Strange Loyalties

18

Anna’s address was in Edinburgh New Town. I’ve always loved the architecture there but there’s enough of my father boarding in me still to have misgivings about the pleasure the place gives me. It may be a feast for the eyes but for a Scot it’s a Thyestean feast in which at some point you should realise you’re eating the death of your kin. If the old man had found Kelso reprehensibly English, what would he have made of the New Town?

This was in its origins the most English place in Scotland, built to be a Hanoverian clearing-house of the Scottish identity. The very street names declare what’s happening, like an announcement of government policy in stone: you have Princes Street and George Street and Queen Street with, in among them, Hanover Street and Rose Street and Thistle Street. Any way you count it, the result is the defeat of Scottishness. This was an English identity superimposed on the capital of Scotland, an attempted psyche-transplant: ‘Scottishness may have been a life but Britishness can be a career.’ You are not where you come from but where you can go. I couldn’t help wondering how far Anna fitted in with the original premise of the place.

Her name was written in ink and covered with perspex in the top slat beside the buzzer. It made me pause. It read: Anna Kerr. That hadn’t taken long. It was her choice, sure enough. But I wondered how the two boys felt coming home to here. They were presumably still Laidlaws. A primitive feeling passed through me, too darkly irrational to be identified clearly. It was maybe anger. It was maybe hurt. But I felt she had dissolved a part of my brother’s life into instant oblivion, as if it had never been. The ancient Egyptians had believed that if you erased a dead man’s name from the funeral tablet, you killed his ka. He couldn’t live after death. She was getting there. I pressed the buzzer. The briefness of the pause suggested preparedness.

‘Yes?

‘Hullo? Is that Anna? This is Jack. Jack Laidlaw.’

‘Oh, yes. All right. Top floor.’

The release mechanism was growling like a watch-dog. I pushed the door and it clicked open. After being so desperate to find her, I was almost there. The woman who was closest to the secret of what had been happening to my brother before he died was above me. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. I mean, really let it down. But there were still the stairs. I laboured up them as if they were a small mountain. Truth is sometimes said to live in high places. Let’s hope so. After all this, I was thinking, just be there, guru of truth. I don’t want to be talking just to wind and empty noise.

She was standing with the door open. She was looking good. She was wearing a tight-fitting, V-necked, light cashmere sweater and ski-pants and long leather boots. Her black hair was attractively short and she was beautifully made up. She looked about twenty-five. But the eyes seemed to have been borrowed from someone older. They stared at me assessingly through a grille of caution. You didn’t get into the head behind them just by looking.

‘Hullo, Anna,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I found you in.’

She gave me a smile that showed no teeth. Who said she was in?

‘Hello,’ she said.

It was not an effusive greeting. She stood aside to let me pass. There would be no familial embraces. Coming into the hall, I was already unsure why she was bothering to see me at all. This meeting was obviously not the highlight of her day. Her reaction on the intercom had indicated that she knew I would be arriving. Why had she not just arranged to be out? When I came into the sitting-room I thought I understood. There was another woman there, sitting on a leather chair. She was casually glancing through a magazine.

‘This is Carla,’ Anna said. ‘Carla, this is Scott’s brother.’

I thought at first that Carla might be deaf. She seemed to have found something the reading of which couldn’t be postponed in her magazine. Maybe it was the Armageddon Weekly. She reluctantly put her glossy aside and stood up slowly and only then decided to look at me. She offered me a handful of dead fish.

‘I’ve heard of you,’ she said.

It was precisely what a schoolmistress had said to me when I entered her fourth-year class for the first time. The schoolmistress had meant that my reputation had gone before me, like an air-raid warning. The schoolmistress had meant that all her anti-aircraft guns were primed and in place and that I would be shot down at the first sign of any action that threatened the established order of things.

‘Does that mean you have to believe it?’ I said.

‘It came from a reliable source,’ Carla said.

Then she turned to Anna and became with that simple gesture a disciple of Bishop Berkeley. The fact that she couldn’t see me meant that I did not exist. She smiled reassuringly and put her hand on Anna’s shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’ she said.

‘I’m fine,’ Anna said.

‘You sure?’

‘Of course. I’m all right.’

I thought I might have to wire my jaw to keep it shut. What was I supposed to have done? Molested her in the hallway? All this solicitousness was because Anna’s brother-in-law was visiting her. Perhaps I should check myself in the mirror the first chance I got. I couldn’t remember fangs or a Phantom of the Opera mask.

‘As long as you’re sure,’ Carla said. ‘I’ll make us all some coffee. All right?’

‘All right.’

‘You don’t need to put mine in a cup,’ I said. ‘You could just throw it about me. Maintain the sense of welcome.’

Carla smiled compassionately at Anna. Anna smiled back. The smiles were a tacit conversation that said ‘I can see what you meant’ and ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

‘Thanks, Carla,’ Anna said. ‘You know where the biscuits are.’

Carla went out. Anna sat down.

‘You want to sit down?’ she said to me.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Anna. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Scott.’

‘Let’s wait till Carla comes back,’ she said.

‘Anna. What is this? My brother’s dead. I’d like to talk about him. Who needs third-party insurance? It’s a conversation I want. Not a lawyer’s meeting. We both loved the same person at one time. That’s our connection. What can be the harm in that?’

‘Let’s just wait, please.’

She was studying the ornate fireplace as if it was an Open University programme. She made no immediate further attempt to talk. Neither did I. If they had special house rules here, let’s wait and find out what they were. As I sat, I confirmed what had occurred to me when I saw Carla in the sitting-room. Anna had decided to be in when I came so that she could meet me in a controlled environment. Carla was the thermostat. Whatever Anna thought of me, she knew I was persistent. To avoid me now was to have to confront me later, perhaps when she wasn’t prepared for it. It was better that she choose the terrain and get it over with.

The terrain was impressive enough. It was a beautiful airy room with a marvellous view that took in, in the distance, the Forth. All that stunning Edinburgh light poured into the place and made it as bright and sharp and self-delighted as a Hockney painting. The real leather furniture showed off its sheen in the glow. A reproduction mahogany desk against a wall, its green leather surface unmarred by any papers, achieved a cool definition. The three abstract paintings distilled the roofs and the shapes and colours outside and stuck them on the white walls. But there was something out of place. I decided it was Anna. The room had been here like this before she was. It fitted her the way a jock-strap would.

While we were awaiting the coming of Carla the Protector the phone rang. I started slightly and looked at Anna. Her eyes registered and erased, swift as a well programmed computer. At the fourth ring, I spoke.

‘I think the phone’s ringing,’ I said.

‘Let it ring,’ she said.

We did. It gave up at twelve. This was an interesting house. People spoke to each other as if you weren’t there and let phones ring twelve times, as if that’s what they were meant to do. What would happen next? Carla came in.

She was carrying a large silver tray with a stylish coffee pot on it, three coffee-cups and saucers, crystal milk and sugar dishes and a willow-pattern plate with small biscuits. She gave no indication that the phone shouldn’t have rung twelve times without anybody answering. She smiled at Anna. Anna smiled at Carla.

A small, complicated ceremony began. I’ll give this saucer to you. You give it to him. I’ll give this saucer to you. You keep it. I’ll leave this saucer here. I’ll keep it for me. I’ll fill out this cup of coffee, you pass it to him. Here is the milk. You pass it to him. I’ll take it back. He takes sugar? Does he? You pass it to him. It went on. I’ve had five-course meals that were served with a lot less fuss. When we were finally settled with our cups which, given the trouble it took to get them, might have been filled with the gold of the Incas, I spoke again. I had already refused a biscuit.

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ I said.

‘Actually, we do,’ Carla said. ‘This is a smoke-free zone. We’d like to keep it that way. There are children who live here.’

‘Do you mind if we talk?’ I said. ‘Is that all right, Anna? I mean, do we have a quorum now?’

‘What is it you want?’ Anna said.

‘Just to talk about Scott. I can’t get used to it. I don’t understand what happened at the end. I just want to make sense of what happened.’

‘I tried that for years. It doesn’t work.’

‘But you must be able to tell me something, Anna.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘Remember me, Anna?’ I said. ‘I was the best man. Come on. I’m not trying to pry into your marriage. I know that’s your business. But what was it that was troubling Scott so much at the end?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Anna.’

‘We were in different worlds.’

‘There’s nothing you can tell me?’

‘Nothing.’

We sat and said nothing. It had been a long way to travel to exchange silences. Carla was holding a biscuit which seemed to be as full of detail as an Elizabethan miniature. In a place as cold as that all you can do is try to light a fire with whatever comes to hand.

‘Hell,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe this.’

But the silence outvoted me two to one.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s not actually have a conversation. But do you mind if I ask you some questions? All you have to do is answer. Monosyllables welcome. All right?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Do you know who the man in the green coat is?’

Anna glanced at Carla in elaborate amazement.

‘Shall we take your pulse?’ Carla said.

‘The man in the green coat,’ I said.

‘What’s this supposed to mean?’ Anna said.

‘Have you heard of him?’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘Are you sure? He seems to have meant an awful lot to Scott. He wrote things down about him. He must have mentioned him to you sometime.’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

Who had? Maybe Sanny Wilson had been drunk. No. Ellie Mabon had heard of him, too. But I was beginning to feel like someone trying to fill in a census-form for the invisible man. Not known at this address. The rest of my questionnaire didn’t yield much more in the way of significant answers. It was full of dismissive strokes where the words should have been. Not applicable, not applicable.

Fast Frankie White?

Unknown.

Sandy Blake?

Unknown.

Dave Lyons?

Known but hardly.

David Ewart?

Known at one time but not now.

Why sell the house?

To get away.

Why Edinburgh?

Why not?

Possible to see the boys?

Not possible to see the boys.

Why not possible to see the boys?

Boys away at swimming.

Boys at school here?

Boys at private school here.

Is there a toilet?

Jackpot. Whereabouts of toilet known. Directions supplied.

I didn’t know whether I wanted to piss or puke. I shut the door and walked up and down, grimacing at the ceiling. I mouthed furiously at the walls and gave the print of a Degas ballet dancer the fingers. I briefly strangled a loofah. Purdah wasn’t just a Muslim tradition. Women could withdraw into it any time they chose. Behind the veil, what was there? Another veil. Relieving myself, I realised I was being careful to hit the side of the bowl, presumably in case the noise profaned their feminine ears. I felt as if I was defiling the sanctum with male urine.

But I could hardly be doing that. For I noticed something as I washed my hands. This bathroom had been decorated for a man. I knew that instinctively because this place didn’t interest me at all. That is never the case in a bathroom which is dominated by the sense of a woman’s presence. I could go my holidays to those places. All the appurtenances of femininity intrigue me. A bathroom’s a kind of confessional, where we admit to the inescapable physicality of ourselves, own up to the nature we lie about in public. I like the secret hoard of womanhood they can hold.

This one didn’t rate. My instinct was confirmed when I checked it out against a rational examination. There were some of what I assumed were Anna’s things on the window-ledge — perfume, a couple of fancy deodorants, hair-colouring. But that was all. It was as if she hadn’t moved in properly yet. The rest was too stark. As an interesting bathroom, this one’s Laidlaw rating was nil.

I opened the mirrored door of the cabinet above the wash-hand-basin. There was a Wilkinson razor and blades, a jumble of pill bottles. There was a bottle of Aramis aftershave. I remembered Dave Lyons’ proximity in Cranston Castle House. I remembered that he worked in Edinburgh. I remembered how he could say without thinking that Anna came from the Borders. I closed the cabinet door.

I began to wash my hands again very slowly. It gave me an excuse for waiting longer and it’s a great aid to reflection. I decided my journey hadn’t been wasted. Knowledge begins in establishing the dimensions of your ignorance. Anna had helped me to establish the dimensions of mine. She had taught me exactly what I didn’t know.

All I knew was that she was lying. A baby with the cord not cut would have known more than she did. But what I didn’t know was why. The interesting thing was why. The interesting thing is always why.

What did she have to hide? This house probably belonged to Dave Lyons. Was it loaned to her by someone who was just a friend in need? She wouldn’t have to hide that. Was she set up in it by a lover? Was that what she had to hide from me? But then why would she have to hide that? What the hell did it have to do with me? It couldn’t be that. Unless it was to protect Dave Lyons. Did she think I would tell his wife? But her silence seemed too massively fortified. You don’t build Fort Knox on the off-chance that someone may try to break in. You build it to make certain that nobody ever can. I thought her secret was a big one. Why did she have to hide it so determinedly?

As I was drying my hands, the phone rang three times. I was assuming that it was all right to pick it up now that I was no longer in the room. But then it rang again, almost immediately, just once, and I was forced to revise that conclusion. It had rung twelve times when I was in the room because there were people who phoned here that Anna mustn’t speak to? They were presumably people who didn’t know she was here. Perhaps a triple ring was a signal and prepared her to pick up the phone when the call was repeated. An interesting household.

When I came back into the living-room, Anna said, ‘Speak to you soon. ’Bye,’ and put down the receiver. I asked if I could use the phone. Nobody threatened to bar my way. I phoned the Crime Squad office and left a message for Brian and Bob Lilley. I left a pound note beside the phone.

‘I’ll leave you the money for that, Anna,’ I said.

Anna was standing in the middle of the room. Carla rose to join her. I think they were telling me something.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘Anna. Carla. It’s been a gas. Let’s do it again some time. When we’re all dead.’

‘That’ll be soon enough for us,’ Carla said.

That Carla was good at it. I wouldn’t have liked to be her husband and be found in a compromising situation. She would probably feed you through a mincer. We parted. Nobody cried.

Isn’t what people don’t say so interesting? I had plenty of time to contemplate how interesting it was as I tried to negotiate Princes Street. I hadn’t arrived anywhere with Anna. But I had increased my determination to travel on. Her behaviour was more full of questions than Trivial Pursuits. Another small one occurred to me. Who had warned her that I was coming? Dave Lyons? But how would he know? Her father? Or had her father told Dave Lyons, who told her? With someone as well hidden as Anna, a lot of things were possible.

I studied Edinburgh Castle. The evening traffic of Princes Street was moving slowly enough to let me do a painting of Edinburgh Castle. It was a strange place, I decided. There was the uncompromising ruggedness of the rock and growing out of it, like a natural extension, the old battlements. But I knew that if you saw it from a different angle — say, Castle Street — you would notice the more modern addition to it, like a genteel country house. It was maybe a fair symbol of Scotland right enough, of our duality. It would certainly have been fitting as Anna’s coat-of-arms, and perhaps mine as well, though I hoped not. See how what it has been grows incomprehensibly into what it is, survives by denying itself, as if the root of a thistle should nourish a rose.