Read Online Troubled Waters by Gillian Galbraith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gillian Galbraith
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wants to know if we’ve enough stock for the next two weeks. Hughie’s away and Davie’s just left. What should I say?’
‘Tell them that we’re OK. We’re OK. Right?’
He waited a second, then abruptly ended the call. Standing on her own he had spotted a tall, blonde girl. She had her back to him, her shoulders held unnaturallyhigh, in a familiar way, and one arm moved every so often as if not fully under her control. He sat up, hunched over the wheel, willing her to turn round. Instinctively, he disengaged his seatbelt, opened the door, readying himself to move the minute he recognised her. His car keys were clutched in his hand, suddenly so tightly that it hurt, the metal digging into his palm. In his excitement he could hardly breathe. Let it be her. Let it be her. In less than a minute he would be beside her, hand in her hand, leading her back to the car. Then straight home to Lambie, with him triumphant and witnessing her joy.
‘Turn round,’ he ordered silently. ‘For pity’s sake turn around.’
As if they were connected, as if she had heard him and obeyed, the girl turned slowly in his direction. Seeing her, he closed his eyes. She was pregnant, her fringe had been dyed a shade of purple and she was massaging her awful, oversized belly in a circular motion with one of her hands.
‘Oh, mercy!’ he cried, his head slumping down, bowed down as if it was too heavy for his neck. Despair flooded over him, rendering him powerless, making him doubt everything, including himself. Head now in his hands, his features contorted in grief, his disappointment overpowered him, unmanned him.
A sharp knock on his window returned him to the present, and seeing an elderly woman looking in at him, her brows furrowed in concern, he wound it down.
‘I just wondered if you were OK?’ she asked, bending down slightly to get a better view of him.
‘Fine . . . thank you very much,’ he replied reassuringly, then, giving little thought to the lie, he elaborated, ‘well, I’ve a headache but I’ve taken something, it’s getting better.’
Satisfied, she smiled and set off down the street, pulling her shopping trolley behind her. As its rusted wheels rolled along the pavement they emitted a high-pitched shriek, tearing his already vulnerable nerves to shreds.
For another twenty minutes he remained sitting in his car, in the cold, now feeling stiff and uncomfortable, aware of an ache at the base of his spine. As his vigil came to an end, the stragglers departed. A thickset boy with a squint seemed unwilling to leave the playground, and had to be cajoled out of it by his mother. Shrugging her shoulders, she walked away from the gates, as if leaving him. A look of distress disfigured his large features, and he followed her, then stopped. She set off again, then halted, waiting for him to catch up. Using this method, the eccentric couple finally turned into Drum Brae Crescent and disappeared from view. Now, the playground was empty. Only a janitor and a teaching assistant remained near the school, talking, the assistant gesticulating at the litter near the front door as if ordering its removal.
He had failed. He drove back onto Drum Brae North, bringing his car to a halt by the line of bare poplars which mark the start of the descent onto the Queensferry Road. In his distress, the breathtaking view before him of the Forth and the blue hills of Fife left him cold, his eyes moving across it mechanically, blind to its beauty.
He punched her number in and waited, in vain, for her voice. After allowing himself a minute or two to collect himself, to ensure that his voice sounded strong, optimistic and confident, he pressed the redial button and began to speak into the answerphone. ‘Lambie,’ he said, ‘it’s me. She wasn’t there. But don’t you worry. She’ll be at the next one, I know she will. We’re getting closer all the time. Now, I’ll need to work late tonight, in the office.Be back nine, maybe. Or
‘Tell them that we’re OK. We’re OK. Right?’
He waited a second, then abruptly ended the call. Standing on her own he had spotted a tall, blonde girl. She had her back to him, her shoulders held unnaturallyhigh, in a familiar way, and one arm moved every so often as if not fully under her control. He sat up, hunched over the wheel, willing her to turn round. Instinctively, he disengaged his seatbelt, opened the door, readying himself to move the minute he recognised her. His car keys were clutched in his hand, suddenly so tightly that it hurt, the metal digging into his palm. In his excitement he could hardly breathe. Let it be her. Let it be her. In less than a minute he would be beside her, hand in her hand, leading her back to the car. Then straight home to Lambie, with him triumphant and witnessing her joy.
‘Turn round,’ he ordered silently. ‘For pity’s sake turn around.’
As if they were connected, as if she had heard him and obeyed, the girl turned slowly in his direction. Seeing her, he closed his eyes. She was pregnant, her fringe had been dyed a shade of purple and she was massaging her awful, oversized belly in a circular motion with one of her hands.
‘Oh, mercy!’ he cried, his head slumping down, bowed down as if it was too heavy for his neck. Despair flooded over him, rendering him powerless, making him doubt everything, including himself. Head now in his hands, his features contorted in grief, his disappointment overpowered him, unmanned him.
A sharp knock on his window returned him to the present, and seeing an elderly woman looking in at him, her brows furrowed in concern, he wound it down.
‘I just wondered if you were OK?’ she asked, bending down slightly to get a better view of him.
‘Fine . . . thank you very much,’ he replied reassuringly, then, giving little thought to the lie, he elaborated, ‘well, I’ve a headache but I’ve taken something, it’s getting better.’
Satisfied, she smiled and set off down the street, pulling her shopping trolley behind her. As its rusted wheels rolled along the pavement they emitted a high-pitched shriek, tearing his already vulnerable nerves to shreds.
For another twenty minutes he remained sitting in his car, in the cold, now feeling stiff and uncomfortable, aware of an ache at the base of his spine. As his vigil came to an end, the stragglers departed. A thickset boy with a squint seemed unwilling to leave the playground, and had to be cajoled out of it by his mother. Shrugging her shoulders, she walked away from the gates, as if leaving him. A look of distress disfigured his large features, and he followed her, then stopped. She set off again, then halted, waiting for him to catch up. Using this method, the eccentric couple finally turned into Drum Brae Crescent and disappeared from view. Now, the playground was empty. Only a janitor and a teaching assistant remained near the school, talking, the assistant gesticulating at the litter near the front door as if ordering its removal.
He had failed. He drove back onto Drum Brae North, bringing his car to a halt by the line of bare poplars which mark the start of the descent onto the Queensferry Road. In his distress, the breathtaking view before him of the Forth and the blue hills of Fife left him cold, his eyes moving across it mechanically, blind to its beauty.
He punched her number in and waited, in vain, for her voice. After allowing himself a minute or two to collect himself, to ensure that his voice sounded strong, optimistic and confident, he pressed the redial button and began to speak into the answerphone. ‘Lambie,’ he said, ‘it’s me. She wasn’t there. But don’t you worry. She’ll be at the next one, I know she will. We’re getting closer all the time. Now, I’ll need to work late tonight, in the office.Be back nine, maybe. Or
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