Blackstone's pursuits

In which we play seventeen holes and the Jag stays on the road

She does, of course. Pretty well too. We were lucky to get a threesome off at Elie on a Saturday afternoon, but my Dad’s been a member there since God was a boy.

Elie Golf House Club has to be the only course in the world with a submarine periscope built into its starter’s hut. No. I’m not joking. A submarine periscope.

We were waved off, and my Dad clumped an awkward drive halfway up the face of the hill, 100 yards in front of the first tee, which makes the contraption necessary. Prim and I, sharing my clubs — the Nissan’s boot serves as a locker for all my sports gear — clipped our shots safely over the direction post, and we were off.

The quirky old course, spread out on its three fields, unfolded itself for us in the afternoon sun. Our golf was pure mince but we didn’t care. It was a nice afternoon, if a bit windy, and Prim and my Dad got on like a house on fire. Eventually, like many an Elie golfer, we decided to skip the eighteenth hole and go straight to the nineteenth. The old Golf Tavern has changed less, probably than any pub I know. My Dad still calls it ‘Elrick’s’, although that licensee has been gone from it since I was a child.

I got them in, and we sat at a table in the window, crunching crisps and playing dominoes.

‘So what’s this story,’ said my Dad, slamming down the double five, ‘that you were going to tell me? What brought you up here?’

I looked at Prim. She nodded.

‘Okay, but we better finish the dominoes, ’cause it’ll put you right off your game.’

‘Nonsense. You could poke me in both eyes with a sharp stick and you still couldn’t beat me at Doms. Come on, tell me your story.’

‘If you insist. After you’ve got them in.’

He shook his head. ‘My God! Does everything have a price?’ He stood up and took the single step across to the high bar counter. He was no sooner back with two pints of Deuchars and a small whisky for him than the door creaked open. The Golf Tavern is a great place for old bodgers. This one had a dog, a great, fat, slavering labrador. It was the sort of dog you find at one time or another in every country pub, its function being to see its master home in time for supper.

The old bodger turned out to be a patient. ‘Hello Mac,’ he hailed, the red capillaries standing out on his nose. ‘Don’t see you along here very often. Glad I bumped into you. Had this terrible bloody ache for a week now.’ He hauled his loose lips wide apart to reveal a yellow canine of which the lab would have been ashamed. Half an hour and two more dog walkers later, we made it back to Dad’s elderly Jag, parked outside the clubhouse. ‘Jesus!’ he spluttered, as he eased himself behind the big dish of the steering wheel. ‘No wonder I don’t come along here too often. One of them in there actually asked me to look at his fucking dog! Did you hear him?’

He shoved the lever into Drive and eased smoothly out of the car park, up through Elie, past the grey church, and out of the village. ‘Right,’ he said as Prim, in the back seat, pointed to the jagged shape of the Lady’s Tower, ‘let’s have your story.’

And so I told him. Everything. From the moment when I found the late Willie Kane, to the time when we interrupted his coitus. The only part that I left out was my flash of insight about the identity of the killer. I didn’t think Prim was ready for that.

I was about eight when I found out what ‘phlegmatic’ meant. ‘It’s what your father is,’ said my Mum, and I understood. The Jag only looked like swerving off the road once, when I told him about meeting Miles Grayson in the Falls of Lora. ‘Did you get his autograph?’ asked the old movie buff.

‘As a matter of fact I did.’ I smiled at Prim. ‘Bet you thought I was kidding when I said it was for my Dad.’

He was silent for the rest of the drive home. I knew better than to interrupt him. Mac the Dentist is a great ponderer. When he’s come to a view he’ll share it with the world, but while it’s hatching in his brain, best to leave him alone.

We didn’t go back into the house at once. Instead Dad motioned us over to his long green garden seat, positioned at the top of the lawn. We sat down, Prim between us. There was a big black tanker making its way out to sea, riding low in the water with its cargo of oil. He pointed to it. ‘See that thing? When I was a young man, if anyone had told me that one day we’d be exporting oil from this river, I’d have told him he was off his fucking head. Now we take it for granted. But when it’s all gone, we’ll miss it.’ He sat silent for a minute or so longer, then dug Prim in the ribs. ‘You still got that fiver then?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you, boy. You don’t trust this man Archer, do you?’ I hadn’t told him that.

‘If I were you, I’d go back to see him one more time. Tell him you think Prim’s sister has the fiver, and that you’re looking for her. See how he reacts, then decide what to do.’

‘What are my choices?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Say “Bugger it”, give up on the reward, go to the police, tell them the whole story and give them the fiver. That’s what a sensible man would have done by now. Or, come clean with Archer, go and collect his dough, and take your cut. Or, and daftest of all, keep it to yourself, and once you’ve found Prim’s sister and covered her backside, go to Switzerland, pick up the money and then make up your mind what to do with it.’

‘And what would you do?’

‘I, oh Mighty Oz? What would I do?’ His face creased into a sly grin. ‘I’ve never been accused of being too sensible, have I!’

He jumped to his feet. ‘Come on, you two. The day presses on, and we have a date. Mary phoned this morning while you were still out of it, and bade us all to dinner at her place.’