Lightly Poached Page 16

  ‘An’ did everybody enjoy the roup, then?’ he enquired.

  ‘I enjoyed it fine,’ replied Behag. ‘It was as good as a ceilidh.’

  ‘I enjoyed it too,’ I told him. ‘The people around me kept me pretty well entertained and the auctioneer was quite amusing too.’

  ‘That auctioneer!’ burst out Angy. ‘I couldn’t get over him. God! the way he could keep on speakin’ without takin’ a breath an’ sayin’ the same thing over and over again like a bloody corncake. You’d think he’d wear a hole in his tongue.’

  ‘I can tell you why he can do that,’ Tearlaich volunteered.

  ‘Did you know him then?’ queried Angy.

  ‘I didn’t know him but my uncle worked for this auctioneer’s father at one time and I mind my uncle saying how the old man used to breed parrots. He said he used to feed the young birds on a porridge made of maize and oatmeal and they turned out such good talkers he started feeding his children on the same stuff. There’s not a one of them that’s stopped talking since.’

  ‘Is that true?’ asked Behag.

  ‘True as I’m here,’ affirmed Tearlaich. ‘I know because a fellow was with me during the war and he’d married one of the auctioneer’s sisters. He said if he hadn’t been called up he would have volunteered because he needed to get away from home for some peace and quiet.’

  We took our time on the journey home, calling in to take a strupach once again with Tearlaich’s friendly cook and by the time we reached the ferry the rain had ceased and a full moon spread light over the dark water. I flashed ‘Joanna’s’ headlights to indicate we wished to cross.

  ‘It’s slow enough comin’,’ complained Angy after we had waited nearly half an hour. He got out of the car and wandered down the pier. A moment or two later he was back and talking to us through the window. ‘I’m seein’ a great pile of stuff here waitin’ to go across on the ferry,’ he informed us in a puzzled voice. ‘They’re part covered with a tarpaulin but they’re pretty wet all the same.’

  ‘It’s queer they should be here this time of night,’ said Tearlaich. ‘What sort of things are they?’

  ‘There’s a mattress,’ began Angy with commendably restrained glee. ‘An’ some chairs with a rug on them an’ somethin’ else pretty big.’

  ‘And that could be a piano?’ I questioned with mounting dismay.

  ‘It could well be,’ admitted Angy.

  ‘Oh God! I’d best go and see what went wrong,’ muttered Tearlaich. struggling out of the car and hurrying down the pier. Behag and I followed.

  ‘That’s the way of it,’ he confirmed when he and Angy had made a more thorough inspection. ‘There’s a big crate and one or two other things that’s not ours but the rest is what we bought ourselves.’ He scratched his head. ‘That man swore to me …’

  I cut him short. ‘Does that mean it will have to stay there out in the open all night?’ I demanded.

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ responded Tearlaich. The ferry was now nosing into the pier. ‘I’ll go and see what they have to say.’ He threw the words over his shoulder as he went to meet it. Behag and I went back to the car and waited while Tearlaich, Angy and the two ferrymen lifted the tarpaulin. There seemed to be explanations interspersed with protests, arguments and gestures but eventually the tarpaulin was thrown off and the four men, helped now by two youths who had suddenly appeared out of the darkness, carried the goods down the pier and loaded them on the ferry. At last I was able to drive ‘Joanna’ aboard.

  ‘There was a message from the lorry man,’ Tearlaich disclosed. ‘Seemingly just after we’d booked him for our lot he had another customer wanting something delivered here urgent tonight so he rushed off to the sale room, loaded up our stuff and brought the whole lot together to save himself another journey. He couldn’t get across the ferry because the tide was out so he had to leave it here.’

  ‘I knew there’d be a hitch,’ exulted Angy. ‘All the same,’ he added, ‘it’s funny he got past without us seein’ him.’

  ‘Unless it was while we was takin’ our tea,’ suggested Behag and we decided that is when it must have been.

  ‘What’s going to happen to the stuff when we get it across?’ I asked.

  ‘It can stay in the waiting room,’ Tearlaich replied. ‘It’s all right, I’ve arranged all that.’

  It was much too nice a night to waste it on anger or recrimination even if there had been anyone to be angry with. The surrounding hill peaks were washed with moonlight and tiny drifts of tinselled cloud sailed across the sky. It was so calm that one could see the wash of the ferry like a white arc across the water. Behag and I got out of the car.

  ‘I’ll tell you what we should do,’ said Tearlaich. ‘We should get Miss Peckwitt to give us a tune on her piano.’

  ‘Not here,’ I demurred but I knew, and I suspected Tearlaich guessed, how quickly I should comply. I was longing to finger those piano keys.

  ‘Come on!’ he urged and calling to Angy bade him drag up the long wooden crate which had come along with our own goods to provide me with a seat.

  I played first ‘Main’s Wedding’ and Tearlach and Angy started to sing with gusty enthusiasm. When I changed to a reel they pulled Behag into a ‘Dashing White Sergeant’ and the two youths set each other before leaping into their versions of a Highland Fling. It was a wonderful experience, playing the piano on the open water while the dancers swirled in the moonlight and I enjoyed it so much that I did not know the ferry had cocked a snoot at the island pier and had made three wide circles so as not to berth until the dancers paused for breath. I stopped playing and got back into ‘Joanna’ ready to drive her ashore.

  ‘I could have listened all night,’ approved one of the ferrymen as I passed him. ‘I fairly enjoyed that.’ Parking ‘Joanna’ I went to stand beside Behag and watch the unloading of the goods. There came the sound of an engine approaching and a dusty van drove halfway down the pier. Three men alighted from it.

  ‘Is it the corpse you’re wantin’?’ one of the ferrymen called to them.

  ‘Aye, that’s what we’re here for,’ they confirmed.

  ‘What a time to come for a corpse,’ I murmured to Behag. ‘I suppose that means the ferry will have to go over and collect it for them?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she assented.

  Tearlaich came to stand beside us and I repeated my question to him. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Well, y’see, Miss Peckwitt, it’s like this.’ He rubbed a self-conscious hand over his chin and with horrid suspicion I followed his glance to where the long wooden crate waited on the otherwise empty ferry.

  ‘Tearlaich!’ I almost choked. ‘You surely didn’t …?’

  ‘I reckon I’d best go and give them a hand,’ he said and hurried to join Angy and the three men from the van. I watched, horrified, as they lifted my erstwhile piano stool, carried it off the ferry, past us and up the pier where, not ungently, they loaded it into the waiting van. ‘Oh God!’ I whimpered and turned to Behag, intent on denouncing both Tearlaich and Angy but seeing her anxious expression I went silently back to the car. She slipped in beside me and I believe had I been able to decide at that moment whether I was more angry than shocked I should have driven off and left the two men to find their own way back to Bruach. As it was I waited until they were in their seats.

  ‘Did you know that was a coffin you got me to sit on?’ I taxed them.

  ‘Surely we did,’ admitted Tearlaich. ‘But it wouldn’t have given way. It was in a good strong box.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have let her do it,’ Behag rebuked them. ‘Women doesn’t take to corpses the same as men. You’ve upset her.’

  ‘She’s easy upset then,’ Tearlaich returned impenitently, but he subsided temporarily and we drove for perhaps two miles before he spoke again. ‘I’ll have a bit of money to give back to you for the lorry,’ he said in an attempt at appeasement. ‘Seein’ we shared the load with a corpse it’s goin’ to work out a good bit cheaper for us.’ />
  ‘Oh, shut up about corpses!’ I snapped at him.

  I heard the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to hear it,’ he defended himself.

  The carrier delivered my piano and chairs in the late afternoon of the following day, the unpredecentedly quick delivery, so the carrier informed me, being due to the complaints of prospective passengers that they could not get into the ferry waiting room.

  ‘I’ll have to go and ask for some help to unload it,’ I observed.

  ‘Ach, there’s plenty on the way,’ he replied. ‘They’re expectin’ you to have a good ceilidh tonight so they’ll get finished before they come down.’

  ‘What about you?’ I asked.

  ‘Me? I’m waitin’ on the ceilidh too.’ He took a quick strupach before going to ‘look up the lads,’ leaving the piano on the lorry parked in front of the cottage. It was about nine and quite dark before anyone arrived to unload and when I went outside with a lantern it seemed to me as if every able-bodied man, woman and child in the village had come to help, impede, encourage or advise. However, the piano defied all attempts to manœuvre it into my cottage.

  ‘You’ll need to higher this door or move one of the stairs,’ Erchy reported.

  ‘Then it will just have to go into the barn,’ I said sadly, thinking how cold I and my piano were going to be together.

  My decision was greeted by something like a cheer. ‘All the better,’ they assured me. ‘We can have a better ceilidh in there than in the cottage.’

  ‘I’m afraid the mice will be making their own ceilidh house in it,’ I told them.

  ‘An’ there’s plenty of room for them too inside it, I’m thinkin’,’ replied Erchy insensitively.

  Once it was in position in the barn about six pairs of hands were punching at the keys and an equal number of feet trying to thump the pedals.

  ‘Give us a tune,’ they demanded and to save my piano from complete destruction I agreed immediately. Erchy brought a chair over from the house. ‘Seein’ you’ll be here for the rest of the night you may as well be comfortable,’ he told me. I realised the ceilidh had begun. The roadman brought along his melodeon; the postman brought his mouth-organ. The young people danced and the elderly watched and gossiped. The barn grew warm and the piano seemed to respond to the exuberance of the dancers, for after an hour’s playing I detected no dumb notes and the keys were yielding to the touch of my fingers.

  ‘It’s a lovely noise your piano’s makin’,’ someone complimented me enthusiastically at one juncture and when I left the barn to go and supervise the making of tea Hector came in to tell me he thought he’d as soon listen to the piano as to the bagpipes which was praise indeed. By half past four many of the older folk had left save for a few who were still bunched together savouring their tea and gossiping; the young were still cavorting around the barn. I finished playing and slewed round in my chair. Behag was coming towards me with yet another cup of tea. She looked at me quizzically. ‘You’re tired,’ she accused as if she had detected a secret.

  The Bruachites considered it discourteous to admit to feeling tired whilst they were in company and managed to give the impression of being fresh and alert until they quite literally keeled over with exhaustion. I was well aware of my own infringement of protocol when I agreed ruefully that I was very tired indeed. It had been a long and heavy day following directly upon the excitement of the journey and I was aching for my bed.

  Behag turned to Janet. ‘I’m thinkin’ it’s time we was away to our beds. Miss Peckwitt says she’s tired.’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed,’ agreed Janet with instant sympathy. She raised her voice. ‘Come away home now, everybody. We’re keepin’ Miss Peckwitt from her bed.’

  The dancers turned to me with looks of consternation. ‘She cannot be tired,’ Tearlaich denied. ‘She’s done nothing but sit and play all evening.’

  ‘I am,’ I insisted.

  ‘Go to your bed then!’ commanded Erchy with a cheeky glint in his eye. ‘We’ll carry on by ourselves. We still have the melodeon.’

  ‘Here, no indeed.’ said Janet, shocked by his rudeness.

  ‘One more dance, then!’ shouted the postman, tucking his mouth-organ into his pocket and pulling me into me centre of the dance floor.

  ‘Last dance!’ called Erchy authoritatively. ‘Eightsome reel, an’ keep it goin’ till you drop!’ he instructed the roadman. The melodeon played on until at last the roadman sat back, his arms dropping at his sides, his head shaking a tired refusal to commands to ‘carry on’.

  There was a procession to the cottage to retrieve coats and gumboots and then everyone returned to join hands for ‘Auld Lang Syne’. I never knew until then that ‘Auld Lang Syne’ had so many verses but at last it was over and, unhooking the lantern from the rafter, I followed my friends outside.

  ‘Good night!’ I called again and again in response to their receding farewells and, thankful to see the very last guest depart, I secured the gate against trespassing cattle. My mind was already so obsessed with the desire for sleep that there was difficulty in convincing myself of the chores I must attend to before I could give in. I banked up the fire; filled the kettle; wound the alarm clock; put out the kitchen lamp. It was only eight steps now to my bedroom where I could drop my clothes, turn out the lamp and tumble into the blessed sanctuary of my bed.

  As I opened the bedroom door I discovered that the last of my guests had not gone. Indeed the last of my guests was wrapped in my eiderdown fast asleep on my bed. I was so cross at being thwarted that the tears came into my eyes.

  ‘Get out of my bed!’ I snapped.

  The muffled voice of Tearlaich came from the bundle. ‘Ach, I was tired.’

  ‘I’m tired too,’ I replied, ‘and I want to go to bed.’

  ‘So do I, my darlin’.’ The response was cheerful. ‘I’ve been wantin’ to all evening. Come and cuddle beside me.’

  He lifted the eiderdown invitingly and revealed lying beside him a bottle of whisky pushed into one of his boots. The other boot was stili on his foot. I had heard of champagne being drank out of a lady’s slipper but whisky out of a boot seemed too preposterous even for Tearlaich. He started muttering in Gaelic and though I could not decide what he was saying his tone sounded distinctly seductive. I gave him a push.

  ‘Everyone else is away home to their beds and you must go too,’ I shouted into his ear. ‘Your mother will wonder what on earth’s happened to you.’ It wasn’t true, of course. Hospitality in Bruach was such that mothers did not have to wonder where their sons spent the night.

  ‘I’m hellish drunk,’ admitted Tearlaich, rolling over.

  ‘I know you are and you’ll be downright ashamed of yourself tomorrow. You won’t dare to look me in the face for a week.’ That would certainly be true. I put down the alarm clock and went downstairs to make him a cup of black coffee and while I was about it I opened the door to listen for signs that some of his friends might still be within hailing distance. There was only a soft sweep of wind and a scattering of stars throwing a faint shimmer over the sea. I cupped my hands to my mouth and yelled as loudly as I could hoping that somewhere some of my erstwhile guests would hear me and come to my aid. No response broke the silence of the night.

  I took the coffee upstairs and persuaded Tearlaich to sit up. Shaking his head and squinting through his tousled hair like a bemused calf he took up the cup and after drinking about half of it started to ramble jerkily about love and how good it would be for me but as his eyes were screwed tight shut the whole time it was plain he had no idea whom he was addressing. The cup was tilting dangerously and to save my eiderdown I took it from him whereupon he grabbed the whisky bottle, drained it and settled down to sleep again.

  I gave up, resolving to leave him there and make up the bed in the spare room for myself but as I was taking the blankets from the chest I heard voices outside and the kitchen door was flung open. Someone was bumping about in the dark. I was halfway
down the stairs when Erchy’s voice called:

  ‘Have you seen that bugger Tearlaich? We’ve lost him.’

  ‘He’s upstairs in my bed,’ I called testily. ‘And I hope you’ll be able to drag him out of it. He’s a damn nuisance.’

  I lit the way upstairs and Erchy, assisted by the roadman, pulled the protesting Tearlaich off the bed and put on his boot. Leaving me with the empty whisky bottle as a memento they hauled him down the stairs and outside.

  ‘That’s no’ a nice thing to do at all, man,’ Erchy chided as they struggled to get him through the gate.

  The reproof sobered Tearlaich momentarily. ‘What wasn’t?’ he asked stupidly.

  ‘To take a woman’s bed an’ not let her into it,’ retorted Erchy.

  ‘I would have let her into it,’ objected Tearlaich defensively. ‘I’d have made it cosy for her.’

  ‘Ach, if folks behave like that Miss Peckwitt will be packing her bags an’ goin’ back to where she came from,’ Erchy told him.

  Tearlaich’s dragging feet dug into the ground, halting his supporters. He struggled round to face me.

  ‘You’ll not go back to that backwards place, Miss Peckwitt?’ he pleaded apologetically.

  ‘To what backwards place?’ I asked, smiling despite myself.

  ‘England,’ replied Tearlaich.

  I laughed outright then. ‘Oh, no,’ I assured him. ‘I’m not thinking of doing that for a long time.’

  ‘I wouldn’t …’ began Tearlaich but Erchy cut in with ‘Ach, come on, man! I’m wantin’ my bed.’ He and the roadman shouldered Tearlaich between them and as their footsteps merged into a rhythm Tearlaich broke into a song. I went back indoors, intent again on the prospect of bed and the few hours’ sleep I hoped would chase some of the weariness from my limbs. As my hand was on the bedroom door my new alarm clock, set for half past seven, made me jump with its raucous ringing.