naething bad, Mam.’
‘No, it wasn’t about you. It was your Dad he asked to see, but it’s nothing to do with him, either. Um, did you see any strangers, men, hanging about on our track on Friday afternoon – the day you fell off your bike?
‘I didna see naebody, Mam.’
‘I just wondered, because it seems … oh, I can’t really believe it, but it seems somebody was murdered, on our track, but likely it was on Friday night, or early Saturday.’
‘Did you say murdered?’
‘Aye, that I did. I just can’t fathom …’
‘Who was murdered? Have they found the body?’
‘No, they haven’t, so they don’t know who it is, but Johnny McIntyre says they’ll likely send detectives from Aberdeen, so they’ll not be long in solving this.’ Willie fell silent, and didn’t appear to be interested in anything else she told him; about Becky’s trips to the city, about Connie’s romance, plus all the gossip that had come her way.
She left when her allotted hour was almost up, but the matron beckoned to her as she went out of the ward. ‘I wanted to congratulate you, Mrs Fowlie, on your son. He’s such a well-behaved boy, a proper angel, and always very polite. All the nurses are simply besotted by his darling curls and dark brown eyes and flashing smile. You must be very proud of him.’
On the point of telling her the plain unvarnished truth about the proper angel, his mother decided not to end his reign of glory. It would stop as soon as he was discharged from here. ‘He says he should be coming home next week sometime?’
‘Yes, hopefully on Wednesday, and we shall all miss him. He’s been a ray of sunshine in our ward.’
‘Thank you for looking after him so well,’ Emily said, sorely tempted to disillusion this stately woman about the ray of sunshine, but she turned and walked away. The farmer was only about three minutes in turning up, and she was on her way home, answering his questions about her son and making him laugh about Willie’s transformation into an angel. For the most part of their journey, however, they discussed the murder, wondering who the victim could be. Had either of them ever heard of any local person being missing? Had any strangers been seen in the area?
Willie didn’t know what to think. There couldn’t have been a murder? Not on their track? In any case, how did they know about it? His mother hadn’t told him that. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to scare him. She said no body had been found, so there must have been something else. His heart almost stopped as it occurred to him what that something could be. The blood? It must have been the blood! He hadn’t gone back to look at it, but the Daftie had put quite a lot in the pail. Yes, the boy decided, it must have been the pig’s blood, and the bobby or whoever had told him hadn’t known the difference. That was a relief, anyway. Nobody knew the truth except the old man, and he was that dottled he likely wouldn’t remember if anybody asked him. Malcie knew, as well, of course, but he wouldn’t tell.
Yet, no matter how hard he tried to assure himself of that, there still remained a modicum of doubt. For all other lies – little, white lies, mostly – that he’d told, something always tripped him up. Somebody said something, or something happened, that proved him a liar. He’d usually been punished, but not very severely. This, though, this wasn’t a white lie. It was a whopping great lie, for hadn’t he hidden evidence as well as giving a wrong description of the place the accident happened? It likely wouldn’t be one of his parents dishing out the punishment, either. It would be the Law. The Long Arm of the Law, it was called.
He would have to confess. He should confess. The thing was, had he the courage to confess? He knew he hadn’t. He would have to hope that he was never found out. He hadn’t caused an awful stir, really. Just one local bobby asking questions. It would all blow past. Of course it would.
‘No, it wasn’t about you. It was your Dad he asked to see, but it’s nothing to do with him, either. Um, did you see any strangers, men, hanging about on our track on Friday afternoon – the day you fell off your bike?
‘I didna see naebody, Mam.’
‘I just wondered, because it seems … oh, I can’t really believe it, but it seems somebody was murdered, on our track, but likely it was on Friday night, or early Saturday.’
‘Did you say murdered?’
‘Aye, that I did. I just can’t fathom …’
‘Who was murdered? Have they found the body?’
‘No, they haven’t, so they don’t know who it is, but Johnny McIntyre says they’ll likely send detectives from Aberdeen, so they’ll not be long in solving this.’ Willie fell silent, and didn’t appear to be interested in anything else she told him; about Becky’s trips to the city, about Connie’s romance, plus all the gossip that had come her way.
She left when her allotted hour was almost up, but the matron beckoned to her as she went out of the ward. ‘I wanted to congratulate you, Mrs Fowlie, on your son. He’s such a well-behaved boy, a proper angel, and always very polite. All the nurses are simply besotted by his darling curls and dark brown eyes and flashing smile. You must be very proud of him.’
On the point of telling her the plain unvarnished truth about the proper angel, his mother decided not to end his reign of glory. It would stop as soon as he was discharged from here. ‘He says he should be coming home next week sometime?’
‘Yes, hopefully on Wednesday, and we shall all miss him. He’s been a ray of sunshine in our ward.’
‘Thank you for looking after him so well,’ Emily said, sorely tempted to disillusion this stately woman about the ray of sunshine, but she turned and walked away. The farmer was only about three minutes in turning up, and she was on her way home, answering his questions about her son and making him laugh about Willie’s transformation into an angel. For the most part of their journey, however, they discussed the murder, wondering who the victim could be. Had either of them ever heard of any local person being missing? Had any strangers been seen in the area?
Willie didn’t know what to think. There couldn’t have been a murder? Not on their track? In any case, how did they know about it? His mother hadn’t told him that. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to scare him. She said no body had been found, so there must have been something else. His heart almost stopped as it occurred to him what that something could be. The blood? It must have been the blood! He hadn’t gone back to look at it, but the Daftie had put quite a lot in the pail. Yes, the boy decided, it must have been the pig’s blood, and the bobby or whoever had told him hadn’t known the difference. That was a relief, anyway. Nobody knew the truth except the old man, and he was that dottled he likely wouldn’t remember if anybody asked him. Malcie knew, as well, of course, but he wouldn’t tell.
Yet, no matter how hard he tried to assure himself of that, there still remained a modicum of doubt. For all other lies – little, white lies, mostly – that he’d told, something always tripped him up. Somebody said something, or something happened, that proved him a liar. He’d usually been punished, but not very severely. This, though, this wasn’t a white lie. It was a whopping great lie, for hadn’t he hidden evidence as well as giving a wrong description of the place the accident happened? It likely wouldn’t be one of his parents dishing out the punishment, either. It would be the Law. The Long Arm of the Law, it was called.
He would have to confess. He should confess. The thing was, had he the courage to confess? He knew he hadn’t. He would have to hope that he was never found out. He hadn’t caused an awful stir, really. Just one local bobby asking questions. It would all blow past. Of course it would.
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