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Authors: Margaret Thomson Davis
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along quite well now. They never quarreled and, in fact, Fergus seemed quite fond of Andrew and was even teaching him how to play the guitar. The lessons usually ended with them both becoming helpless with laughter. Andrew had no musical talent whatsoever and accepted the fact with his usual good humour. Andrew did have a talent for drawing, though, and had sketched a very good likeness of Fergus and presented him with it. Fergus looked really pleased and proud and had carefully rolled it up and packed it away in his rucksack to show off to his friends in Aberdeen.
It did her heart good to see the boys together on those weekends and she was genuinely sorry every time Fergus went away. He always kissed her goodbye and said, ‘Look after yourself, Mum.’ She smelled the mixture of tobacco and sour sweat from him but controlled the urge to tell him that he should wash more often. She didn’t want to spoil the loving moment. Then Andrew would go back to school, and she felt alone, with little else but the hated treadmill of housework to fill her days.
She hurried down Byres Road, not taking time to look at any of the shop windows and only taking a quick glance along Vinicombe Street to see what was on in the Lyceum. Not that she managed to go very often. In fact, she’d only been once to the cinema since Melvin had bought the television. Melvin said that it was a waste of money going to a cinema when there was plenty of entertainment in his own house. It was always his house, his television, his shop, his everything.
Her headache tightened like a band of iron around her skull. She resolved to make herself a cup of valerian or lemon balm tea as soon as she reached the shop. She always kept a stock of these herbs both in the shop and in Botanic Crescent. Herbs had been one of the things she’d become interested in in her desperate attempt to find something that would help her get off the drugs that the doctor had given her. Antidepressants and tranquillisers could be addictive, she’d been told. Not by the doctor but by a customer in the shop who’d seen her swallowing some. She believed it and was trying her best to cut down with a view to stopping altogether.
The shop was busy when she arrived and redolent with the smell of new-baked bread and spicy buns. It was the smell that attracted so many customers.
Catriona made her herb tea in the back shop and took it through to the front to sip at it in between serving. Sandra McKechnie was off again. One of the customers, a Mrs Mulvaney, said, ‘What’s that you’re drinking, hen? It looks a funny colour.’
‘Herbal tea.’
‘Herbal tea?’ The echo sounded incredulous. ‘What’s wrong wi’ a good cup of Co-op tea?’
‘Nothing. It’s just this is what helps me relax when I feel worried or have a tension headache.’
‘Huh!’ Melvin snorted. ‘Would you listen to her? What’s she ever had to worry her?’
Often Catriona remembered with infinite pity and understanding how poor Sarah Fowler murdered her mother-in-law. Many’s the time, and this was one of them, when she could have committed murder herself.
‘Here,’ Mrs Mulvaney laughed, ‘it’s time you sold some of that in yer shop, hen. There’s plenty folk around here that’s got worried and sore heads. Ye’d make a fortune.’
Melvin glared at the woman. ‘Aye, well, it’s just as well it’s not her shop. Selling dried grass could soon pull the plug on any business and it’s just the sort of stupid thing she’d do.’
He didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word loyalty and had never had any compunction about making a fool of her in front of people. He was the stupid one. He had no idea how much he kept tempting her, forcing her down the path of murder. He’d enjoy a right good laugh if she told him. He never gave her – or anyone else for that matter – any credit for anything. He was always the clever one. Well, maybe he wasn’t all that clever.
The thought of Mrs Mulvaney
It did her heart good to see the boys together on those weekends and she was genuinely sorry every time Fergus went away. He always kissed her goodbye and said, ‘Look after yourself, Mum.’ She smelled the mixture of tobacco and sour sweat from him but controlled the urge to tell him that he should wash more often. She didn’t want to spoil the loving moment. Then Andrew would go back to school, and she felt alone, with little else but the hated treadmill of housework to fill her days.
She hurried down Byres Road, not taking time to look at any of the shop windows and only taking a quick glance along Vinicombe Street to see what was on in the Lyceum. Not that she managed to go very often. In fact, she’d only been once to the cinema since Melvin had bought the television. Melvin said that it was a waste of money going to a cinema when there was plenty of entertainment in his own house. It was always his house, his television, his shop, his everything.
Her headache tightened like a band of iron around her skull. She resolved to make herself a cup of valerian or lemon balm tea as soon as she reached the shop. She always kept a stock of these herbs both in the shop and in Botanic Crescent. Herbs had been one of the things she’d become interested in in her desperate attempt to find something that would help her get off the drugs that the doctor had given her. Antidepressants and tranquillisers could be addictive, she’d been told. Not by the doctor but by a customer in the shop who’d seen her swallowing some. She believed it and was trying her best to cut down with a view to stopping altogether.
The shop was busy when she arrived and redolent with the smell of new-baked bread and spicy buns. It was the smell that attracted so many customers.
Catriona made her herb tea in the back shop and took it through to the front to sip at it in between serving. Sandra McKechnie was off again. One of the customers, a Mrs Mulvaney, said, ‘What’s that you’re drinking, hen? It looks a funny colour.’
‘Herbal tea.’
‘Herbal tea?’ The echo sounded incredulous. ‘What’s wrong wi’ a good cup of Co-op tea?’
‘Nothing. It’s just this is what helps me relax when I feel worried or have a tension headache.’
‘Huh!’ Melvin snorted. ‘Would you listen to her? What’s she ever had to worry her?’
Often Catriona remembered with infinite pity and understanding how poor Sarah Fowler murdered her mother-in-law. Many’s the time, and this was one of them, when she could have committed murder herself.
‘Here,’ Mrs Mulvaney laughed, ‘it’s time you sold some of that in yer shop, hen. There’s plenty folk around here that’s got worried and sore heads. Ye’d make a fortune.’
Melvin glared at the woman. ‘Aye, well, it’s just as well it’s not her shop. Selling dried grass could soon pull the plug on any business and it’s just the sort of stupid thing she’d do.’
He didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word loyalty and had never had any compunction about making a fool of her in front of people. He was the stupid one. He had no idea how much he kept tempting her, forcing her down the path of murder. He’d enjoy a right good laugh if she told him. He never gave her – or anyone else for that matter – any credit for anything. He was always the clever one. Well, maybe he wasn’t all that clever.
The thought of Mrs Mulvaney
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