A Kind of Grief by A. D. Scott Page B

husband.
    â€œWhat is it about that drawing?” Elaine asked, stunned by the price.
    â€œAbsolute nonsense, if you ask me,” Mrs. Mackenzie replied.
    Elaine had put herself deliberately between Calum’s mother and Joanne and had addressed the question to McAllister.
    He shrugged. “No idea.” Then he went out to stand under the barn eaves, light a cigarette, and ponder on the same question.
    â€œLot one hundred and seven, some oil paintings and three watercolors o’ the glens, nicely framed.” They were being sold as a job lot, as the auctioneer had earlier decided they were too hideous to fetch a decent price. The antique dealer joined in at five pounds, and Joanne put up her hand.
    â€œSeven pounds I’m bid on my right. Sir?” the auctioneer asked the dealer. He shook his head. “Seven pounds to the lady.” The hammer fell.
    â€œEight pounds.” A voice came from the back.
    â€œToo late,” said the auctioneer.
    Joanne was pleased. She at least wanted a reminder of that afternoon.
    â€œThey’re nice, those pictures.” Elaine smiled at her.
    â€œI couldn’t bear them being thrown out, seen as only worth the price of the frames.”
    â€œNext lot. Writing box, pens, and inkwell.”
    McAllister bid and won.
    Joanne said, “No more; we haven’t room in the car boot.” She then turned to Calum. “Maybe you could introduce us to Mr. Forsythe. And I’d like to meet Nurse Ogilvie.”
    â€œWhat would you be wanting to meet her for?” Mrs. Mackenzie asked.
    Calum frowned. “This is work, Mum.”
    â€œI’ll introduce myself to Mr. Forsythe.” McAllister had come back and immediately wanted to escape again. “And I’ll pay for the pictures. Coming, Calum?”
    Elaine jumped down from the bench where she had been sitting with Joanne. “Come on, Joanne, let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
    Naturally, Mrs. Mackenzie had to say what Elaine and Calum and most of the crowd knew but would not say, not to a stranger. “I heard it was on thon beam over there, right above Mr. Duncan the auctioneer’s head, that she hanged herself.”
    Joanne had had to look up the word “schadenfreude” when she first came across it in a book. Confronting an example here, in real life, made her shiver.
    â€œCome on.” Elaine tucked her arm through Joanne’s. “You and me can check the farmhouse kitchen for the nurse. There’s tea and biscuits set up over there.”
    With everyone deserting her, Mrs. Mackenzie looked lost. Poor soul, Joanne thought. She’s no idea how she comes across. But as she followed Mrs. Mackenzie’s stare and saw the woman’s look of malice fixed on the back of Elaine, her future daughter-in-law, making her way through the crowd, Joanne’s sympathy vanished. Oh dear, there’s trouble brewing there .
    Joanne and Elaine dashed across the yard to the back door leading into the kitchen. The stove had been lit, and a tea urn and pink fishy-smelling paste sandwiches were there for people to help themselves. It reminded Joanne of an after-funeral spread. And depressed her just as much.
    Elaine said, “Thanks. You handled the old witch well.”
    Joanne had no doubt to whom she was referring. “Divide and conquer.” She smiled at Elaine, seeing a pleasant young woman. She has gumption; she’ll make Calum a good wife, as long as she can cope with a mother-in-law who will never let her son have his own life . As she was thinking this, she was scanning the empty hooks where the paintings had hung. And the room itself, empty except for a trestle table where the kitchen table and chairs had been, was just that, a small farmhouse kitchen, practical but with no charm. And no life.
    An immense sense of loss overcame her. “Sorry, Elaine, I have to sit. It was a long drive up, especially in this