Family Matters Read online

  The wedding ceremony was lovely. Even Mr Jackson said it brought a tear to his eye. And afterwards he sat in his wheelchair for a while so Hope didn’t have to worry about him whilst the photographs were taken. There seemed to be hundreds of them. First in the doorway of the little red sandstone church, with the strange narrow bell-tower overhead. And then by the arched gateway. And then down by the river. The bride looked gorgeous, of course, but Hope was quietly proud of the bridesmaids’ appearances, too. The little adjustments she had made to their dresses meant they fitted perfectly.

  Hope and Mr Jackson remained near the church whilst the rest of the party made their way across the uneven ground towards the water. For a moment there was quiet. Hope glanced at the graveyard behind her and thought again of that stone she had found: Jane and Joseph’s grave.

  ‘Aye, they’re all there,’ said Mr Jackson.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Hope. What did he mean, all? What other relatives did she have buried here? She shivered. She didn’t want to think of that now. Today was a day for optimism and thoughts of the future.

  She was glad when they left the graveyard and moved on to the reception in the village hall. At first she thought it was strange to have the reception here. It wasn’t very smart, and from what she had seen of the Mackenzies and Clare’s family, they could have afforded something grander. But now it seemed just right. It had been decorated with flowers from the local gardens and the walls hung with tartan banners. The tables were all covered in snowy-white linen. It was big enough to fit in everyone they had invited.

  Robbie helped her manoeuvre Mr Jackson’s chair up the steps and into the hall.

  ‘I can walk fine if you give me my stick,’ said the old man grumpily.

  ‘Whatever you prefer,’ said Hope. ‘We can leave your chair by the entrance and you can sit on the same seats as everyone else.’

  ‘Although the seats aren’t all that comfortable, with the bits of ivy Clare and her sister have been winding around them,’ said Robbie.

  ‘We had left a space for your chair over there by Mr Wellburn,’ continued Hope. ‘I thought it was an ideal position, near the wall, and you’d be a bit higher so you’d be able to see everything.’

  ‘All right then,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘You put me where you want and go and get yourselves settled.’ He still sounded grouchy but if he had really objected he would have insisted on having his own way.

  ‘I wish you were sitting up at the top table with me,’ said Robbie softly as he and Hope searched the tables for her own place. ‘You look so beautiful. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.’

  Hope felt herself blush. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many men in kilts.’

  It was true Robbie looked stunning in his green, black, and red tartan, with the pristine white shirt and black dress jacket. Most of the other men looked good, too, but nothing compared to him. Maybe it was his thick, dark curls, or the way his eyes laughed when they met hers – or maybe she was just biased?

  ‘I always liked an excuse to dress up,’ he said lightly. ‘My mum’s waving me over; I’d better go. I’ll catch up with you later?’

  Hope had been seated at a table with the Ashburys. Sarah’s husband had come down for the wedding and her brother Steven and his wife were there, too. Hope and Susie had almost regained their old affectionate relationship and she enjoyed chatting to the family.

  ‘How’re you finding living in St Ann’s Bridge?’ asked Steven. He was a younger, slimmer version of his father and had also trained as a doctor, although he had gone in to hospital medicine. ‘It’s not a bad little place.’

  ‘It’s lovely. Everyone is so friendly.’

  ‘Yes. Not at all like living in a big city.’ Steven grinned. He and his wife lived and worked in Manchester so he would know all about big cities.

  ‘I always hoped you’d move back here one day,’ said Susie, eyeing her son fondly.

  ‘Yes, I know, and take over Dad’s GP practice. No thanks, Mum. That was never going to happen.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with being a GP,’ said his father.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just not what I wanted to do. Anyway, we were talking about Hope, not me. How long are you here for? Any plans for the future?’

  ‘Er … no,’ said Hope. She knew she should have plans, but somehow hadn’t been able to make any. ‘I’ll stay with Mr Jackson as long as he wants me, which I think will be another month at least.’

  ‘And you can come back to stay with us after that,’ said Susie.

  ‘And you promised to visit us in Edinburgh,’ said Sarah. ‘You know that you are Megan’s all-time favourite person after making that dress for her.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Hope. She had never been to Edinburgh before. But none of these suggestions were proper plans for the future.

  ‘I think you should wait until everything is sorted out with Material Things before you make any big decisions,’ said Susie. Hope should have been grateful for her support, but she suspected it was mostly because Susie wanted her to stay in St Ann’s Bridge for as long as possible. Susie liked having her around, which was flattering, but at some point Hope would need to get back to her own life.

  ‘Material Things?’ asked Sarah’s husband, puzzled by the name.

  ‘The shop Hope used to own,’ said Sarah, giving him a meaningful look.

  ‘Let’s not talk about that now,’ said Hope. She was feeling guilty because she hadn’t told Susie that Amy had been traced. She hadn’t told anyone about that. It was easier that way.

  ‘You know, if you had the time, I’d appreciate it if you would make an evening dress for me,’ said Sarah out of the blue. ‘I’d pay you, of course. Every year Paul’s company have a big St Andrew’s Day ball and I never know what to wear. If you could make me something I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ said Susie, a little too quickly, so Hope suspected this was something the two of them had concocted together.

  ‘I don’t know …’ she said.

  ‘Think about it at least.’

  Hope felt she couldn’t refuse to do that. She wouldn’t mind doing more sewing, and a ball gown would be fun. She just didn’t like to feel she was being pushed into things. With Susie around, it was hard not to be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Robbie was starting to feel nervous. It was nearly time for his speech. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to this. Standing up with Luke in the church was one thing, but he had never liked public speaking. This was going to be an ordeal, not helped by having his father glowering at him along the table.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his mother behind him. ‘You’ll be brilliant,’ she said. ‘It’s been a perfect day. I’m so proud of both my boys.’

  She topped up his glass and returned to her seat in time for the Master of Ceremonies (Simon Ashbury) to call everybody to order. Robbie took a long drink. Either that or his mother’s words gave him the boost he needed. By the time Simon called him he knew exactly what he was going to say.

  It wasn’t a brilliant speech, but it wasn’t bad. Everyone laughed at all the right places and he managed the toast to the bridesmaids without making a mess of it. Luke glared at him when he mentioned one or two youthful indiscretions, which was just as it should be. He made a teasing reference to his mother’s managing ways and received a thumbs up from Luke and a grin from her. She could take a joke, that was one of her many good qualities. When it was over he sat down with a great sigh of relief. Now he could start to enjoy himself.

  He looked around for Hope McIlroy. She was sitting with the Ashbury family and seemed to be having a good time. She had applauded him enthusiastically. As soon as the last speech was over he was going to head down there to join her.

  Unfortunately, as Dr Ashbury rounded everything off, Robbie was accosted by the fiddler from the ceilidh band, Abhainn.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ he said, hustling Robbie to one s
ide. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’ Robbie was already worried. The man’s face was tense. Looking around, Robbie couldn’t see any of the other band members.

  ‘Sam’s no’ well,’ said the man, Johnny.

  Sam was the band leader, who called the dances and occasionally sang.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is it serious?’

  ‘He thinks it’s food poisoning. He’s throwing up all over the place. There’s no way he can go on stage.’

  ‘So …?’ Robbie’s mind was racing. Was this going to mean they had no band after all? It would be a disaster, ceilidh dancing was something they’d all been looking forward to. ‘What’s going to happen? Do you have anyone who can step in?’

  ‘No one we know is free.’ Johnny eyed Robbie with interest. ‘But Sam says perhaps you can do it? Did you no’ play in a band together a while ago?’

  ‘That was years ago! And I can’t call the dances or sing. I play the fiddle and I don’t even do that well.’ Robbie was horrified.

  ‘I play the fiddle myself, but I can call the dances if I have to. I just can’t do that and play at the same time. Sam was suggesting you do most of the playing and I’ll do his stuff. You’ve brought your fiddle along, like?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Robbie would have been happy enough to play along to a song or two, in the background. What Johnny was suggesting was entirely different. ‘Look, I haven’t practiced much. I won’t know half the songs.’

  ‘As it happens, I’ve got the music with me. And when I’m not calling I’ll play with you. Sam thinks you’ll do fine.’

  ‘Sam hasn’t heard me play for years!’

  Johnny regarded him calmly. Now he had explained the dilemma, he seemed to feel he had transferred all his worries to Robbie. ‘Do you have any other suggestions?’

  ‘Well … no.’

  ‘Fine, then. Bill, the drummer, has run Sam home. You’d better go and tell them we’ll start a wee bit late, say in fifteen minutes. Get your fiddle and we’ll have a few practice runs out the back here.’

  Robbie couldn’t see any other option. He went to explain the situation to Clare and Luke, ignoring his parents’ worried looks. As he hurried off to find his violin he felt physically sick. He didn’t even have chance to say a word to Hope. This was turning in to a nightmare.

  Hope wondered what was going on. There appeared to be some problem. Robbie had disappeared, hurried back in for a quick consultation with Luke and Clare, then disappeared again. She had been looking forward to spending some time with him and had been almost sure he would join her soon. Now it didn’t seem that was going to happen.

  She decided to keep herself busy by checking on Mr Jackson.

  She made her way between the tables and found herself being stopped more than once to share appreciation of the ceremony in the church, the speeches, how lovely Clare was looking, and even comments on her own dress. She was beginning to wish she had made something a little less noticeable.

  Eventually she reached the table where Mr Jackson was sitting. Maria had placed him with other elderly people from the village, most of whom Hope already knew from their visits to the house. At first they had intimidated her with their strong accents and dour demeanour, but as she grew to know them she realised she rather liked them.

  ‘How are you all doing?’ she asked cheerfully, sliding in to the seat beside Mr Jackson which was temporarily vacant.

  ‘No’ so bad,’ he said, nodding his high-domed head in quite a merry way.

  ‘He’s had a wee drap of the whisky and it’s cheered him no end,’ said one of the men who sometimes came to play dominos.

  ‘Not too much,’ said Hope quickly. ‘You know what the doctor said.’

  ‘Killjoys, the lot of them,’ said Mr Jackson, but for once he didn’t sound too annoyed. Hope was glad he had agreed to come along. Just so long as he didn’t overdo things.

  Whilst she was trying to think of a way to say this tactfully, the elderly lady whose seat she had taken reappeared. She moved slowly with the aid of a stick. Hope knew her by sight and as she vacated the chair Mr Jackson introduced her as, ‘Mrs Slater. She’s lived in St Ann’s Bridge as long as I can remember.’

  The name sounded familiar but Hope had heard so many new names in the last few months that she couldn’t immediately place it.

  ‘Nice to meet you at last,’ said the woman, looking Hope up and down from rheumy eyes. ‘A fine young woman you’ve turned out to be. I mind your mother when she was wee. You’re nothing like her.’

  Hope was rather thrown by the comment. After a moment, when no one spoke, she said, ‘I suppose I take after my father.’

  ‘There’s maybe a wee bit of Johnny McIlroy in you,’ said the old lady, her head on one side. ‘Not that I knew him so well. His family only moved here when he was in his teens and his parents passed away young. Not been so lucky with family, have you?’

  Hope murmured something unspecific, not quite sure how she was supposed to answer.

  ‘You know who you remind me of most? Elspeth’s mother, when she was young. She was the prettiest thing you ever saw, with long curls, just like yours. I suppose that was why her dad kept her in the house so much. He knew there’d be trouble if he let her out.’

  Hope was aware of everyone around the table watching her, waiting to hear more. Mrs Slater, with her sparse white hair and deeply wrinkled face, was probably the oldest of them. She would remember Jane Calvert the best. What did she mean, about Jane’s father keeping her in the house? It sounded sinister.

  ‘I – I don’t think I’ve seen a picture of my grandmother when she was young.’ Hope had hardly seen any pictures of her grandparents at all.

  ‘She was a pretty wee thing,’ said Mrs Slater. ‘Poor lassie. There are things I could tell you about her and her family.’ For some reason she looked at Mr Jackson with narrowed eyes, thoughtful.

  Hope wanted her to stop talking right then. She didn’t want to hear any more about her family. She didn’t want all these people staring at her, fascinated.

  Perhaps Mr Jackson realised this. He said, ‘Hope’s no’ so much interested in family matters. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be heading home now. Do you think you can find someone to give me a hand?’

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ said Hope, a great wave of relief flooding over her. ‘I’ll get one of Luke’s friends to help us get the chair down the steps and the rest I can manage myself. I should have suggested it sooner, I hope you aren’t too tired …?’

  She hurried off to find their coats and ask someone to assist with the chair, pleased to have something to occupy her.

  She had almost forgotten Robbie in her eagerness to escape Mrs Slater. The last thing she expected, therefore, was to see him and another young man standing together in the car park at the side of the hall. They were playing violins! What on earth was going on?

  Mr Jackson nodded at them, looking interested. ‘Now, I didn’t know Robbie Mackenzie was back playing in a band. I wonder what his dad has to say about that.’

  ‘Does Robbie play in a band?’ Hope thought there was no end to the surprises this evening.

  ‘He used to. My wife quite liked listening to them. The ceilidh music, you know.’

  Mr Jackson looked like he wanted to stay and listen himself, but Hope just needed to get home. She turned the chair on to the pavement and began to chat brightly about how lovely the wedding had been.

  Robbie saw Hope leaving with but he didn’t have time to speak to her. He didn’t have time for anything! How could he get up to speed with more than a dozen ceilidh songs he hadn’t played in public for years and learn at least a dozen new ones, all in less than half an hour?

  ‘You’re no’ doing badly,’ said Johnny with apparent approval. ‘You must’ve been keeping the practice up? Your finger work’s fine.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Robbie could feel the sweat trickling down his back at the thought of exposing his inadequacy in public. His
right arm was already aching with the constant use of the bow.

  ‘I think we’ll start with “Megan’s Wedding” and the other two reels. You know those and it’ll get you into the swing of it. Then we’ll do “Kate Dalrymple” and see how we get on from there. Aye, that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘OK,’ said Robbie, resigned. He wasn’t sure he could remember anything he had been told in the last fifteen minutes. He’d just have to hope it came back to him once he was on stage. He wished the fiddle wasn’t always the instrument that had to carry the tune. He wished he had never learnt to play the thing.

  ‘Here’s Bill. We’ll explain to him what we’re doing and then get back inside.’

  Robbie knew he had to do this. It was Luke’s wedding and he couldn’t let anything spoil it. And he had to prove to his father he wasn’t completely useless. The music had been delayed long enough already. He took deep breaths and tried to look calm as he followed the other two band members back in to the hall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘You’ll be going back up to the hall now I’m settled?’ said Mr Jackson. He looked rather pale and tired, lying back against the white pillows. Hope was worried she had let him do too much.

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ll take Lucy for a short walk then I’ll call it a night. I’m quite tired myself.’

  ‘Rubbish. A young thing like you can’t be tired. You’ll soon brighten up once you start dancing.’

  ‘I won’t know any of the dances. I’ve never been to a ceilidh before.’ This hadn’t worried Hope when she thought Robbie would be around to show her what to do. Now she didn’t think she could be bothered.

  Mr Jackson ignored her protest. ‘You’ll be fine. The lads will be falling over themselves to show you the steps. And don’t you want to go and hear Robbie Mackenzie play his fiddle? You’ve got to go back and tell me how he does.’

  Hope wasn’t sure if Mr Jackson was interested in hearing about success or failure, but she realised she would like to hear Robbie herself. The fresh air and silence had helped her recover from the discomfort caused by old Mrs Slater. She was just being silly, to run away like that.