Chapter 9: And When Two Lovers Woo

As I drove back to the farm on the Saturday night, I was unhappy; after a restless night, tossing and turning, I was seething when I drove back down to Alexandria at seven on the Sunday morning. I had been kidding myself for weeks now that my life was changed for the better, but, when you came right down to it, I was still Fred – spelled MUG. I was still the one whose wife preferred his smarmy cousin; not that I wanted her back, you understand. It is just demeaning, disrespectful that she should have been the one to abandon me. I haven’t heard from her in weeks, but she will turn up soon expecting me to sort everything out.

That’s my role in life, it seems. Last night Liz decided that she needed to get back to her mother’s place. I understand why – I was as caught up in the emotion of the moment as anyone. But when it came to the practical problem, everyone turned and looked to me to step up. I know I’m Jim’s best pal and I was the only one sober enough to drive, but still. I was using their car, so I had to leave my wee dog to sleep in my van while I drove an emotional pregnant woman and her comatose husband. I had been waiting all day for a quiet word with him about Robinson’s.

Of course, being just Fred, I understood that he had to devote the day to the new life he was planning. It mattered that he gave all his attention to the site at Deirlian and to his discussions with Richard Douglas and his brother-in-law Hamish. I wanted the new venture to be a success, but he could surely have found a minute to tell me how his work on my business plan was going. That thought inevitably led me to the heart of my rage at life.

Great Uncle Albert had planned to make my youth miserable, so I would be fit to carry his precious company into the future. It wasn’t enough that my father died when I was a toddler and that my mother lost her memory while I was still at school, Albert was unrelenting. Then, when he and Ellen decided I had marinated long enough, he appealed to my family loyalty. Only someone who spelled their name Mug would fall for that. I have been away from the factory for four weeks and I can honestly say that I haven’t missed it at all.

Then again, I was tempted by an invitation to change my life by Dave, a man who wanted temporary help with a flock of sheep. It was to be a holiday, a chance to distance myself from my problems for a couple of weeks. It seemed that I had no sooner stepped on the moors than the responsibility for the pregnant sheep settled on my shoulders. Now I must find out all about rams. Its Dave’s farm so why is it my responsibility? The answer is simple.

Dave is trying to rebuild a bridge with the daughter who demanded he accept his wife’s lover at another daughter’s wedding. Don’t get me wrong: I’m pleased that father and daughter are reconciled but with the amount of time they have spent together in the last week, the bridge must now be strong enough to support an eight-lane highway. He hasn’t even mentioned the analysis he promised me of the financial strength - weakness, more likely - of Robinson Engineering. I will have to face the directors at the company AGM in four weeks without a shred of evidence to support my proposals.

All that was simmering when I picked up Jim and Liz to return them to the house at Sturach. Jim was quietly nursing a hangover, but his wife was in full voice. It took a little over half an hour to make the journey, during which she sang the praises of old McTavish, Dave, Richard, her brother and even the shepherd Fergus who had hardly said a word all afternoon. They were all wonderful people who had gone the extra mile to make her life perfect. She included her sister-in-law Jess, her mother - even mentioning Pat who was more than to hundred kilometres from the action. The one name that wasn’t mentioned was Fred, or Mug as he is called by friends and enemies alike.

At the house, old McTavish had made coffee, and I took a cup down the garden to seek out the fort the kids had raved about the day before. Flubber, untroubled by her night in the van, came with me, ostentatiously checking that it was safe for us to proceed. A large tree in the middle of a clearing was the centre of a child’s dream. It was obvious from the way the branches had grown around the planks, that the original treehouse was twenty or thirty years old. Ladders, climbing frames and rope-walkways were, however, all clearly new. The wood was painted, and the ropes were recently replaced.

I was getting a tear in my eye again. Jock must have spent a fortune repairing this playground for his grandchildren, presumably hoping that it would encourage their parents to bring them for visits. His plan had obviously failed, and he was now being forced to move to Kent to maintain the link with his progeny. No wonder he was so emotional last night when Liz asked him to be an honourary grandfather to her children and Jess’. Jim staggered into the glade and said ‘Hi’; I’m not sure if he realised that I had driven him to the house.

I began to question him about the progress he and Bob were making in revising my old business plan for Robinson’s when Hamish joined us carrying two cups of coffee. Jim turned, took the coffee with extravagant thanks for the life-saving brew. “What about the work you were doing for me?” I asked Jim. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Fred. Bob’s got everything under control. I’ve got a long trip ahead of me and I’m going to enjoy this crisp autumn morning. Dave’s a great guy, isn’t he? And that Penny’s a bit of a looker. I’m surprised you haven’t made a move on her.”

Hamish’s two oldest dashed in closely followed by Jock McTavish. The kids leapt up ladders, shrieking with joy, while the three fathers stood together quietly chatting. Guess who helped the kids clamber over the fort. No prizes for naming childless Uncle Fred. Jess came to tell us breakfast was ready. “You’ll put poor Fred off having kids, leaving him to look after our brats.” If she only knew that I envy her and Hamish almost as much as I do Jim and Liz.

I declined breakfast, making the excuse that I had to spend the day with my flock. I could have saved my breath for all the notice they took of me. I loaded Flubber into the van without so much as a fare thee well from my friends. Was envy the reason for my sour disposition? Did I really grudge my best friend his wonderful wife? I don’t think that is the problem. What I envy Jim and Hamish is the fact that they have found the right woman for them. I even envy Dave a bit since he had twenty years of marital bliss before everything went wrong. I was feeling so sorry for myself that I almost drove past Mary standing in the yard carrying a basket of eggs.

She had on the old raincoat that she usually wore for collecting eggs, her hair covered in a scarf against the damp of the dawn mist that was now clearing. Despite my mood, I felt a little lift at this sign that it was going to be a bright late-autumn day. I made a remark about the number of eggs this late in the year and she told me that one of the hens was broody. “I’m thinking of setting her on a clutch of eggs, but hens are such flighty mothers, I’d feel happier if the incubator was working.” I kidded her that it was probably so old that we would have to upgrade it from candle power, but I promised to check it over.

When we stepped into the kitchen, I was close behind her as she placed the egg basket on the table and reached for her headscarf to untie it. Mary keeps her hair short and when she takes off the scarf the air is filled with the scent of spring flowers from her shampoo. Today there was no smell, and a glance showed her hair dull and lifeless, very different from the usual healthy shine. Then, when she turned to ask for my choice of drinks, I saw the bruised pouches under her eyes. She must have seen my look of horror. Outside, I must have been looking at the eggs rather than her face.

“He’s left me, Fred. Moved in with Matt and that bitch Susan. Andrew was the man of my dreams from the first time I had dreams, but I was never his first choice.” All that came out in one breath in the time it took me to close the distance between us to enfold her in my arms. I don’t know how long we stood there clinging together before I was able to ease her into a chair and put the kettle on to boil. I had to help her off with the old raincoat, but she recovered by the time I refreshed her cup. “Coming here was our last chance. Andrew had been having affairs since the children were young, but he was getting less discreet. This time he picked a civilian in the police service; her husband found out and put Andrew in hospital. You can’t imagine the fuss!” She gave an ironic chuckle and rose from her seat. “You’re a lovely man, Fred, but you can’t make a decent cup of tea.” I let her wander about, putting the eggs away and preparing a tray while the kettle was coming to the boil. Eventually, she led the way to the living room, carrying the tray; the mugs I had used earlier were replaced by bone-china cups and saucers.

“The Chief Constable was involved, you know. Andrew had to resign, of course, but they couldn’t put the husband in front of a court without the press getting hold of the scandal. He worked on the oil rigs, so he divorced his wife and moved to Norway, sensible man. The police would have got him if he had stayed for beating up one of their own. I agreed to take a remorseful Andrew back if we moved here. At that stage, there was still some love left, and he set out to charm me. Even the Chief told me what a lovely man Andrew is when he’s sober; everybody excuses his behaviour because of his addiction to alcohol.”

“My father died of alcoholism, and I don’t believe that,” I told her. “They say that a hypnotist can’t make you do something that is against your conscience. I think alcohol is like that. My father was weak, and the drink made him weaker. If Andrew is a nasty drunk, it’s because he’s nasty but can hide it when he’s sober.” I think that is the first time I had revealed my true feelings about the man who sired me. “Oh, Fred dear, the last thing I wanted was to bring back bad memories for you.” Less than an hour ago, I had been wallowing in self-pity; now this amazing woman, with so much more to contend with than I ever did, was apologising for upsetting me. I felt about an inch tall.

“Right!” she said, standing up, determinedly. “It’s too nice day to be stuck indoors drinking tea. Will you show me those flowers that are going to earn you a PhD?” I had not eaten since dinner the night before, but I ignored the rebellious rumbling of my tummy; I think Mary sensed something, because she took a casserole from the freezer, and we left it in the cottage to defrost while we rambled across the moor. It was such an interesting and informative day that I almost forgot my hunger. Mary knew a great deal about the plants that flourish on the moor so her comments on my research were genuinely helpful. Most of the time, however, she talked about her life and her husband.

Together with his older brother, James, and the doctor’s daughter Margaret – Mags – they had been a foursome since childhood. Both boys set their sights on marrying Mags, and it was only after she chose James that Andrew even noticed that Mary existed in her own right. Andrew had never got on with his son, Jamie, who went backpacking instead of entering police college as his father demanded. When he reached Australia, he stopped, eventually meeting a girl with whom he now had four children. Mary has been to visit a few times, but she and her daughter-in-law don’t get on. “Jamie still wants to protect me, and I think she gets a bit jealous of the attention I get.”

By the time we got back to the cottage, I was troubled because I could think of nothing to say or do for Mary. I sat at the kitchen table while she put the casserole in the oven and peeled potatoes. She was chattering on about not needing green vegetables because the stew was full of root veg, but I tuned her out. I was concerned for her future, so I went over in my mind everything she had said, looking for a clue. There was something about the way she had dismissed Jamie’s wife that raised a red flag. It was only then I remembered that she had not once mentioned her daughter, Flora.

We talked about flowers while we ate, and I waited until we were settled in the lounge with coffee, before I raised the subject. Mary went quiet for a moment, and I sensed an even deeper perturbation than she had shown all day. “Not today, Fred dear,” she sighed. “I’ve bored you with my troubles, but I noticed this morning that you weren’t your usual, cheerful self. Tell your Auntie Mary everything.” Sensing that she had closed me out of her innermost thoughts, I gave her an account of my thoughts as I drove home that morning, trying to make it sound funny. She was not to be fooled so easily.

“The only thing your friends are guilty of is taking you for granted and that’s as much your fault as theirs. Anne told me the story of the extinct flower you found. When I asked, you proudly showed me a photograph, but I remember what you said: ‘It was pure dumb luck; anyone could have stumbled on it,’ What you didn’t mention was that there were only a handful of people in Scotland who could have recognised what they had stumbled on. Anne told me that she embarrassed you in front of your friends by calling you a liar. She even admitted that she might have walked past it not believing her own eyes.

“Then there is the epic tale of your arrival here. Your side of the story is that nothing out of the ordinary happened. Dave’s tale is very different. He is stranded with a flock of sheep when a young man appears out of the darkness. Instead of commiserating and walking on, this fellow fixed the problem. When Dave suggested that a brief holiday might help to give the man perspective, he accepted with a shrug, simply pointing out that he only had the clothes he was wearing. It was only later that he disclosed that his wallet and phone were still on his bedside table. All he possessed were two ten-pound notes, tightly rolled in novelty watch fobs.”

“I still have them, you know. Dave put me on the payroll.” She grabbed the tray, chasing me into the kitchen to make more coffee. “Getting past the folklore, we come to the essence of Fred Robinson. When his best friend gets into trouble with his business, his mum asks Fred to help, knowing that he won’t rest until he has done something. When you mentioned the problem to Dave, he willingly used his expertise to help, payment in part for all you have done for him.

“What you’re doing for Robinson’s stretches the credulity of even your closest friends. After years of abuse at the hands of your uncle you not only listen to his proposals but agree to help save the company which has been his obsession throughout his life. I still can’t understand why you are willing to be saddled with a firm that has lost its place in the modern world. I know nothing about engineering, but I know people; Dave thinks that you are the only possible salvation for Robinson’s. Richard Douglas is neither a fool nor a philanthropist, and he has bought shares in the company.”

“So why do I feel so miserable, Mummy dearest?” I tried to make light of what was a serious enquiry. “You need something to do. The sheep are well settled and mainly need to be left alone. In fact, it would be good for Dave to get out on the hill while things are quiet, since you’ll both be needed for lambing, or earlier if it’s a hard winter. You’re waiting for reports from Dave and your old boss before you can do much for Robinson’s. I know you’re aiming for the AGM to explode your bomb, but do you really need to wait another month?”