Read Online The Low Road by A. D. Scott - Free Book Online Page A

as she said this. She took his hand in both of hers. “I’ve been lonely for you and . . .”
    â€œHello. Is that you, Mr. McAllister?” It was Joanne’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Ross. She came into the room in her hat and coat, but with the coat unbuttoned to expose the flowered overall cum pinny she habitually wore, except to go to church.
    She looked over the tableau on the sofa—Joanne had dropped McAllister’s hand the moment she heard her ex-mother-in-law. Mrs. Ross examined them as though searching for signs that all was well, or not, then nodding, said, “I’ll put the kettle on. Bacon and eggs ready in five minutes, Mr. McAllister.”
    When she was gone Joanne smiled and whispered, “That’s you told. I’m sure she thinks there’s no real food to be had in the city of sin.”
    â€œDon’t worry, my mother saw to it I had a regular fry-up for breakfast yesterday.” He didn’t mention Gerry Dochery.
    â€œA change from coffee and a cigarette then.”
    He laughed. He felt better, felt he had been mistaken. She’s on the mend.
    â€œThe other night”—she was leaning back on the arm of the sofa, holding the dressing gown tightly to her—“my father came into my room asking why I hadn’t said my prayers.”
    McAllister stiffened. Her father was dead. He had hoped his malign authority over his daughter had ended with six feet of earth shoveled over his coffin.
    â€œI said, ‘Yes, Father, I have.’ ” Her voice was that of a child. “He said I hadn’t said them properly. I got out of bed and kneeleddown and started to pray. I must have knocked the cord of the bedside light. It went out. It was pitch black and I panicked and was crying and my father said it was my punishment, said that I would always be in the dark because of my sins.”
    She was crying. Silently. Tears washing her face, turning her nose pink. She seemed oblivious to the salty stream. But her hands, which had dropped to her lap, were still clasped in prayer, holding the memory of her father’s wrath.
    McAllister leaned towards her, about to hold her when Granny Ross came in.
    â€œWhat’s this all about?” She was across the room, taking a hankie from her cardigan pocket, a man-size white linen square he recognized as his own. She was wiping Joanne’s eyes as though she were her granddaughter, not an adult. “Blow your nose. Then go and wash your face. Breakfast is on the table.”
    â€œI’ve had mine,” Joanne said.
    â€œAye, a wee piece o’ toast. That’ll no’ put meat on your bones. You’ll have a boiled egg and this time you’ll finish it.” Mrs. Ross turned, gave a tight-lipped half smile at McAllister.
    It came to him in a flash; Mrs. Ross was enjoying being in charge. Relishing the role of nurse and housekeeper to her former daughter-in-law and grandchildren.
    No, he told himself, don’t be so uncharitable. She’s just pleased she can help the woman who was the daughter she never had, the woman whom her son had had the good fortune to marry and the misfortune to lose, he being one of those men who regarded a woman as a possession, enforcing her obedience with his fists.
    â€œWe’d better do as we’re told.” The old mischievous Joanne partially reappeared. “Off you go, McAllister. I know how much you hate cold eggs.”
    When Joanne joined them in the kitchen, she was dressed, but her dress was hanging off a skeletal frame. Her hair, fallingforward to hide the shaven part of her skull where the operation had been performed, was shiny and sweet-smelling but no longer the thick luxurious former “mane”—her word for her hair. Illness had made her head molt, the long hairs strewn across cushions and bedding and clothing.
    â€œI have to go in to the office,” he told them when he finished his breakfast with the