out a bottle of water from her handbag, pop something in her mouth and tip her head back as she swigged down the water. Mags idly flicked through the local newspaper that was in front of her.
Christine arrived with the coffee and sat down.
‘You okay, Chris? Saw you popping pills just now.’
‘Oh, just a bit of a headache, good old Nurofen,’ she said, patting her handbag as she placed it down beside her. ‘Anyway, here’s the coffee. I don’t hold out much hope for it though.’
Mags delved into her capacious basket and brought out a foil package and started to open it.
‘You’re not going to eat your brownies in here, are you?’ Christine whispered.
‘I sure am. There’s no way those scones are fresh, they look as tired as the fruit cake.’ Mags handed her cousin a square of brownie.
Christine looked around and took a surreptitious bite.
‘Mmm, gorgeous. What’s in these ones?’
‘Cardamom. Good aren’t they? I know you like the clove ones but they’re too Christmassy for June.’ Mags flicked open the property section in The Forfar Dispatch on the table as she slurped her coffee.
Christine took out her Ordnance Survey map and unfolded it. ‘What was that place you said had a good pub for lunch?’
‘The Drovers Inn in Memus, it’s meant to have great food and…’ Mags stared at the paper more closely. ‘Bloody hell, look at this,’ she said, pointing to a photo. ‘The Old Steading, by Tannadice, one bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchenette. Offers over ninety thousand.’ She looked up at Christine. ‘Pretty cheap isn’t it? Imagine the equivalent size in Edinburgh, it’d be three times that!’
Christine was staring at the photo of the house.
Mags sat up in her seat and beamed. ‘Let’s go and see it after we’ve been to the cemetery.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Doug’s family used to own it! His parents bought it as a holiday cottage, to get away from their surgeries and patients in Aberdeen. In fact, Doug and I used to go there from Dundee when he could borrow his flatmate’s car.’ She smirked. ‘Scene of many a dirty weekend.’ Mags tilted her head back and chuckled. ‘God, Chris, not seen you bite your nails for ages.’
‘I know, sorry, disgusting habit.’ Christine stood up. ‘Let’s get some fresh air, it’s too stuffy in here.’
Mags coughed loudly as she tore the page out of the paper and slipped it into her basket.
‘You can’t do that,’ Christine hissed.
Mags ignored her and headed for the door. ‘Nothing to do with being stuffy,’ she whispered, ‘it’s the pot I put in the brownies working its magic already!’
Christine glared at her cousin.
‘God, woman. Chill! I was joking.’ Mags laughed. ‘You take life way too seriously!’
Ten minutes later they turned off the main road at a sign that read Tannadice.
‘How will we know where the graveyard is, Mags?’
‘If we blink we’ll be through the village, can’t be that hard. There’s the church, let’s park there.’
Mags edged into a space and switched off the engine.
‘Did you have time to Google it?’ asked Christine.
‘Yes, this building’s from 1846 but there’s been a church here for centuries so there’ll be old graves too.’
They got out and crossed over the road towards the church.
‘Not exactly buzzing, is it?’ Mags said, looking down the deserted road.
‘It would’ve been so different in Elizabeth Barrie’s day,’ Christine said, pushing open the gate to the graveyard.
Yew trees lined the wall along one side of the pathway. When they came to the church, they stood looking south towards a large grassy area of gravestones, many sloping forwards, bent with age.
‘Not too crowded is it?’ said Mags.
‘Well, no, I suppose not, but it’s a huge graveyard for such a tiny village.’
‘It would’ve served all the surrounding area, the parish is probably enormous,’ said Mags, leaning down to inspect a headstone.
‘Let’s split up to look for any
Christine arrived with the coffee and sat down.
‘You okay, Chris? Saw you popping pills just now.’
‘Oh, just a bit of a headache, good old Nurofen,’ she said, patting her handbag as she placed it down beside her. ‘Anyway, here’s the coffee. I don’t hold out much hope for it though.’
Mags delved into her capacious basket and brought out a foil package and started to open it.
‘You’re not going to eat your brownies in here, are you?’ Christine whispered.
‘I sure am. There’s no way those scones are fresh, they look as tired as the fruit cake.’ Mags handed her cousin a square of brownie.
Christine looked around and took a surreptitious bite.
‘Mmm, gorgeous. What’s in these ones?’
‘Cardamom. Good aren’t they? I know you like the clove ones but they’re too Christmassy for June.’ Mags flicked open the property section in The Forfar Dispatch on the table as she slurped her coffee.
Christine took out her Ordnance Survey map and unfolded it. ‘What was that place you said had a good pub for lunch?’
‘The Drovers Inn in Memus, it’s meant to have great food and…’ Mags stared at the paper more closely. ‘Bloody hell, look at this,’ she said, pointing to a photo. ‘The Old Steading, by Tannadice, one bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchenette. Offers over ninety thousand.’ She looked up at Christine. ‘Pretty cheap isn’t it? Imagine the equivalent size in Edinburgh, it’d be three times that!’
Christine was staring at the photo of the house.
Mags sat up in her seat and beamed. ‘Let’s go and see it after we’ve been to the cemetery.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Doug’s family used to own it! His parents bought it as a holiday cottage, to get away from their surgeries and patients in Aberdeen. In fact, Doug and I used to go there from Dundee when he could borrow his flatmate’s car.’ She smirked. ‘Scene of many a dirty weekend.’ Mags tilted her head back and chuckled. ‘God, Chris, not seen you bite your nails for ages.’
‘I know, sorry, disgusting habit.’ Christine stood up. ‘Let’s get some fresh air, it’s too stuffy in here.’
Mags coughed loudly as she tore the page out of the paper and slipped it into her basket.
‘You can’t do that,’ Christine hissed.
Mags ignored her and headed for the door. ‘Nothing to do with being stuffy,’ she whispered, ‘it’s the pot I put in the brownies working its magic already!’
Christine glared at her cousin.
‘God, woman. Chill! I was joking.’ Mags laughed. ‘You take life way too seriously!’
Ten minutes later they turned off the main road at a sign that read Tannadice.
‘How will we know where the graveyard is, Mags?’
‘If we blink we’ll be through the village, can’t be that hard. There’s the church, let’s park there.’
Mags edged into a space and switched off the engine.
‘Did you have time to Google it?’ asked Christine.
‘Yes, this building’s from 1846 but there’s been a church here for centuries so there’ll be old graves too.’
They got out and crossed over the road towards the church.
‘Not exactly buzzing, is it?’ Mags said, looking down the deserted road.
‘It would’ve been so different in Elizabeth Barrie’s day,’ Christine said, pushing open the gate to the graveyard.
Yew trees lined the wall along one side of the pathway. When they came to the church, they stood looking south towards a large grassy area of gravestones, many sloping forwards, bent with age.
‘Not too crowded is it?’ said Mags.
‘Well, no, I suppose not, but it’s a huge graveyard for such a tiny village.’
‘It would’ve served all the surrounding area, the parish is probably enormous,’ said Mags, leaning down to inspect a headstone.
‘Let’s split up to look for any
Similar Books
