeah. But. Stuff Gerry all over again, sixty squillion times. I shrugged. “You have to do with things –” She chuckled. “As things’ll do with you. That’s Jean!” On the 16th August, Nairn Academy reopened. We’d kept most of the nasty atmosphere away from mum, and she wanted to stay on till Gerry had to go back – another ten days or so. Walter decided to stay on too. He bought a fax machine for Aunt Jean, and could work on faxes, my printer and his laptop with its built-in phone. Alex was in five of the same classes as me, and so, worse luck, was Chris. He loomed about like Frankenstein’s monster, glowering at us both in a threatening kind of way. Alex shrank inside, saying she feel frightened every time he looked at her, but I told her I’d look after her. I didn’t care, not 174

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now. If I could throw Gerry, sure as 007 at Christmas I could throw Chris. All in all, I was quite pleased with the way things were going. I should have known better. The roof fell in. Tommy came in one night with a grave face. “Been dogs worrying sheep round about. Keep a good eye on Bullet, son,” he warned me. “He sees other dogs an’ runs off to play with ‘em, they might lead him into bad habits.” He grinned. “Seen it happen to boys, let alone dogs! An’ I don’t want trouble, not right now.” I agreed, heartily. Aunt Jean had persuaded Tommy to apply to become a policeman, as he’d always wanted – “They can only say no, and you’re no worse off, are you? Give it a bash!” I knew he wanted to be squeaky clean, and I was extra specially careful. Before and after school I took Bullet down onto the beach, because there were no sheep at all along the forestry road. Next day, Gerry fell in the pool. He just laughed, complaining, “My mobile’s ruined! But reception’s not too good round here, Aunt Jean, don’t worry, I’ll get another when we go home.” “I’ll give you it for Christmas,” Jean told him. “And your clothes will wash fine.” We thought no more about it. WEE MALKIE

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I cycled in from school on Monday, the day of Tommy’s first interview, and found a police car at the house. Had they given him a run home? Gerry was waiting for me, smiling like a shark. “Visitors, runt. Trouble. Your precious little doggie’s been doing naughties. So sorry!” I shot in like a rocket, ready to explode, as he’d hoped. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Walter was there, mum, Aunt Jean and a policeman, and Gerry crowding in behind me, breathing down my neck, gloating. Aunt Jean put down her tea. “Calm down and we’ll tell you!” The policeman sat forward on the sofa. “Malcolm Mackenzie? You took your dog Bullet out for a run before school this morning, right?” I nodded. “Yes. Why?” “Where did you go?” “Down to the beach – I don’t take him near any fields just now –” “Why? In case he goes after sheep?” “No! But if anybody saw him and not me, they might think he did, and Tommy says nobody should ask for trouble. What’s happened?” He didn’t answer me directly. “How long was he away from you?” 176

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“Not for a second. Who says he was?” I knew what this was about, too right I did, Gerry had got Bullet into trouble somehow... It was Walter who answered me. “The police got a call, Malcolm, to say a big grey dog had been chasing sheep at about half past seven. At some farm nearby –” “Drumloy –” “That’s Fakkie’s place!” The policeman nodded. “Mr McPhee’s. Just up the road. Three minutes on a bike, thirty seconds for a fast dog like yours nipping through the woods.” His face was grim. “But he was with me all the time! Honest he was – I’d not lie about it, I know it’s important!” I glared at Gerry. “You’ve done it again!” “Malkie!” Mum’s voice was sharper than I’d ever heard. “Stop that!” “Yes indeed, Malcolm. Throwing blame about won’t help in the least!” “Right, sir.” Irritated, the policeman frowned Walter down. “Now, the caller didn’t give his name –” “His? A man? A young voice?” Gerry smiled sweetly back at my glower. Totally confident – what had he done? The policeman considered, and decided to answer. “Yes. So I checked with Mr McPhee, and he said yes, his sheep had been WEE MALKIE

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attacked. The accusation was not just a mistake, or malice. And then I came here. We examined your dog, your aunt and I together, right? And there were strands of wool caught in his teeth, and blood on his muzzle.” My heart nearly stopped. “There can’t have been! He was never out of my sight!” “I have to report what we found. Evidence, not just a statement.” He sounded accusing. He didn’t believe me. He thought it was Bullet. I couldn’t blame him. “You’ve – it was you – you phoned –” I was stammering with rage at Gerry. “This won’t help, Malkie. You know his mobile’s not working since he fell in the pool.” Aunt Jean turned to the policeman. “What time was the call?” Again he considered. “No reason not to tell you. Eleven sixteen.” “Right.” She turned back to me. “Gerald was in the garden with me from ten o’clock on. Walter and Betty took Amanda for a picnic along the shore, but Gerald helped me build terraces for my rock garden. We came in the back of eleven, certainly, I had a cuppa, Gerald had a Coke, he took Bullet out for five minutes on the lead, just a walk round the pool, and put him back on the wire, and we went right back to work again until the others got back just after twelve. There was a call in, a rude lad with 178

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a wrong number, but I took it. Gerald was never near the phone alone, not for a split second. He didn’t come in to the toilet or anything. I’m sorry, Malkie, but I’m quite certain.” “Your dog didn’t get off the lead, either.” Gerry was just as definite. “He wanted to run, but I didn’t let him go. He’d never have come back to me in five minutes if he had got free.” That was true, anyway. “And he’s been on the wire all afternoon.” “He didn’t chase sheep this morning, honest! I swear he didn’t!” But they thought I was lying to protect Bullet. Flaming grownups, always thinking they know everything. Even mum. Walter’s lips were pursed tight. “So how did he get the wool in his teeth? Show him, constable, he won’t believe it otherwise! Go on, show him!” Almost reluctantly, the policeman fished a plastic bag out of his pocket. Sure enough, there were some long strands of wool, dirty and tangled. “Caught real tight, son. It’s hard evidence.” Aunt Jean moved as if she was stiff. “So what happens now?” “A report goes to the Procurator Fiscal, who decides if you’ll be charged. If so – and it’s likely, I have to say – the case’ll come up in about two months.” WEE MALKIE

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I looked at Gerry. But I didn’t say anything. He was all regretful and shocked, full of sympathy – but you could see him having to think what was the right thing to say. Rotten swine. He’d done it somehow, I knew it! But how? When Aunt Jean herself was his alibi? I felt like murder. But not suicide, not this time.

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Chapter 10 I went out, with Bullet conspicuously on a lead, and stayed out in the woods until I heard the car, and came out to catch Tommy. He was as near bubbling as I’d ever seen him. “Hi, son! Went not bad, not bad at all! I’ll hear in about ten days, they say. Policeman Tom, Policeman Tom,” he sang, to the old ‘Postman Pat’ tune, “Policeman Tom tiddley-om pom pom! Jean was right, my record doesn’t seem to be as bad as I thought. I’ve a fair chance –” Through his own good cheer he noticed my face. “What’s wrong, Malkie?” The bubbles turned from froth to lava. At tea he was all grim and quiet. It was a hushed sort of meal. Even Gerry seemed subdued. Upset, mum went off to bed with Amanda as soon as we’d finished. Tommy jerked his head at me. We left Aunt Jean making conversation with Walter and Gerry, and walked out up the path to the main road. Bullet pranced round us, sniffing at tree stumps and fence posts, happy to be going a WEE MALKIE

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way he hadn’t been for a week. We walked in silence right along to the edge of one of Fakkie’s fields, with sheep in it, and stopped. Bullet sniffed casually into the field and then went on investigating the fence for rabbit smell. “Sheep-chaser. Vicious killer, eh?” Tommy’s voice was deep and rough. He looked down at me. “Did he get away from you this mornin’?” I struggled to be as firm and straightforward as I could, even though I felt like kicking the world. “No. I love Bullet, but I wouldn’t say he hadn’t done it if he had. Honest, Tommy, I swear he didn’t leave me this morning. Or any morning. He’s never ever chased sheep when he’s out with me.” He was watching me carefully. At last he sighed. “Uhuh. Right. So we got to find out how they did it.” “You believe me? Honest?” He nodded. The relief was so great I had to blink and sniff hard, or I’d have been crying. “We got time – couple o’ months. Time to think, an’ look round, like the cops won’t do. We got a head start. We know it wasn’t Bullet. They don’t. We know who’s got it in for you. They don’t. So we’re lookin’, they ain’t. What we got to work on?” I’d been thinking about nothing else. “The phone call, and the wool in Bullet’s teeth. 182

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Don’t see what we can do about either of them.” “An’ the sheep attacked today, too. Uhhuh.” Tommy headed off along the road so fast I had to trot to keep up. “Can do somethin’ about that right now... Was Chris at school today?” I nodded. “Sort of hovering, eyeing us from corners, grinning to himself like he has been since school opened. Gloating.” “As if he had somethin’ up his sleeve, eh? Could be somethin’ or nothin’. But he was in school today? Couldn’t be him called the cops, then.” “Hold on a minute. There’s a phone in the hall. He was late into History, after the break. He always is last in, nips out to the bike sheds for a quick fag, but today he was later than usual. Two or three minutes. Miss Ormerod tore a strip off him. He could’ve phoned while the rest of us were heading for class, it’s the right time. But what about the wool?” “One thing at a time. You check tomorrow if anybody saw Chris at the phone.” It wasn’t likely, but even having that much to do soothed my burning frustration. “I’ll ask round. The janny might have seen him. Everybody knows him, that’s for sure.” Tommy slapped my shoulder like a twelvepound hammer. “Fine. Now then. About the WEE MALKIE

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wool. Bit o’ sheepskin? Fed to Bullet, wrapped round somethin’ – chunk o’ meat, maybe, for the blood. Or playin’ tug-o’-war, to get it tight in his teeth, while Gerry took him out – never done it before, has he? Keep thinkin’. There’s Fakkie’s farm road. Come on, we’ll check one part o’ this anyway.” Fakkie and old Katie were bent over a table made of a door, doing a vast jigsaw. “Aye, man,” Fakkie agreed, “somethin’ did scare the ewes down the West Parkie this mornin’. Billy Gunn, the bobby, he was round askin’ already.” “Any killed? Or hurt badly?” Tommy asked. “Na, na.” Scarcely recognisable, all clean and tidy instead of in his working gear, Fakkie shook his head. “Disturbed, I could see they’d been runnin’, but nae actual damage.” A rosy glow was spreading through my middle. “That proves the phone call was a lie, Tommy! If they found wool and blood on Bullet, but no sheep were hurt, it must be a set-up!” Naturally, Fakkie demanded to know the whole story. He thought for a minute. “Well, now. I’ve seen yer dug near sheep, but only beside you. He looks safe enough, but –” His mother leaned forward from her wheelchair, eyes gleaming. “He’s no a killer, Malkie? Ye’re sure? Would ye bet on it?” 184

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“Any time! Bet my life!” “No yours. His.” Old Katie eyed me, as grim as Tommy. “Aye, lad. A challenge for ye. You take him out, an’ walk him through that same field. No, let him run free in it. Leave him there, alone. Fakkie’ll watch. An’ if he goes for just one lamb, just one snap, you take him in tae the vet an’ have him put down.” “Aye, right away,” Fakkie agreed, rubbing his chin. “Nae court case, nae mair sheep hurt in the meantime. If he doesna, I’ll say ye’ve proved yer point, an’ I’ll write ye a statement tae say so. Fair enough?” I gulped. “Not strictly legal, but...” Tommy nodded to me. “Your choice, son.” What choice? If I refused, they’d be sure I’d been lying. “Sure. Let’s go, Fakkie.” “Good lad!” Old Katie nodded fiercely to me and leaned back, looking satisfied. It didn’t look like it, but she was on my side too. In Fakkie’s big field about twenty sheep and their half-grown lambs were grazing. Tommy and Fakkie turned off to hide behind some huge plastic-covered hay bales. I walked Bullet on. The sheep all lifted head to watch us and moved away bleating, some of the lambs running to their mothers to suckle for comfort. Bullet WEE MALKIE

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paid no attention. Right out in the middle, I tossed a stick, and automatically Bullet raced for it. The sheep scattered, tails wagging furiously, bleating in alarm. Bullet looked a bit startled. He’d never been actually sent in among sheep before. My heart nearly stopped. Oh, not now... No. He picked up the stick and brought it back to me. Five times I threw the stick, sweating buckets. Then I told him, “Down. Stay.” We knew he wasn’t reliable yet on stay. So I walked back to the side of the field, and ducked round to join Tommy and Fakkie. We waited to see what he’d do. He lay still for about four minutes, not bad for a part-trained dog. Then he barked for me to come back for him. Then he stood up, looked all round, and started to follow me. Then he stopped, and turned away again. Oh, no... But he’d just gone back for the stick. He picked it up and trotted the way I’d gone, ignoring a couple of sheep that had drifted into that area and bounced away in the silly flustered way that sheep do, searched round the end of the bales and bounded up to give me the stick. “Good boy, Bullet! Oh, great boy!” “Grand!” Tommy was grinning. I looked at him in some surprise. “You care, too.” 186

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“Course I care! Think you’re the only one with feelin’s?” He sniffed, a bit like Aunt Jean, and turned to Fakkie. “Well?” “Nae problem. I’ll write that note for ye.” Fakkie’s mouth was tight. “Sabotage, ye said afore? This is worse. Aye, I’ll tell Billy there was nae actual blood drawn on the ewes this mornin’. I didna get what he was on about earlier or I’d have telled him then. Mind you –” he held up a warning finger – “that’s no tae say the caller didna just make a mistake about what farm the sheep were on. Moss-side an’ Wester Balmaloy an’ Druim have fields along this way. But I’ll get mam tae check for ye, phone roun’ tonight, an’ put that in the note as well. Aye. Nae guarantees, mind, but that should help.” He patted Bullet. “I hope ye find the bastard. Nail his ears tae the wall.” Only it wasn’t ears he said. Funny, I scarcely noticed the word. I was too grateful. We thanked him heartily and headed for home. “You feel better? Me an’ all. One nail back out o’ the coffin, eh?” Tommy was a lot happier. “Two, even. Like the man said, no guarantees, but...” “Wait till I tell Gerry!” I was fizzing with excitement and hope again. He stopped dead. “No.” WEE MALKIE

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“What?” “Don’t tell him. Don’t tell anybody. I’ll tell Jean, stop her worryin’. She can hide it, best poker face I know. But nobody else.” “What about mum? She worries, too.” “Tell her when they’re leavin’, if we can’t find who dunnit before. But see, son, if the villains think it’s workin’, they’ll relax an’ not try anythin’ else. Gives us time to hunt ’em out. So don’t make waves. Look grim. An’ polite, eh? Come on, son. Good evenin’s work. Don’t spoil it.” It wasn’t easy, keeping shtum. I was bubbling inside, with delight that the accusation was proved wrong, and rage at Gerry – it had to be him, somehow... But I kept my head down, acting sulky and subdued. Funny, it was quite hard – I’d got out of the habit, I suppose. Aunt Jean kissed me, first time ever, when nobody was looking. Sorry for doubting me, I suppose. Silly. I didn’t blame her. Well, not much. Mum had done worse, and I’d forgiven her. What actually worried me most was the effect of the trouble on mum. She needed extra tranquillisers, and grew duller and slower than before. Walter was talking about taking her home to get her out of the unpleasant atmosphere. With some difficulty, we managed to persuade him to stay 188

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as he had planned. I promised to be on my best behaviour – and so did Gerry, naturally. It wasn’t too bad. At school on Tuesday, Alex was as shocked as I’d hoped she’d be, and totally on my side. “Stinking pigs! We’ll get them!” She asked around for me. I didn’t want to be seen nosing about, see? She was so shy, and so scared of Chris, it was a big effort for her, but everybody talked to her more readily than to me. She’d started coming in by bike too, and our road home was the same for most of the way. That afternoon the wind was so strong it was hard to pedal against it, specially uphill, so as soon as we were on the quiet road past the Golf Course we got off to walk. She reported, “Susan Ellen says she saw Chris phoning right after the bell, Malkie. She noticed because the coin didn’t work, he had to try twice, and swore. But he said just a couple of words and hung up. Like a wrong number.” “Aunt Jean answered a call. A wrong number!” “Chris!” we hissed in chorus. She was nodding eagerly. “Being rude so that she’d mention it, and Gerry would know to give Bullet the wool, however he did it. Did he know about the trouble with Chris?” WEE MALKIE

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“Oh, yeah. And there can’t be that many Carnegies in Nairn, Gerry could find him in the phone book, he just lives in Boath Park, not away out at Cawdor or anything. That day he walked back from Nairn, he was on his own then, all day, could have met him easy. That’s it!” I gave her a thumbs-up sign. “Another stroke for us.” She shook her head. “A possibility. Not real proof. Look, I’m sorry, but it’s true!” Well, okay. I had to admit it. It was Alex who worked out the next bit, too, and only a couple of minutes later. We were shoving the bikes up a hill past sheep in a field, when she stopped so suddenly I nearly ran into her. “Tell me, Malkie, what did the wool look like? The stuff the policeman showed you?” “Well, it was long and straggly, greyish, all tangled.” She was grinning. “Look at those sheep. Look at their wool.” “What?” Then I saw what she’d noticed. “Their wool’s all short! The ewes have been shorn, and the lambs haven’t grown it long yet! And Fakkie’s ones – yeah, they’re the same. All of them are round here! So the long stuff in Bullet’s teeth didn’t come from biting at sheep! Oh, Alex, you’re great! I love you! Want a kiss?” “Get lost!” She laughed out loud. “Keep looking! You’re not all the way yet!” 190

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“What? Where?” Her big eyes were sparkling with glee. I looked where she was looking. “Come on, don’t muck about –” Suddenly my eye caught something that I’d seen so often I’d stopped noticing it. I dropped my bike in the road, jumped up the bank and reached out my hand. “This! This is it!” All along the barbed-wire fence there were tatters of wool, long wool, three or four inches long, tugged off and caught there before the sheep were sheared in June. “This is what it was – wool off a fence! Oh, Alex – and we can prove it! This is real evidence!” I felt like a bottle of champagne when the cork pops. Alex belted home with me. Fortunately, Walter had taken Gerry out for a drive, doing his best to keep us apart, and Mum was down the beach with Amanda. Aunt Jean was in the kitchen writing cheques. She lifted an absent hand. “Hi! Bankruptcy looms ever closer. This bill for filling the gas tank’s double the last one. Hungry? As if I need to ask. Katie’s fly cemetery in the cake tin. One bit each, and get me one while you’re at it – stop bouncing about, what’s got into you two today?” She inspected us more closely. “What are you looking so smug about? You’re like a pair of wally dogs.” “Wally dogs?” Alex laughed. I hadn’t the faintest what Aunt Jean was on about, so as WEE MALKIE

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usual I stuck it on the back shelf of my memory for later and carried right on. “It wasn’t Bullet! It’s a put-up job! Alex found the proof!” Aunt Jean’s face lit up as if she’d won the lottery. “Proof? Truly?” Alex was jumping out of her normal shyness. “Yes, Auntie Jean, it’s true! We can prove it wasn’t Bullet! ” “Oh, frabjous day, calloo, callay! Come to my arms, my beamish boy! And girl! Tell me all about it!” Five minutes later we were all tramping up the hill to where Tommy was building a dry-stone dyke, with a bottle of champagne, four of the good crystal glasses and the whole slab of fruit slice. We popped the cork with due cheering, and drank Bullet’s health. He didn’t like champagne, though, he just sneezed. Then we settled down to a council of war. “Because,” Tommy stated soberly, “this needs sorted out now, before it escalates. For everybody’s sake, not just Malkie’s. An’ we got it to do. Us.” Aunt Jean was unhappy about it. “Look, why don’t we just tell the police?” “Tell ’em what? About the wool, sure, that proves Bullet didn’t attack the sheep. So what? We got no proof it really was a malicious call, or that Chris made it. Only 192

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circumstantial.” She didn’t look convinced. “Look, Jean, the coppers have enough to do. They’ll drop the case, but that’s all. An’ if we accused Chris an’ Gerry, would either of ’em admit it? Not on your life.” I rolled my eyes in exaggerated innocence, and piped sweetly, “What, me? No, no, I’d never ever do a dreadful thing like that!” I made a face. “Innocent little angels. Gerry’s done it for years.” Alex nodded. “I’ve seen him change, hide his feelings – it’s frightening how good he is!” “An’ then what?” Tommy demanded. The big man was quite definite. “I know. Took a near-tragedy to sort me out. Could easy have been a death. Got to be stopped, right now. Before it comes natural to ’em. Hope it ain’t too late already.” I agreed heartily, of course. “Gerry’s hated me right from the start. Don’t know why. Well, I knew he was jealous, I felt the same way about Walter and mum.” And Tommy and Aunt Jean, too, but I couldn’t say so. “But I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.” Aunt Jean sniffed. “Money, of course.” “What?” She tutted at me. “Betty’s supposed to be the feather-witted one!” “What money?” WEE MALKIE

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“Walter’s money, dimwit!” Tommy rumbled, grinning. “Three reasons for crime – love, loathin’, lolly. Walter ain’t short o’ a bob or twenty. An’ Gerry wants it all. As Walter’s stepson, you’d get a share. See?” Oh. “I don’t want Walter’s money.”. Tommy laughed at my disgusted face. “Useful stuff, son. An’ it’s anonymous.” I could see what he meant. The attraction was there – true enough, Walter was well off – but I felt tacky. “No! Okay, I need it just now, but I don’t like it, and later on I’ll make my own.” Tommy looked quizzical, but Aunt Jean perked up like six Christmasses all at once. “Hallelujah! Heavens to Betsy, even! A lad who’ll put his principles above his bank balance. It gives me hope for the world, it really does!” Her eyes were actually glistening with pride. “Well done, wee Malkie!” So how do you answer that? I just gulped like a stranded fish. Tommy coughed apologetically, to break the embarrassment. “Can we get back to the main subject under discussion, eh? Gerry.” “Oh, well, if you insist,” she grumphed. “I don’t think it’s so important. He’ll be off to university in another year. If Malkie stays here, out of harm’s way, they may never meet again. So –” 194

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Tommy sighed. “Bound to meet. An’ might not be the dog he tries to hurt next time. Or what about the next guy cuts him up? We let him get away with it, he learns he can do what he likes. So he could do worse later. Doin’ nothin’ is gamblin’ with other people’s well-bein’ – an’ we’d be responsible, as well as him.” “The same as training Bullet not to go after sheep?” I suggested. “Right, son.” “You’re old-fashioned. Feel responsible for your neighbours.” Aunt Jean looked at him affectionately. “You’ll make a good policeman, Tommy. Or maybe a minister, the way you’re so good at preaching!” “Gerraway, woman!” He almost blushed. “Ain’t no saint.” “That’s why.” “Give over, woman! What’s got into you today? Mushy as peas!” Hurriedly, he changed the subject. “Besides, Gerry’s due a bunch o’ hurt feelin’s, in return for what he gave Malkie here, an’ the rest of us. We have got to think o’ somethin’.” “We need MacWelly.” They all stared at me blankly. “Who?” “That man you said, Aunt Jean. When you were talking about who put the tractor in the pool, you said I wasn’t cunning like MacWelly.” WEE MALKIE

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“Who? I don’t – er – oh.” Her eyes met Tommy’s. “That well-known Scots politician. Machiavelli.” They collapsed together, rolling about with laughter. Apparently the guy was Italian, not Scots. So I’m supposed to be a walking Encyclopedia Britannica? But I just laughed too. A few months earlier I’d have huffed. I’d changed. Good. Alex had mostly kept quiet. Well, it wasn’t her fight, not really, and she was scared. Standing up to a bully’s about the hardest thing there is. I was scared myself, for old times’ sake, and I’d done it a few times recently. But she was the one who came up with the way to convince Walter. We’d talked all round it. How could we organise Gerry to do something serious, so that I’d be blamed, and somehow prove it was actually him? It seemed impossible. Then Alex said, “My mum works in Inverness. In a big electrical shop. All kinds of stuff. And Gerry’s mobile’s down.” And Tommy’s eyes lit up.

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Chapter 11 That night there was some highly artificial conversation at tea. We told everybody gleefully about the wool. I smirked at Gerry. “So the actual evidence actually proves Bullet’s innocent!” Very embarrassed, Gerry could only stick to his story and declare that he had no idea how Bullet could have got wool in his teeth. Then his face cleared at a new idea. “But of course it could have been there for a couple of days. Dogs don’t use toothbrushes!” Maybe he thought he’d revived the case, but Aunt Jean ‘reassured’ him; “Doesn’t matter, Gerald. It was clearly long wool, so whenever he got it, it couldn’t have been from chasing sheep. I’ll go in tomorrow and tell the police.” “Pity we didn’t think of it before, Gerry,” I smiled. “It’d have saved us all a lot of worry. Anybody’d think somebody’s tried to do Bullet a mischief, Gerry. Set him up, Gerry. But they slipped up, didn’t they, Gerry?” Walter’s face was frozen. Tommy frowned at me. But I knew what I was doing. If I was WEE MALKIE

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too polite, Gerry would suspect something. We wanted to goad him into rushing into something, making a mistake. Besides, it might just start Walter wondering, same as Aunt Jean had done. Worth a try. Aunt Jean smiled round, as if trying to cover up. “I’ve a big job on tomorrow. Clays don’t all need the same temperature, you know, nor glazes – some only need half the heat of others, too hot would ruin them. Other clays and metallic glazes need really high temperatures, for a long time. M’hm. It costs the earth to heat the kiln that much, you can’t do it for just a few things. But I’ve gathered a full load of that type, dried and all ready for firing. I was going to leave them till you’d gone, but then I thought maybe Betty’d like one for a souvenir. The kiln has to be stacked very carefully, nothing touching, but as full as it’ll hold. Would you like to help me do it, Gerald?” Naturally, he said yes, looking a bit intrigued. We all did. I’d never actually heard her explain all this before – she felt if she talked about it, something would go wrong. Superstitious, see? Tonight, though, she made herself go on. “Everything has to be heated slowly, at the right rate, and held at the exact temperature for just the right time, and then cooled slowly, not just turned off, or it can all discolour or 198

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craze or crack or distort somehow. Any sudden change in temperature, or going too hot, or not hot enough, can ruin the lot. And it’s worth a packet.” “How much?” Tommy asked. “A thousand quid?” “Piker. Nearer thirty thousand.” We all gasped. She chuckled. “In the shops, of course! I don’t get that much for it. I should be so lucky! About a third of it will probably spoil anyhow.” Walter was shocked. “A third! That’s a great deal, Jean.” “Oh, it’s not all wasted. It depends how bad it is. People like seconds, if they’re still good-looking. Like that one.” She nodded to a big plate like a swirl of silver and pearl ostrich feathers. “That won’t lie flat, but it’s okay to hang on a wall. You don’t get as much for them, of course, but it’s aye an honest penny. Anyway, we’ll stack them tomorrow morning, and start the kiln right away. That’s Wednesday. M’hm. The whole thing, heating and cooling, takes forty-eight hours. Unload it on Friday afternoon, for you to see it out and pick a piece before you go home. Okay, Gerald?” He nodded eagerly. “But if something does go wrong, Aunt Jean. If the gas runs out, or something. Can you tell when it happened?” WEE MALKIE

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She looked surprised. “ More or less, by what happens to the pieces. It’s never happened, though, and I hope it never does.” “Oh, so do I!” He gleamed his teeth at mum. “Especially when we’re going to get a memento.” It had never struck me before, but he never spoke to mum directly, nor ever said ‘mum’ or ‘mother’, or even ‘Beth’ as Walter did. I suddenly shivered. That gave him Wednesday to make arrangements, Thursday and Friday morning to do the damage. If the firing was deliberately spoiled, but he had a perfect alibi, I’d be blamed. So we thought he’d phone Chris, and arrange for Chris to bike along and do the dirty work same as before. It would only take twenty minutes out of the lunch hour; Chris could even just about slip out at break to do it. Gerry could tell Chris where the house key was hidden, under a pot in one of the sheds. Then if Chris said he’d seen me go off on my bike, and I didn’t have witnesses to an alibi – and not just Alex, either, who might lie for me – they’d have a real case. Meanwhile, every second, Gerry would be stuck tight as glue to somebody, to prove that it couldn’t have been him, oh, no it couldn’t... After tea, while the rest of us played cribbage, Tommy drove up to organise things with Aunt Pat. “Yeah, sure she’ll 200

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help,” he reported. “A cracker, she is. Your Alex had her half persuaded already.” Next day, I fairly burned rubber getting home. Gerry was there, so I couldn’t ask, but Tommy gave me a wink; it must be all set up. My stomach was tight as a drum with hope and fright. Again, conversation at tea was strained. Stacking the kiln had taken three hours, and Aunt Jean was very complimentary about Gerry’s assistance. “I’d have taken twice as long on my own. M’hm.” He was eager to talk about it, too. “I wouldn’t have believed that it was all worth so much. None of it was shiny, or goodlooking – but apparently the glazes don’t develop their true colours till they’re fired.” He sounded as if he doubted it. Aunt Jean lifted an eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment. “So that’s the firing started.” She smiled round. “But it’s as well I’ve got a timer on the kiln, that can run a series of temperature changes without me.” “Oh, why?” My voice sounded all artificial to me, but nobody else seemed to notice. “I’m off to Edinburgh. A chance of a splendiferous export order to the USA. Tiffany’s rep saw some of my stuff and phoned while you were all out. She’s only over for two more days, so I have to just drop everything and run.” WEE MALKIE

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“Of course, Jean. Tiffany’s! My, my! Very prestigious!” That was Walter, of course. Wally. Aunt Jean’s eye slitted slightly at the condescension in his tone, and her smile was a touch tight. “I’ll get the early bus, and leave you the car, Tommy. Run me in to Inverness? Thanks. I’ll have to stay overnight, but I’ll be home on Friday in time to open up the kiln for you, Betty. Can you cope with meals for the gang?” Mum was a bit tense. She didn’t like surprises now. Before the accident, she’d loved them; oh, well... But she made herself smile. “I expect so. Tommy and Malcolm can keep me right. I wouldn’t let Walter lift a finger in a kitchen, he’s a disaster looking for a place to happen.” It was about the first sign of returning spirit since she arrived, and in relief and happiness I almost fell off my seat applauding. Even Walter was laughing. Gerry wasn’t. I saw his face, trying to smile, but so full of spite that my heart almost stopped. It wasn’t just me that Gerry hated; it was mum as well. He had to be stopped. He might go after her next. And she didn’t have Tommy to protect her. Or even me, now. I checked with Tommy later. Yes, Alex’s mum had done what we wanted, while Jean 202

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had taken Walter, Gerry and mum out for a drive. “Neat lady, that!” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Right on the ball, knows her stuff, she only took about twenty minutes all in. An’ a fine piece o’ woman, eh?” “Male chauvinist pig!” I teased him, and ducked fast. Well, I had to do something to break the tension in my chest. It wasn’t easy, plotting revenge. No, not revenge; retribution. Not even that; justice. Next day, Thursday, Aunt Jean went off early with a folio of photos ‘to catch the bus’ – actually to stay with the MacPhees; I walked Bullet and went to school as normal; Tommy took Bullet off to the far end of the garden to work on more walling. From eightfifteen, Walter, Gerry, Amanda and mum were on their own. They planned to drive into Nairn for a final walk round the shops, the beach and harbour, and the riverside. We were certain that Gerry would make sure they all stayed together, to clinch his own alibi and leave the field clear for Chris. Alex and I watched Chris, though not closely enough to be noticed, we hoped. He was in class, in and about the hall, in the lunch queue, puffing round the bike sheds with his mates. He didn’t go out at lunchtime. He never left the school grounds all day. WEE MALKIE

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I was sick as a parrot. “Waste of time, for us and your mum,” I grumped. “Maybe tomorrow.” Alex was always optimistic. “Come on, let’s go back and see what’s happened.” We raced home and ran to check the phone. Alex’s mum had plugged a recorder into it. It looked just like a normal answering machine, but it was set up to record outgoing calls as well as incoming ones, hoping Gerry would phone Chris to arrange things. There was nothing on it except a double-glazing cold-caller. Oh well, it had only been a chance, anyway. Mum was actually baking, looking happy. “Yes, you can lick the bowl, greediguts! So long since I’ve used this stove, I didn’t know if I could control the fire properly, but it’s all coming back. Go away, now, and leave me to get on.” Great, she was really getting better! We grabbed some biscuits and headed out. Walter and Gerry were down by the pool, sunbathing in the hottest day of the year, while Amanda, brown as an Arab now, and Bullet splattered about in the shallow edge where we’d dumped a couple of loads of sand to make a wee beach. We called Bullet as we went past. Amanda started to grizzle to come with us, but it was too far for her short legs. We promised we’d not be long. 204

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When we came to the wall Tommy was building, he was lying back taking the sun, just like Walter, with Aunt Jean snoozing beside him. “Typical British working man,” I sneered, leaning over the top of the wall. “Bog off, Malkie!” he grunted without opening his eyes. Beside me, Alex snorted with laughter. Aunt Jean’s eyebrows shot up and she opened one eye. “Something’s funny?” she inquired snootily. Funny wasn’t the word for it. Tommy had been working outside for four months. He was nearly seven feet of mahogany Greek god, triangular from enormous shoulders to skimpy shorts. Aunt Jean in her sun-dress was plump – face it, fat – short and sunburned, like a bundle of big sausages bursting out of a blue Easter egg. We struggled to hold in our mirth. “No, no, Aunt Jean –” She opened the other eye, sat up and sniffed amiably. “Don’t tell lies, children, not until you can control your faces. Size-ists, the pair of you. Don’t jeer at the poor fellow just because he’s wee-er than me!” She was laughing at us laughing at her. “I’m the extra-value economy size, right, Tommy?” “Right.” He still didn’t open his eyes. “Cheaper by the ton.” WEE MALKIE

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She looked down at him, lips pursed thoughtfully. We waited... With deliberation, she moved to sit right on top of him. He grunted, pretending to be flattened, and then started flexing his stomach muscles so that she bounced up and down giggling, and at last slid off and grinned up at us. “Well, don’t just stand there, you make the place look untidy. Nip over this side and park your bottoms – mind the thistles – and tell us has it worked? Did he phone this morning before they went out, or before you got back from school? Nothing? Drattit and bebotheration!” She sobered up quickly. “Tommy, I don’t like this! I do not like it!” “Relax. Leave it, don’t fuss. Softly, softly catchee monkey!” Tommy reassured us all. “We’ve still got tomorrow.” Aunt Jean walked back towards the house with us, but stopped just before we’d come into view. “On you go, then,” she said. “Only do be careful! I have such a foreboding about this, I feel quite sick!” “Sensitive little dahling!” Tommy gave her outraged face a quick kiss – funny, it didn’t embarrass me at all – and smiling through her anxiety she turned up the path to Fakkie’s house. Tommy shook his head. “Never known her so nervous.” “We’ve never done anything like this before, Tommy,” I said. 206

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“True enough.” He nodded, and we trotted down the path home. Gerry, Walter and Amanda were in the yard, washing the car with the garden hose. Gerry turned it on Tommy as we went past – “It’s the Man from Atlantis!” – and then on Alex. It wasn’t quite a joke, but she just laughed. I grabbed it from him, and we had a bit of a not-really-friendly tussle. You know – a bit of venom in the tugs and slaps and pushing, and hoses too near people’s faces... Water flew everywhere. In seconds we were all soaked, while Amanda ran about in her wee swimsuit, screaming with delight, and Walter tutted gently from the sidelines, pleased we were getting on so well. Tommy finally stopped it before it got too vicious. “Oy! You want to create a water shortage?” Gerry scooshed our backs one more time as we walked away. We grinned back at him, teeth clenched, and Amanda ran off to the sand-pit we’d made for her in a tractor tyre. At the back door, Alex said, “Will I nip in and check that it’s still set up properly?” “Okay, honeybunch!” Tommy said. Laughing, she turned to the workshop door while Tommy and I followed Bullet charging into the kitchen. WEE MALKIE

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Mum was just tipping her cake out of the tin onto a cooling rack. “Ahah!” I started to stalk up on it, fingers out like claws. “Fee, fy, fo, fum, I smell orange cake for my rumtum-tum!” She chuckled and slapped the oven cloth at me. “Hands off, you hyena!” “Smells great!” Tommy sniffed deeply – instantly his face and voice changed – “Watch out!” Whoomp Wheeeeee…. whining stop it inside my skull, not out head splitting chest hurting burn back burning stove leaning on stove roll forward, away from burn – ow! Neck hurt. Bad. Burn worse, roll anyway. Sick. Open eyes. Mum standing, screaming. Tommy slumped against a cupboard, trying to sit up, holding head. Like me. Chairs, table overturned. Untidy. Aunt Jean’ll be peeved. 208

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High buzz-saw noise drowning everything. Except mum, and Amanda’s shrieks. Outside. Can’t be hurt if she can scream like that… Can she? Bomb? Gas? In workshop? No Bullet. No Alex. Alex? In workshop? I may have said it aloud. Tommy suddenly heaved himself to his feet and swayed to the passage door. Open. Rip-saw fading to roar – no, real roar. Flames in passage? Couldn’t be... Yes, flames. And smoke. Workshop that way. Alex... Tommy staggered over to drag down the curtains and thrust them deep into mum’s washing-up water, slung them round his head and bare shoulders and lurched out into the passage and towards the workshop door. Walter dived in through the back doorway, grabbed mum, screeched, “Fire Brigade!” and rushed through to the livingroom. Alex... My fault again... Forget that, do something... What...? Lallygagging. Get up. Yes, get up, lazy pig! Room wobbled, swayed, shrank, grew like wrong focus in a camera, steadied more or less. Oh, my head... my chest... breathing fire. Go on! Out into passage. Matting burning, and hanging coats. Wet teeshirt, WEE MALKIE

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good thing, thanks Gerry. Reached down to grab blanket from Bullet’s basket, beat out a smouldering bit, wrapped it round me, followed Tommy. Back door open, blown off its hinges. Gerry in yard, holding the flowing hose, gaping foolishly. Why didn’t he do something useful? He picked up Amanda, crying. Away far, Aunt Jean racing towards the house. A bit late. Workshop doorway paint burning. Inside, smoke everywhere. Not dark – skylights gone, not just broken, vanished. Glare and flames on my right, kiln end, scorching heat. Rolls of bubble plastic opposite, blazing, belching black smoke. And white. No – white was clay dust. Like fog. Breathing hurt. Movement in fog on my left. Tommy, bending down, flailing at burning matting with his wet curtain. I stumbled over, coughing, choking, tripping on twisted shelving frames, nearly sick again. Alex, lying still, unconscious. He was picking her up. His hair was on fire. I patted it out with a wet end of curtain. Gave Tommy blanket to wrap Alex in, keep fire off her. He tripped on a battered bin, fell back against a halfupright metal rack, yelled at the burn, jerked away, knocked me staggering. She didn’t cry, didn’t twitch, all floppy. Dead? 210

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Alex dead? All going to die. Lungs, head hurt so much I didn’t care. Head whirling. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Sat down. Floor hot. Hurt as things fell off bent shelving onto my legs. Untidy – Aunt Jean would be peeved. “Where’s the door?” Tommy yelled. Didn’t know. I’d got turned round. Head splitting, spinning, smoke, fog, flames, jagged sprawling maze of metal. Don’t panic... Ha ha… A figure loomed through the smoke, coughing, “Tommy! Tommy!” “Go back, Jean!” Tommy gasped. She didn’t. She knew her way round here, and besides, she was dragging the hose with her, spraying all round, sensible, cooling, bliss. She came on right through the smoke and flames and roasting heat, crunching over broken pots, kicking aside blazing cardboard boxes, picking her way over twisted metal struts. She reached to heave me up. “Get up! Get up, Malkie! You can do it, so do it!” I did it. She tucked my hand into Tommy’s belt. “Hang on there, Malkie! Tight! Don’t you dare let go!” Then she held his arm, tugged him towards the door, he held Alex, I held onto him, and she led us stumbling out, only a few steps when you knew where, past the burning doors, out to the yard. WEE MALKIE

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My knees collapsed under me. I fell to my hands and knees, coughing, retching my guts up. After a minute, I sat down sideways and wiped my face. Tommy had laid Alex down, still wrapped in the tattered old blanket. Aunt Jean’s blue sundress was filthy, scorched on one side, and her hair was crisped. She was spraying water over Alex and Tommy. He was crimson all over, and blistered along his bare right arm, his back and the backs of his legs. The agony on my calves was my terylene trousers, melted onto the skin. I stuck them out, and Aunt Jean sprayed them, too. It hurt even worse. She dropped the hose and came towards me, but I waved her over to help Alex. Alex had to be all right. Not dead. Please? Walter came round the end of the house, half carrying mum. He’d taken her out through the front, of course, not the burning back door. “I’ve called the Brigade and the ambulance. Oh, the little girl, you got her, is she alive? Marvellous – can you manage, Jean? Oh dear, your hair! Beth, can you manage? Sit quiet there, dear, look after Amanda, don’t worry, quiet now Amanda, here’s mummy, stay with her, you look after her, all right? Malcolm’s there, everybody’s safe. And Malcolm – well done, Malcolm!” 212

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That was a first. “Let’s get the hosepipe over there, no need to wait for the firemen – Gerald, come along!” He snatched up the hose and marched off to the door. Gerry was standing swaying slowly, like a zombie. Cuddling Amanda, who was quietening down, Mum reached out to shake his arm. “Gerald! Wake up! Help your father!” “Yes – all right – I didn’t mean to – all this – I –” He trailed off. Mean? I should know what he was talking about, but it was too much bother. Gerry was staring at me. “You... It was you, not me, your fault...” No, it wasn’t! “Go on, Gerald!” Mum poked him, coughing. He jerked, shook his head as if to get rid of a fly, and his eyes focused again. “Oh, yes, sorry!” Walter was spraying through the back door. “I’ll clear the way for the firemen.” “No! Leave it alone!” Walter called, but Gerry ignored him, diving in under the spray to pull out some of the burned matting and Bullet’s basket. Wouldn’t let me beat him. Never had the chance before… In spite of his burns, Tommy stood up again and took over the hose from Walter, firmly stopping Gerry when he wanted to go WEE MALKIE

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in again. Bells and sirens sounded in the distance. Aunt Jean was kneeling beside Alex, encouraging her. “You’re all right, my love, you’re safe now. Keep on breathing, the ambulance is just coming, you’ll be all right...” If Alex could hear, if she was breathing... Oh, the relief... Gerry was staring at me. His eyes changed. He started towards me. To hit me? Not now, surely? He wasn’t actually looking at me. At something on the ground in front of me. The thing that had dropped off the shelving. I’d picked it up and brought it out, without realising – how daft, to think about tidiness in the middle of all that... The video camera. Gerry knew what it was. What it was for. Face twisting like a demon, eyes wild, he reached for it, snarling, “Give that here, runt! Hand it over! Now!” I cowered, almost obeyed automatically. But then something clicked in my mind. No! Never again! I rolled away from him, clutching it to my chest under me. He grabbed me, tripped on my burnt legs, I screeched, and we rolled together, wrestled for it. Walter wailed, “What on earth – Malcolm! Gerald!” He and Aunt Jean were kneeling beside Alex. Tommy was inside, hosing the passage. 214

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There was only one person left. “Mum!” Frantically I yelled for her. “Mum! Help!” She left Amanda, bent down over us. For a moment I was on top. I thrust the camera at her. “Don’t let Gerry have it! Keep it safe!” “Give it here!” Gerry shoved me off, sprang for her and snatched at it. She didn’t understand, how could she, but she knew it was important to me and stuck by me, rising to the emergency. At last, at last, she stopped dreaming and running away, she helped me. She hung onto the camera, panting in distress, “No, Gerald, no!” He was stronger. As I shoved up to my knees, he wrenched it away from her. “Got it!” I kept yelling, “Stop! Help!” Walter was flustering over, bewildered, but determined to look after mum. Gerry started to run towards the road. I don’t know where he thought he was going, but he didn’t get there. In front of him, Bullet crept out from the bushes. He must have fled in terror at the explosion, but in absolute heroism was forcing himself to answer my shouts, dragging himself along paw by paw nearly on his belly. His ears and the corners of his mouth were still drawn back in a snarl of WEE MALKIE

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sheer fright. At the sight of all those ferocious teeth, that threatening crouch, Gerry stopped dead. From behind him Tommy reached out, wincing, gripped Gerry’s wrist and twisted the camera from his grasp. “Ta, son.” He held it high. “No! Give it here!” Gerry was clawing, practically foaming at the mouth. He’d have made more impression on Nelson’s Column. Tommy held him off with one hand on his chest. A police car led the fire engine and the ambulance belting down the track, jerked to a halt beside Tommy, and Constable Gunn leapt out. Tommy handed him the camera. “Here, mate. Might find this handy.” Gerry’s roar of rage drowned out Amanda’s wails, even dimmed the roar of the fire.

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Chapter 12 The house didn’t burn down. The workshop was wrecked, but it was on the far side of a solid, thick stone wall. The block walls, cement floor, metal racks and bins, the clays and glazes left little for the fire to grip except the packing materials and some books and magazines. The kiln was wrecked, though. The insurance inspectors decided that there had been a leak in one of the gas pipes. Calor gas is heavier than air, and they thought it had seeped out slowly and pooled on the workshop floor, held in by the almost air-tight door. The kiln itself was insulated, not hot enough to ignite the gas, but when Alex went in, and Tommy, Bullet and I dashed into the kitchen, a trickle of gas was drawn through to hit the coals of the stove, like a fuse. It flashed through the kitchen and passage, and touched off the rest in the workshop. The gas pipe was blown off the kiln, and the end lit – the din and flames had been the pressurised gas roaring out like a flamethrower, but at least the tank outside hadn’t gone up. WEE MALKIE

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The skylights had blown off instantly, reducing the pressure, luckily for Alex. By more luck, she had left the door wide open, and been half shielded by it. Even so, she’d been slammed forward into the shelving, and had a cracked skull and lots of broken bones, cuts and burns, spinal strain, and blast and smoke damage to her lungs and ears. She was in intensive care for five days. They said if she hadn’t been wet she’d have died. Thanks to Gerry. Ironic, eh? Tommy and I had been protected by the angles of the corridor and doors from the worst of the blast. Somehow I had inhaled more smoke, and my legs were horrendous; I hobbled for three weeks, coughed for longer, and had scars as if I’d been chewed by a shark. Tommy had worse burns, though, and lost nearly as much hair as Alex. His film-star looks would never be the same again. Aunt Jean was almost unharmed, though she had to get a crew-cut. Tommy’s picture was in all the papers. Tommy Armstrong, Big Hero. Mine was, too. Wee Malkie, Wee Hero. Not bad. One in the eye for Chris, heh heh. And Gerry. But somehow I couldn’t gloat about that one. We first saw the videos about three weeks later. The police had the originals, of course, but they gave Walter a copy for Gerry’s 218

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defence lawyer. Walter had come up to collect mum, who had stayed on to help look after us all, and we all gathered in Alex’s hospital room under a canopy of cards from school friends and fans. She was still bandaged, strapped and tubed, but with a TV and video player up on the table over the foot of her bed; her right thumb was well enough to work the button box. Her mother was still very angry. Every time she saw us, Tommy and I got a torrent of praise and grateful thanks for saving Alex mixed with scolding for causing the danger in the first place. You’d have thought Tommy would be exasperated by this time, I was ready to explode like the workshop, but he just bore it meekly. “Women worry more’n men,” he told me with a grin and a wink. “Arguing won’t do no good. Helps her to let off steam, don’t bother me. Let it roll off, water off a brolly.” I felt pleased at the advice; this was the way men handled women... Or just people… Well, one way. I didn’t know how it would work on Aunt Jean. “I should never have agreed,” Aunt Pat snapped that day, for the umpteenth time. “Sh, mum!” Alex could still only whisper. “It was my idea.” “Well, yes, but... Oh, well.” Still bristling, she ran her fingers angrily through her fair curls. WEE MALKIE

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“Sorry it went wrong, Pat,” Tommy rumbled, again for the umpteenth time. “Malkie was so brave!” Alex’s eyes were shining. “He went right into the fire and saved me – and Tommy too!” Tommy’s lips twitched at the afterthought. I was blushing. “I’m no hero, I was terrified!” “That’s why!” she insisted. Her mother agreed. “You can’t be brave if you don’t feel afraid, you’re just too thick to realise what can happen.” She glared at Tommy as if she meant him. “No, Malkie, you went on in spite of being scared – that makes you a hero.” Talk about a beamer! Aunt Jean shook her head. “That wasn’t the bravest thing he did. That was – well – a normal reaction to a friend being in danger. No.” She smiled at me. “Think back, Malkie. What actually was the most scary moment?” I didn’t need to think about it; it still gave me nightmares. “Gerry. Gerry’s face when he tried to make me give him the camcorder. I nearly did it.” She nodded, satisfied. “But you didn’t, did you? In spite of all the years he’s bullied you, you faced up to him, and disobeyed him, and beat him. That was the moment. You finally broke the bars he’d put round 220

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you, freed yourself. I didn’t think you’d do it so quickly. I couldn’t be prouder if you’d saved a whole army of Alexes!” I didn’t know what to say. They looked as if they wanted me to make a speech, but I couldn’t have said anything, not to save my life I couldn’t. Luckily, the door opened, and Walter and mum arrived. “I still can scarcely believe it.” Walter was miserable and deflated. Aunt Pat almost jumped on him. “Well, you should! It was your boy. He should be put away for long enough, not let out on bail.” “I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.” He was actually wringing his hands in distress. I should have been gloating, but in fact I felt sorry for him. Frustrating. “You set up the camcorder, Mrs Sinclair?” She puffed, but made herself answer him civilly. “Two. Much the same as in a bank. We expected that boy from school, Chris, and we didn’t know when he might come. So I rigged up two cameras, each linked to a motion sensor like door lights. One was hidden in a bush by the kitchen window to watch the track and the gas tank, in case he just turned that off, and the other was inside the workshop. There was a recorder on the phone, too, but nobody used it.” WEE MALKIE

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Tommy was putting the cassette in the player. “Camera inside the workshop was hidden among some pots, lookin’ right down past the door at the kiln.” “I was just reaching for it,” Alex whispered, “when the place went –” She stopped, and made a face. “Boom.” I grinned to encourage her. Her mother patted her wrist, gently, above the bandages. “It’s all right, love.” “Here we go.” Tommy switched on. Aunt Jean held my shoulder. Mum held Walter’s hand. Amanda wasn’t there, of course, Mrs McPhee was looking after her. We waited to see what we knew had happened; what the police had already seen. The first part showed the view from the outside camera, triggered by movement in the yard or on the track. “Switched ’em on early,” Tommy explained. First we saw the ordinary things: I took Bullet out; Tommy drove Aunt Jean away, and returned; I cycled off to school. Next, Bullet was racing up the track, bouncing round, and then heading off with Tommy. Then mum, Walter and Gerry came out and drove off in the hired car. “Is that the time shown in the corner, Aunt Pat?” I asked Alex’s mother. “Yes.” She was as tense as we were, waiting to see... 222

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The next flicker was just a couple of deer picking their nervous way across the track. Then suddenly it was happening, fast. “There’s your car, Walter!” It came jouncing down the path and spun to a standstill outside the back door. Gerry jumped out, ran to the house, unlocked the door, went in. “Oh, no.” Walter sighed it, as if he hadn’t known what we’d see. “Didn’t know Gerry could drive.” Tommy’s tone was deep and severe. “Didn’t allow for it.” “I got him lessons after Malcolm left. To make up for... take his mind off...” Walter’s voice was faint. Only a few seconds after he’d arrived, even before the camera turned itself off, Gerry ran back out, locked up again, and skidded back up towards the road. We said nothing. Chris hadn’t been involved this time, after all. “Ten to one, the time said. What were you doing at ten to one, Walter?” Aunt Jean asked. Choked with emotion, Walter couldn’t reply. “Having lunch,” mum answered for him. “We couldn’t see the car park from the dining room. After his steak, Gerald went to the toilet. He was back in time to have a sweet with us, said he had some tummy trouble, but he wasn’t away long enough for us to worry.” WEE MALKIE

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“How long would it take?” Aunt Pat asked. “Under ten minutes, likely. If you looked for him, an’ asked where he’d been, could say he felt queasy, went out for a breath of air.” Tommy had his finger on the button. “Ready for the next bit?” We nodded. Walter sighed. Mum held his hand tighter. The picture of the second film was wobbly white down one edge. “Heat,” Tommy growled. “Thanks to Malcolm we got it. He saved it, brought it out.” I’d never have taken time to do it if I’d been thinking straight, but why spoil a good story? We watched as Tommy and Aunt Jean walked away from the camera; as Aunt Jean came in and out once or twice. Then Gerry hurried in. He ran down to the kiln and twisted two knobs, turning the heat right down. He stepped back and nodded in satisfaction. We could just make out, on the blurred soundtrack, the words, ‘That’ll finish the little bastard.’ Then, as if unable to keep himself still, Gerry kicked at the kiln, and again, this time at a pipe leading into the side. His voice was louder, clearer. ‘Bastard, bastard!’ “Oh, dear,” Walter sighed. I felt sick all over again. Gerry really did hate me. 224

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“That’s when the pipe coupling went,” Tommy grunted. “Don’t think he knew, though.” On screen, Gerry had swung towards us, his face all twisted with malicious fury as he ran out. Aunt Jean nodded. “M’hm. That could’ve been an air vent, for all he knew.” “But he didn’t care,” Aunt Pat snapped. “He just wanted to hurt. Damage, insults –” “Typical,” I said, before I could stop myself. They stopped tutting and shaking heads, and looked at me. I shrugged. “He kept hurting me and calling me a bastard in London. When we were alone.” “We had no idea,” Walter said. “Told you at first. You an’ mum. You didn’t believe me.” They both looked ashamed. I felt bad. Pleased that they knew at last, admitted I was right, but bad about making them feel guilty, too. “It was true, anyway.” “There’s true, an’ true,” Tommy rumbled. He scratched irritably at his shoulder, where the burns were healing and itching. “You can be a bastard by accident o’ birth, literally, like you an’ me, Malkie, an’ that’s just a technical term. Better than any o’ the fancy pussy-footin’ wrap-it-up-in-marshmallowan’-don’t-hurt-anybody’s-feelin’s words. ‘Politically correct.’” He spat that out as if it was a curse. WEE MALKIE

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I shrugged. “Natally challenged, Gerry used to say.” Walter winced. The big guy nodded. “Slimy. Insultin’ in itself, looks as if you’re dumb enough to believe it don’t mean the same thing. The straight word – okay, it’s tough, but at least it’s straight.” Aunt Jean nodded. “I’m not plump, or overweight. I’m fat. So what?” “Uhuh. A fact o’ life – that ain’t an insult. Shows more about the mind o’ the guy as tries to insult you with it than about you. But if you make yourself into a bastard, that’s different. Twisted, nasty. That’s what Gerry’s done. An’ that does matter.” “M’hm. One word, two meanings. Tough on sensitive people.” Aunt Jean sighed and shrugged. “Well, if your skin’s too thin you’ll melt in the rain.” Her eyebrows twitched in amusement. “Preaching again? I said you should be a minister, Tommy!” As he grimaced, she turned to Walter. “What does your psychiatrist say?” He looked down at his hand in mum’s. “She says Gerald hated his own mother for leaving him. She’s never come back, you know, no letters, nothing.” I hadn’t realised Gerry was the same as me, in a way… “ However, she says Gerald was still jealous of Beth taking her place, and 226

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Malcolm taking my attention. And he was afraid of losing me, as you said, Jean –” “Losing your money is what I said.” “Oh, no!” Walter protested. He blinked at our sceptical faces. “Well – well, partly, maybe, but Doctor Chaudhury seems to consider that was the least of it, actually. She says she believes it’s just an obsession –” “Just!” Aunt Jean exclaimed, but he nodded eagerly. “Apparently obsessive behaviour’s quite common, and can be put straight.” “She would. Say that, I mean.” Alex’s mother was scathing. “Greed, I’ll swear that’s what it was, mostly.” Tommy nodded. “Pretty words to stop facin’ nasty facts. Modern habit.” None of the rest of us said anything. I was glad when Walter sighed deeply and changed the subject. “I’m sorry your firing was ruined, Jean. If the insurance won’t cover it, I’ll –” “Oh, nonsense!” She was as brisk as I’d ever known her, to cut the sniffy emotions. “Think I’d let the children play about with anything of value? That was a load of old junk ready for regrinding, cracked or misshapen in the drying, I just slung some cheap glazes on it. Gerald didn’t know any better, they don’t look anything like the finished article when they go in. No, I had WEE MALKIE

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some good things, but stacked and covered in a bin in the far corner for firing the next week as I’d planned, after you’d gone. M’hm. Some of them are damaged, but on the whole I’ve lost very little. I was well insured and my claim’s been accepted already. New up-to-date kiln – I’m better off than I was, even. No problem there.” There was another short silence. Walter sighed again. “Gerald – they say he’s likely to get a suspended sentence –” Tommy nodded. “First offence, accident, nobody killed, good reports, carin’ family, trick-cyclist, pleadin’ guilty, slap on the wrist, naughty boy, don’t do it again.” “Huh! It’s not his fault nobody was killed.” Aunt Pat raised a hand as Alex opened her mouth. “No, no, okay, love, I know he didn’t mean to. All the same...” “Ain’t likely to do it again, anyway.” Tommy sounded satisfied. “Nasty shock, found out, police, all his pals knowin’ – should put him off for life. An’ that’s the main thing. An’ Chris – I heard his dad’s movin’ to Grangemouth, got a job. That scare I threw into them in June seems to have worked, eh?” “The less said about that the better, I think,” Aunt Jean said, eyebrows raised. “M’hm. They may both be cured. If it’s not stirred up again.” She looked at me. “Well, 228

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Malkie? Have you decided what you want to do?” “You’ll be welcome back home, Malcolm. I shall ensure that Gerald does no further harm to you or your belongings. And your school will be glad to take you back, when I explain to them. Let me make up for the past.” As always, Walter was fussily correct. Beside him, mum was nodding and smiling. But I didn’t want to go back. Not to London. Even with mum, and Amanda. Crowded, and busy, and thick air, and not constructive, somehow. I was more important here than there. Besides, I’d be better out of Gerry’s way, and Walter being humble and forgiving and pompous all at the same time. Asking for trouble, that. Alex tugged her mother’s hand. “All right, all right!” Aunt Pat grinned down at her daughter. “Alex wants me to say you can stay with us, if you like, Malkie. We have a spare room. If you want to leave Jean and Tommy to have some privacy, you’ll be more than welcome. You helped save Alex. It’s the least I can do. And it’ll be good to have a man about the house again.” That one astonished me, I tell you. I wouldn’t mind staying with Alex. We could get the music really flowing. Her mum was a good cook, and a cracker on computers. But... I’d seen the way Tommy’s eyes followed WEE MALKIE

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Aunt Pat. And the way she made sure she looked good when he was about. She was pretty, and smart, and interested in him, and available to marry. I might not be the man of the house for very long – and then Aunt Jean would be on her own, and upset. Aunt Jean started to laugh. “Well, Malkie? This is a change. When you came to me, you thought nobody wanted you. And now everybody does. Little Friend of All the World. What are you going to do? Stay with me, or your mum, or Alex? Whose feelings are you going to hurt? Tell you what – avoid the problem, clear right out. Run away and join the Foreign Legion!” They all started throwing ideas at me. “Get away from it all. Desert island.” Tommy was chuckling. “Become a Buddhist monk.” Mum, smiling. “Go to boarding school. But it will have to be Winchester, you have to put your name down ten months before you’re born for Eton or Harrow.” Even Walter was putting in his joke. “Run away to sea.” A whisper from Alex. “Stow away on a spaceship.” Her mother. At Tommy’s next suggestion, Aunt Jean held up a hand to stop the flood. “Hold it, people! This is getting more than a bit improbable, not to say anatomically impossible, Tommy – there are ladies present.” 230

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“Oh? Who?” She frowned at him; Aunt Pat punched his arm. Before war could break out, Aunt Jean demanded, “Come on, buster, this is all your fault. Don’t keep us in suspense.” “Who’s going to win the jackpot?” That was Alex. “You mean the booby prize.” Aunt Jean, stirring things up again. I took my time. It wasn’t often that I was the centre of attention – not for anything good, anyway. “Remember that black desk you sent me, Walter? After all the hassle we had putting it together, d’you honestly think I’m going to take it apart, and have to do it all over again? No way. I’ll stay where I am, thanks.” Everybody smiled. I’d made the right choice. For once.

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Chapter 13 A month or so later, the workshop was back in operation, and Aunt Jean was purring like a cat that the publicity had brought in a spate of new orders. Though not one from Tiffany’s. Walter had taken mum south, and reported that all the doctors were pleased with her progress. Gerry had started his final year at school, very subdued; mum wrote that you wouldn’t think it was the same boy. His court hearing was due in October. Amanda was starting nursery school, and mum was expecting another baby. I was well out of it. Alex got out of hospital, though still not able to come to school. “Doctors? Huh! I spit!” She did. “You know what they told me? My lungs are so badly damaged I may never be able to sing again!” I was shocked, but she kept grumbling on. “Load of rubbish. I’m doing exercises already. Listen!” Her voice was a dry, pathetic whisper compared to what it had been, but the notes were true. She’d do it somehow. 232

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“Madonna also ran, in a couple of years.” She gave me a delighted thumbs-up sign. “After all, she can’t play the piano.” She stuck her tongue out at me. To his delight, Tommy was invited to a three-day selection course to see if he was the right kind of guy for the police. The day he left for the course, I beat Aunt Jean hollow at darts. “Ach, my eye’s away round the corner tonight!” she complained, and sat at the kitchen table, rubbing Bullet’s ears. “I couldn’t hit an elephant on the backside with a shovel!” “Why’d you want to?” I grinned, to cheer her up, and myself, but of course she noticed. “Cheer up, down-in-the-dumpling! He’ll be back soon. Three days, just.” “Yeah. This time. And risking his life to save Alex has to work for him. But if he passes, off again, for the full training course. Two years, isn’t it? And then posted wherever they send him.” “And Pat with him in the end, I suppose!” She grinned. “Oh, yes, I noticed. Don’t you worry about me, Malkie. I’ll survive even losing Tommy. Though it’s nice of you to think of me.” “You’ve still got me,” I encouraged her. “You and grey hairs!” I made a face at her. She made a worse one back. Well, she had a WEE MALKIE

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head start. “Oh, well. Life goes on. A cuppa, h’m? And then we’ll take Bullet down to the shore before bed?” “Okay.” I reached for the teapot. “D’you think Tommy will get in?” She shook her head. “M-m. I have my doubts. He’s too – too do-it-yourself for the police these days. The old-fashioned clip on the ear type. He’d be in trouble very quickly. But you never know...” “You know, he never actually laid a finger on either Chris or Gerry?” “Neither he did!” She sounded as surprised as I’d been when I realised it. “You’d think, to look at him – and he gives the impression of being so physical. But... Well, well. He might make a policeman after all.” “Even if he didn’t, I don’t suppose Aunt Pat’d mind him not going away.” Suddenly I remembered something. “Hey, Aunt Jean, will you explain something to me? I’ve been meaning to ask you for ages, but something’s always come up to distract me. Explosions, little things like that.” “MacWelly, you mean?” She had to pause in getting the milk from the fridge, to laugh again. “No, I found out about him, once you spelled him for me. He sounds a bit like Gerry. Anyway, when Gerry appeared off the plane, you said something, sounded like Latin. But 234

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you didn’t translate it for me. And I can’t remember it well enough to look it up. What was it?” “What? I can’t remember – oh, yes. That.” She chuckled. “Fake Latin, like ‘hocuspocus’. ‘Noli illegitimi vos carborundum.’ That it?” “Something like that. So what does it mean?” “Work it out, wee Malkie. ‘Noli’ means don’t let – something happen; ‘vos’ is you, like ‘vous’ in French; ‘carborundum’ – well, what’s a carborundum stone used for?” She poured tea into our mugs. “Sharpening chisels?” “Right. Grinding. And ‘illegitimi’ means what it sounds like; illegitimate people. M’hm. Put it all together, and what do you get?” I thought. “Don’t let – you – grind – illegit...” My voice trailed off. “You mean…?” She nodded, and we finished it in chorus, grinning and raising our mugs to each other as a toast. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down!” And I didn’t mind the word in the least. Heh heh.

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