Chapter 8: Collateral Damage

The morning was flat; since Thursday when I’d found out about the pills being fed to my daughter, we had been travelling through white-water rapids culminating yesterday in the decision to report Emer’s father to the police. Now we were in quiet water with nothing to do but wait. Angus McBride, our Scottish solicitor, had warned us that it could be weeks before the police acted. The events were thirty years in the past and the police would have to study the case very closely before they acted.

Dad was working in the garden before the day became too warm while Aine was helping Rachel to prepare breakfast, when Emer and I came through to the kitchen. Although I recognised how much harder it was for my wife, I had some inkling of how she must be feeling. For most of her life she believed her father was telling the truth when he said her brother was dead. I grew up knowing nothing of my own father only to discover that he was alive, living within a few miles of my home and that he had a second family. She was actively lied to while I was simply kept in ignorance.

I went out to join him now in the garden as he trimmed the edges of the grass.

“I’m just waiting for the dew to dry off before I mow the lawn. In this weather I like to get the heavy work done before it gets too hot. That way I can enjoy lazing about in the afternoon, dead heading the occasional rose if I get bored.”

I’m pretty sure this was mock modesty since the garden looked perfect to my untutored eye. He divorced my mother when I was about four and from then until she died fourteen years ago, I pictured him at an extreme of heroism or villainy – most often a super-baddy. Then I found the record of the divorce and had to reimagine the man who gave me life; I pictured him as a grey, anonymous male creature with no discernible features. Now I was standing beside a real person with a real – and very vibrant – personality.

I like this balding, slightly chubby man that I met for the first time a couple of days ago. I like his warmth, and I like him for being the father of James and Becky, my half-siblings, but I’m still struggling to relate him to the image of my Dad. I know that I should clear out the old preconceptions and begin with the page clean but old expectations keep bubbling up from deep in my mind. It’s easy to like the man, now quietly swearing at his lawn mower, but he’s not the man I’ve loved and hated for almost forty years. I hope I’ll come to love him, but I don’t at the moment.

Rachel called us in for breakfast and I considered her as we sat round the table. Thirty years ago, I’d have seen her as a home-breaker, if I’d known of her existence. Now she is a friendly, kindly older lady who is clearly essential to my father’s happiness. I loved my mother, but I can see that Rachel is better for Dad than Mum could ever have been. I already feel that James and Becky are family and this woman laughing with my wife and daughter is responsible for raising my brother and sister. There certainly isn’t the same conflict of feelings about Rachel that are colouring my view of Dad.

Emer appears to be relaxed in our company; it was wise of her to insist that we come here last night. The man she met yesterday is just as much of a stranger to her as Dad is to me. It was her brother Connla who died when he was ten and it must be difficult to find Eric, a mature adult, filling her brother’s place. In a very real sense, Connla is still dead and buried and Emer will have to learn all over again to love this new man. Whether she relied on instinct or reasoning, it was smart of her to see that the relationship that will grow between the siblings must be rooted in the two families.

Emer will reach out to her brother from a base provided by Aine and me while Eric will be supported by Elaine and his children. I still don’t know their names and I can’t even remember if it’s two boys and a girl or two girls and a boy. In a way, it’s the obverse of the relationship between me and Dad. I like him but don’t yet love him; Eric and Emer love each other but haven’t had a chance to develop friendship. It’s a good sign, I think, that we all seem comfortable with each other.

Aine pulled my sleeve, and I became aware that they were all smiling indulgently at me. I’m spending too much time withdrawn into myself.

“He doesn’t just sit pondering, Mum,” she said, obviously defending me from some attack I had been unaware of. “A week ago, he promised to stop grandfather from hurting people and he has done it. Uncle James told him it was impossible, but he’s showed all of you!”

“It’s not really like that, Aine,” her mother replied. Then she stopped and looked at me with growing surprise. “Actually, you know, it is just like that. In less than a week he’s uncovered secrets that have been hidden for thirty years.” She leaned across and wrapped me in a massive hug.

“And he found time to discover his father, brother and sister,” Rachel added, giving me a loving smile.

When Emer released me, I went out and cut the grass.

When I went back to the kitchen after I finished the lawn, it was clear that Aine had explained about the help we had from Danu in tracking down James. I was surprised by the interest shown by Dad and Rachel; I’ve always considered Lincolnshire folk particularly sceptical. They had absorbed some of the character of their neighbours during their years on Skye, was my first thought, but then I remembered my sister, their daughter Ruth, who had left them to join the cult led by Cu Chulainn. It must sometimes feel to them that she was spirited away from them under the spell of a wicked fairy – or a malevolent ancient goddess.

I had time to wonder if the arrest of the evil old man would eventually release Ruth from thrall, before my phone rang. The girl introduced herself as Alison Bruce, assistant to Mr McBride who had asked her to call us at once. This morning, the police raided Pabay arresting Humphrey Goldsmith and around forty others on the island and in a storage area on the main island of Skye.

“I have to warn you, Mr Cuthbert, that Police Scotland will probably contact you about the whereabouts of Albert Green. Our clients are your wife and her brother, and I don’t think client privilege will extend to you. I won’t say anything to the police until I’ve checked with Mr McBride.”

“Could you recommend a solicitor for me and Albert Green, please?”

She said she’d call me back on that and we were exchanging final courtesies when I had a thought:

“Was there a Claude or Maude somebody arrested this morning?”

There was a rustling of paper before she told me that Claude Pennyfeather had indeed been detained in the raid.

I felt like Doctor Watson, and I was badly in need of a Sherlock Holmes to explain the complexities that were piling up. Albert Green – Bert to his friends – was a full partner with Humphrey from the time they arrived in Kyle so many years ago; he knew of the cannabis farm in the greenhouse and that it was the main source of income for Sgathach and her entourage; he knew or suspected that the two children were not well-treated by their parents. Up to that point he was as guilty as Humphrey.

He took charge of the children when they were little more than babies, caring for them until, when Connla reached ten years old, the boy’s father took an interest in his son. He rescued the boy once he realised what was being done to him; he took the role of protector once Emer reached eighteen and was living away from her father; he gave me the information that I used to bring Humphrey into police custody. To that extent Bert was on the side of the angels.

He did nothing to save my wife in the ten years between leaving Pabay with her brother and turning up in Louth. I’m still struggling with that. Is he to blame for being a weak person? I don’t know, so I’m going to leave the decision to someone else: perhaps I should shrug my shoulders and leave everything to the police, but they may cut short the investigation in view of the time that has elapsed. Ultimately, the legal system is adversarial, so the best solution is for me to pay for a lawyer to defend him. I know very few of the facts, but my guess is that Maude is a similar mixture of good and evil so I will add him to the lawyer’s burden.

My phone rang again.

“Hi, Ali said you need an ambulance chaser,” was my first introduction to Hamish Smith, solicitor.

“That’s Ms Alison Bruce star pupil of old McBride. She said it’s something to do with Cu Chulainn, as he calls himself, but with my luck all I’ll get to do is hold the jackets. So, what’s it about?”

“You’ll be at the heart of the action Mr Smith.”

“Would you mind calling me Hamish? Mr Smith is a terrible name for a God-fearing Scottish lawyer. Do you think I should hyphenate it?”

After that we got down to business at which Hamish proved to be a master. He understood the problems and asked very few supplementary questions. When I concluded my briefing, he barely paused before giving his recommendations.

“I’ll contact the Filth, as we lawyers call the Police. That’ll keep your nose clean of any charge that you’re concealing a criminal, namely Albert Green. I’d like to meet you at Whitby when I introduce myself to my client. I’ll pop in to see Ali first – I always enjoy that. She’s got terrific gams – that’s lawyer-speak for legs!”

Half an hour later Emer and I were driving north again. Aine opted to stay with her grandparents. She explained:

“I know it’s not your fault and you’ll make it up to me when you can, but staying here will be like the holiday we’re not going to have before I go back to school on Monday.”

That’s what she said, and I still don’t know whether she was understanding, reminding me of a promise broken or ensuring that she’d benefit from the guilt she was laying on me. I drove away thinking it was time Danu did a bit more to pull her weight in this business. Being a man is not easy at the best of times. Emer was openly amused by the power our daughter held over me and we argued in a friendly fashion for the rest of the journey about the hold she herself had over me.

“I’m just relieved that you love me, otherwise my life would be a misery,” I said, thinking I had the last word.

“I’m glad you understand that I do things for your own good.”

In some ways we were like a couple on an early date exploring the developing relationship. That we were doing so after almost fourteen years of marriage was a measure of how far we had allowed ourselves to drift apart. I would normally have been agonising over where we had gone wrong, but today I was concerned solely with the future. I was cautiously optimistic despite the serious obstacles in our path – and these were only the ones I know about!

“Why are you smiling?” Emer asked at one point.

“I’ve decided I hate bland. You may mock me for saying so but I enjoyed the passionate fight almost as much as the passionate love making.”

“I’m up for either – or both – but I couldn’t handle it if you went back to ignoring me.”

I almost opened up there and then, but I reasoned that keeping secrets from my wife was not the same as ignoring her, so I kept my mouth shut. Instead of confessing, I changed the topic to our new-found families and how we should spend the summer cementing the growing friendships that had sprung into being this week. It was a few hours short of a week since Aine had precipitated the crisis by handing me the bottle of pills.

A phone call from Mr McBride returned our focus to the work that remained to be done. He had nothing material to add to what Alison Bruce had told us earlier, confirming her opinion that he couldn’t represent Bert and Maude.

“Don’t be put off by young Smith’s flippancy. He’s got the makings of a first-class lawyer and he plays golf off scratch; he’ll settle down once he finishes with rugby.”

We picked up Bert at the caravan and waited for ‘Young Smith’ at the pub which was the nearest venue with a post code to enter in satnav. He climbed out of a rather battered Ford and approached us with a huge grin.

“You’re Mr and Mrs Cuthbert and Mr Green,” he boomed. “I’m never wrong in judging folk from their voices on the phone.”

Considering that a cold breeze had driven inside everyone but the three of us, I wasn’t as impressed by that as I might have been. Hamish Smith is no shorter than me, but he is so muscular as to look squat. When I offered to buy him a beer, he suggested that I bring two pints since the drive had left him thirsty; he sank the first in one swallow and made inroads into the second before he spoke.

“We need to get you to a police station, Bert.” We were on first name terms by now – it is difficult to remain formal with Hamish. “They’ll release you on police bail once you’ve made a statement. We’ll discuss that before we go in.”

When he switches off the devil-may-care persona, Hamish is an impressive young man. He was happy to represent Bert but warned that he would probably be able to do nothing for Claude Pennifeather, who was now being assessed in a Glasgow hospital.

“The arresting officer doesn’t think he’ll be fit to plead. He’s by way of being a friend of mine – I’m a hooker and he’s the loose-head prop for our big rivals. He’s also a very experienced detective constable and he’s not likely to be wrong about Claude.”

He shrugged when I asked what would be done with the old man. No criminal charges would be brought and that, he implied, was the end of his interest.

“That’s not good enough, Hamish. Maude has been living on a remote island for twenty years and it doesn’t matter whether he’s in prison, a secure hospital or even a hostel with limited freedom, it will kill him. If you can’t help him, find us someone who can.”

“Social Services will have their claws into him. He’s been living under their radar for his years on the island but he’s on his way to a gulag now. You might have to take legal responsibility for him. Leave it with me for a day or two. I’ll see what I can do.”

He accepted another couple of pints from Bert and ‘just a handful’ of pork pies and several packs of crisps from Emer. He always let his clients treat him, he acknowledged, because it saved them a fortune in expenses in the long run. He asked Bert to tell him Maude’s story while he ate and drank.

Bert’s history of Maude

You must understand that I can only offer what friend Hamish would describe as hearsay evidence. Most of the story comes from Maude himself with some confirmatory details from Sgathach. I can’t argue with your detective friend, but I will say that Maude is rational for much of the time even if he is wildly eccentric.

He went to a good prep school before attending Eton. He preferred girl’s underwear, and his mother allowed him to wear knickers until he went to school. He was clever but very unhappy at school where he had to dress as a boy. He loved the holidays when his mother would have lacy knickers laid out on his bed for his return home. At that time, he dressed like a boy apart from his underwear.

As an only child, he spent much of his time alone and he was confined to the garden because of his mother’s excessive anxiety about his safety. He made the best of his existence by befriending the gardener who taught him how to grow herbs and prepare medicines from them. He added to the practical experience of the old man by reading everything that had been written about herbal medicine, ancient and modern.