Blackstone's pursuits

In which Mac the Dentist gives us some good advice, and I become a lighthouse keeper

It had been years since I’d dined at Auntie Mary’s, and then I’d been too much of an airhead to appreciate what a wonderful cook she is. We ate salmon terrine that she’d made herself, braised venison from an estate a few miles away, garnished with peas straight from the pod, carrots and new potatoes, all home-grown, and a huge pineapple, quartered and soaked in Benedictine. Fortunately we’d taken a couple of decent bottles of wine with us, not Dad’s usual supermarket crap. That would have tasted like vinegar alongside Mary’s gourmet meal.

The table talk avoided relationships. Instead Prim told us tales of Africa, I told us tales of accidental comedy among my witness interviews, and Dad told us tales of dental dereliction. I watched him as the evening went on. The old bugger had his feet under the table, no doubt about that.

Auntie Mary brought out the port with the coffee and truffles. Damn good stuff it was too. Dad took to it, for sure. After his second glass he was clearly on his way. I wasn’t worried about a slide back to the bottle. Before Mum died, he had always enjoyed a good bevvy as a form of fellowship. He had been a happy drunk, one who used alcohol to enhance enjoyment rather than drive away worries. It was funny, but looking at him across the table, I was actually pleased to see him getting pleasantly pissed. It was just like old times. Mary might as well have been my Mum, except, although I feel disloyal in admitting this, she’s a better cook.

At last the port bottle was down to only the dregs. Dad toyed with the idea of finishing it, but thought better of it. He muttered something about the eye of a needle at thirty paces and put the bottle down. Suddenly he leaned across the table and took Prim’s hand. ‘Tell me, my dear,’ he said, heavy-lidded. ‘What are you going to do t’morrow?’

Prim looked at him, smiling lightly, her cheeks slightly red from the port. ‘What do you think I should do, Mac?’

‘I think you should go and see your Mum.’

The smile left her lips. She frowned uncertainly.

‘Listen, love,’ said my wise old father. ‘You owe it to her. It’s her right to worry about her daughter; goes with the position of parent. If there’s cause for her to be anxious, she won’t thank you for keeping it from her. Most of us old yins are capable of facing up to life, you know, whatever it throws at us.’

She looked at him for a while, and the smile came back. ‘You’re right, aren’t you. I was treating her as if she was in her dotage. Okay, tomorrow we’re off to Auchterarder. Apart from anything else, it’s time she found out what her older daughter’s up to!’

Dad nodded, and rattled the port bottle again. I took my cue, and stood up. ‘Mary, that was wonderful, but it’s time we were off.’ Prim stood up and took my hand as I stepped round the table.

‘Coming, Dad?’ I said.

‘No, no. Think I’ll hang on here for a wee while.’ He glanced across at Auntie Mary. She answered his slightly raised eyebrow with a nod.

The door was almost closed when he called after me. ‘Tell you what, Oz. Be a good lad and put my bedroom light on for a wee while. Just to keep the neighbours happy, you understand.’

It might have been no more than the creaking of a chair, but as I closed the door, I was sure that I heard him fart.