Chapter 19
naoi-deug / nineteen
Innes invited John to have lunch with his father.
When John arrived at the croft, Innes said he needed to check on a poorly ram before they sat down to the meal.
He led John behind the house and up to the tin barn.
John, who was wearing his visiting shoes, waited at the door while Innes did the rounds.
Now and then, he called some advice over the chorus of bleating ewes.
John watched Innes work and was relieved that Innes had returned to himself. The frustrations he expressed had passed for the time being, just like he knew they would.
Innes gave the young ram a dose of anthelmintic. He said the beast seemed a little brighter, so he washed his hands in a bucket, and called it quits for the afternoon.
“Won’t be long until the lambs come,” he said as he dried his hands on the seat of his trousers.
“No,” John agreed. “And may the Lord bless us all.”
“It will be a great help to have Cal home.”
John narrowed his eyes. He scanned the hillsides. “That is, if I ever see him again.”
The men were heading down to the house when Innes paused and pointed out a large rectangle of tarpaulin that was staked out with boulders. It was at the far edge of the MacInnes land, some distance from the house and out of sight of the road.
“I wasn’t going to show you this just yet, but perhaps now’s the time.”
At first glance, John imagined that Innes had found a shallow piece of earth where he could dig a pit and bury any lamb he lost to the sickness.
He watched as Innes removed the boulders and swept back the tarpaulin revealing not a burial pit, but a large concrete slab.
The concrete was set but it had been imperfectly poured, the surface held its score marks and John could tell he had struggled to smooth it. “I can’t be good at everything, can I?”
“You should have asked,” John said. “I would have helped.”
“What’s a bit of extra texture round here?” Innes found the end of a cable that emerged from the slab. “I’ve run one of those electric grids through the concrete. If I insulate the place then I’ll have radiant heat.”
“All that for a radio room?” John was already losing interest.
“It’s not a radio room. I’m building a weaving shed.”
“Och, there’s no money in the weaving. As your friend I’d advise you against that.”
Innes stared at him with a strange grin upon his lips.
“It’s not for me, John.” He paced the slab as it slowly dawned on John.
“Now, do you prefer to work in the morning or the afternoon light?” He gestured towards the south.
“I hope to make this a window so you can look out at the loch. I have a delivery of insulation coming. You should know that Flash and Donnie gave some money. Shockie, too. But Shockie was so long rooting around in his pockets, that you’d think he was looking for El Dorado. ”
“Money?”
“Aidh—just a few hundred pounds all in. But it has helped offset the cost.”
Innes was talking as though the whole idea was the most ordinary thing in the world.
John scoffed in disbelief. “Why would you even ask that?”
“I didn’t ask. The men have been waiting to hear what Grace would do. They want to help. Heated floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows.”
“This is a madness, Innes! You can’t just be making plans like this without asking me.”
“A madness? At my age?” Innes chuckled. He seemed pleased with the thought.
“We all feel like it’s time you leave that house.
You’ve been stuck for years. When I told the Session that I would have you come live in the big house, they each gave a couple of quid to help build you a shed.
” He kicked some debris off the slab. “There’s no need to say anything about the money, if that’s what upsets you. They don’t look for thanks.”
“I can’t just . . . move in with you. We talked about this!”
“We did and no doubt we will again. But see, the problem is, I’m sick of talking, John.
” Innes drew a ragged breath as though he were restocking his patience.
He pointed at the back of the house. “You would live in the spare room amongst my radios for the time being. Then, in due course, Sorley will most certainly move out and you will move into his room. It’s the warmest room in the house, but there’s no surprise there.
When my father passes, we can finally live as we please. ”
“You can’t use me as a pawn to encourage your brother to move on.”
“And why not? It’s as good a plan as any.
” Innes searched his coat pockets and produced a small device.
It looked like an egg timer but there was a twenty-four-hour clock on its face.
“I’ve bought this, and,” he pointed up to Sorley’s window, “I’ll set it to run from seven to half past ten every single evening and then a light will come on in your room.
Beady and Flash and whoever else cares to be nosey, will be able to see it from their crofts.
And when they see it, they’ll think: good man, John Macleod is in his room reading the Book, early to bed for another day of work.
Now, where you really sleep will be entirely up to you.
And don’t worry, I don’t seek to free you from one indentured place and turn you into some sort of grumpy courtesan.
Well . . .” He was grinning as he tossed the timer from one hand and to the other. “Not every single night.”
John was staring at him in incredulity.
“Aidh—I’ve been thinking. Your women think they’ve won.
And maybe you should let them win.” He turned until they stood shoulder to shoulder and were looking out over the house and the loch beyond.
“It’s the excuse we’ve been waiting for.
Can’t you see that? I’ve never been so grateful for the gossips.
We can be together and whenever anyone asks, ‘What are those two old fellas doing living in that big house?’ someone will always tell them about how your ex-wife pulled the rug right out from under you.
The long memory of this place. May God bless it. ”
“And what about Cal?”
“What about him?”
“He’ll get the croft. Ella will surely sign the tenancy to him. I can live with him.”
“Have you spoken to him about that?”
“No. He doesn’t know about the tenancy.” He jabbed himself in the chest. “I’m not supposed to know.”
“Then don’t burden him with your problems.”
“Problems? He owes me that much—”
“He owes you nothing. You’ve got to give him to the world.
The world will be better for having him in it.
” He grazed his knuckles against John’s.
“And you know he is always welcome here, if he comes home for a night or if he decides to return for good. This can be his home as much as it can be ours. He can raise his own family here. And seeing as you’ve wasted my good, child-bearing years, one day this can all be his if he wants it – because I’ll be damned if my brother gets it! ”
“And what about God, Innes?”
“Aidh—the Lord has had a hand in this. Do you not think I’ve been praying?
And the minister gave me a hundred pounds to buy you a big window, so you know .
. .” He whistled through his teeth. “I’m taking that as a blessing.
We’ll be as discreet as we’ve always been, except now I get to watch you dribble your soup in front of the telly.
” Innes moved around the slab and began to gather up the boulders again.
“You’re about to get your marching orders.
And you might think they come from Ella. But I think they come from God.”
“And what? I’m to march right into your arms, am I?”
Innes laughed. “Blink and we’ll be fifty! I’ll be satisfied with a squeeze of the knee every now and then.” He covered the foundation with the tarp. “Now, I know you’re not a man who likes change, or to feel like he’s been hurried along. I know this about you.”
“Really? Because you’re acting as if you don’t know me at all.”
Innes waved him off. “It’ll take me till the end of the summer to finish the shed.”
John was too stunned to form a coherent thought, but even in his confusion he remembered his manners. “Innes, thank you for always thinking of me. But, I can’t promise you anything. Not yet.”
“Ah, not yet,” he said brightly. “The great precentor sings his favourite tune: ‘Not yet’, and I, the faithful, sing it back, ‘Oh, not yet, not yet!’” He looked at the heavy sky. “Listen, I don’t expect I’ll make much progress in this weather and so . . .”
“And so what?”
“And so it will be ready at the end of summer. And you have exactly as long as it takes me to build this shed to decide if we have a future or not. I won’t wait any longer.”
He said it so plainly that John was not quite certain he had heard him correctly. Innes watched him flounder for a response. He folded his arms and looked at John with a weariness, as though he awaited his usual disappointment.
“Is that blackmail?”
“No, John. That sound you hear is the last gasp of my self-respect.”
Innes turned and started down the path towards the house. John hung back and watched him go. The sky was fleecy with clouds but it was torn in places, and here and there the softest light peeked through. A finger of sunlight passed between them.
Innes stopped, turned, and squinted up at him. “Your face is the colour of boiled cabbage. No word of a lie.” Then he chuckled to himself and continued down the hill.
John was too stunned to follow. As a soft rain began to fall, he uncovered the slab again. He spent some time measuring the space in his mind, finding it to be ample enough for the loom, and maybe a little worktable, an old armchair, perhaps two.