Seven Days Beyond Page 4

  She wanted everything to be perfect this evening. She had something to discuss with Ian.

  Frank tapped on the conservatory window. He was waving goodbye after his weekly inspection of the Garden Shed Playroom. It was such a popular feature with the children that Frank was constantly concerned about its structure. So many pounding feet and poking fingers could wear away at paint finishings and plastic or wooden toy furniture and he was meticulous about maintaining the smart appearance of his handiwork.

  What a treasure he was. She could hardly believe her luck in finding him. And now his lovely Muriel was an integral part of the team. She crocheted slippers for the children to wear indoors, helped with snacks and acted as a grandmotherly figure for story times. Many of the children were not exposed to older family members these days. The mothers exclaimed that they heard all about Auntie Muriel’s stories every day at home and they were delighted she had the time to spend with their little ones.

  Sandra kept a careful eye on her helpers’ schedules. When Frank was working for her, she made sure Muriel was at home. When Muriel was with the children, Frank was either resting or doing odd jobs for others in the neighbourhood. It suited all of them that way.

  He often blessed the day Miss Sandra had called him. “It has changed my life, and no mistake! Me and the missus is both happier.”

  The ringer on the stove signalled the fish, shrimp and mushroom casserole in the cream sauce was ready.

  It was Ian’s favourite. Joanne had brought fresh bread from the bakery this morning with the supplies she purchased for the children’s snacks and she also bought an iced gingerbread loaf for her father. There were two bottles of wine ready and candles prepared. When darkness arrived she would turn down the central lights and light up the candles. Romantic, and satisfying, all round.

  Sandra turned off the oven. She would pop the bread into the oven to warm through when she had changed. She had a smart new, spring dress to wear tonight. It was a floral pattern in shades of blue, Ian’s favourite colour. There was a knit shrug in blue to cover her shoulders and crystal earrings that would glitter in the candlelight as the evening progressed.

  A shiver of excitement passed through her. This was going to be an important night. She could hardly wait for the sound of Ian’s key in the door.

  It was close to seven when he arrived. It was dusk already and the air was cool after a bright spring day with a westerly wind. There were no cars in the driveway with motors running as a parent rushed inside to collect a child from the garage exit. He entered through the door beside the garage door and hung his coat on the hooks. It was routine now to change into house shoes and leave his other pair near the kitchen door. Sandra insisted it saved house cleaning time and was useful for parents and children.

  When he opened the door into the kitchen, two things assaulted his senses; a delicious smell of cooked food, and the subtle light from candles on the dining table reflecting in all the windows of the conservatory. He had to remind himself which day of the week it was. It was not the weekend. Had he forgotten some special anniversary? The house was silent. Had Sandra left in anger at his forgetfulness?

  He stood mesmerized by the beauty of the scene and, out of nowhere, arose a memory from many years before. It was the first time he and Sandra had celebrated the date when they had first met so briefly in the Lewis’ store in Glasgow. He had booked a table in a city restaurant and the waiter had placed a candle on their table. Her eyes gleamed across the table and her hair had a special sheen that night. They had talked for hours about their hopes and dreams. He knew all about her teaching duties in Camlachie School and she knew every person in his department at the City Chambers. She said she loved the little children and hoped to be a Head Teacher in the Early Years part of the school. This way she would automatically be the second in command in the school and have an influence on how things were decided. She was keen to see improvements for the children. She was infused with enthusiasm at the thought and he was captivated by her energy and ambition.

  In a moment of clarity, Ian Halder suddenly realized something important. When his wife had made the decision to stay at home and raise their daughters she was not dismissing her dreams and ambitions as he had foolishly thought. She was only postponing those dreams. Sandra had not changed drastically as he had been claiming. She was the same enthusiastic woman she had been then. He was the one who had put his work and his needs ahead of hers for so many years he had become oblivious to his wife’s desires. He had seen her purely as their children’s mother; a role she adopted soon after they married. She had devoted herself to the family, permitting him to pursue his career with no problems at home to distract him.

  A wave of shame enveloped him. Sandra deserved her day in the sun. She had sacrificed her own needs for his. And he had been less than supportive lately.

  He made a decision as he stood there glued to the floor remembering the young couple of long ago. How had he been so blind? Promises had been made that night in the restaurant. Promises he had conveniently forgotten. He had no idea what his wife’s agenda was for this evening. There was something special on her mind, it was clear. He would not resist whatever smart new business notion she was bringing to him for approval. He would be grateful she still wanted to include him in her decisions. Another type of female might have thrown him out the door by now for his lack of interest.

  He stood up straight and breathed deeply, aware a change had happened to him. He hoped it was not too late.

  Sandra came down the stairs and saw her husband standing transfixed by the conservatory entrance. Her initial thought was that he had had an attack of some kind. He seemed paralysed with one hand to his mouth.

  The dining table looked lovely, she was sure, but what had caused this effect? Had it been illness he would have collapsed on the floor by now. For a moment she considered calling Rachel for medical advice and soon discarded that idea. She would first ask Ian what was wrong.

  As she moved from the carpeted stairs to the ceramic floor, he heard her steps and turned to greet her.

  God, she looked wonderful! How had he managed to ignore how wonderful she looked and how wonderful she was? A smile curved his lips and he saw an expression of relief flit over her face. She had been worried about something. All this preparation and she had been worried about his reaction. He would not allow his Sandy to worry one more second.

  “My darling, this all looks amazing! I don’t know what the occasion is but I am grateful you went to all this trouble for us. Let’s eat! The smell is making me drool!”

  “She laughed with him and soon had the piping hot casserole on a heat-proof mat on the table between them. They tore into the warm bread as they had done once in a holiday in Italy. The conversation was light and easy as it used to be and Sandra’s heart rose. Thank heaven! It was going to be all right!

  Neither one wanted to move after coffee had been served. Ian sat back and patted his stomach in appreciation. The gingerbread was a mess of crumbs on the plate. He had not stinted himself this night.

  He poured more wine and grinned at his wife. Keeping his tone of voice light, he began.

  “Well, Sweetheart, what’s on your mind? A meal like this has to be a preamble to something significant.

  I would be a damn fool not to recognize that. What’s up?”

  Sandra dabbed the crumbs from her mouth without wiping away the new rosy lipstick. She was remembering another evening, years ago, in this same dining room when things had not gone well with her presentation. She was a different person now with a confidence she had lacked before. There would be no misunderstandings this time. She was prepared.

  Ian said nothing for the entire twenty minutes. He was unable to speak. He was too surprised to summon up a word in response. His wife had presented him with a fait accompli. Planned and delivered in total but it was not at all what he had expected. Rather than adding to her childcare business in some way, she had formed a plan to allow both of them to consider ea
rly retirement. She wanted them to buy a property on Mull as a holiday home for now which could also be rented out when not in use for the family. The funds for this purchase were to come from the sale of an older home near Tobermory, in Mull, which she had recently inherited from her maiden Aunt Jessie.

  The new house they would choose together was to be in a beautiful location, overlooking the sea, with modern fitments and suitable for their eventual retirement home. Sandra had proudly announced the profits from her daycare business had now surpassed all expectations and looked secure for the future.

  She produced a copy of the annual report as drawn up by Sharon.

  He waved it away. He did not need to see it.

  Before he could ask, she told him her plan for the business to continue. She had asked Joanne to take over gradually. Their daughter had been working alongside Sandra for several years now and she understood the requirements. Joanne’s youngest, and Sharon’s newborn, were able to sleep upstairs in Joanne’s old bedroom from her childhood days with baby monitors on guard. The arrangement suited both mothers. Joanne could leave to collect her other children from school and return with them. Sharon knew her baby was safe with his family until she could collect him on days when she worked in the bank.

  Ian could see how it all fell together efficiently. As a city planner, he had to recognize the years of thoughtful planning that had gone into this result. While he had been immersed in his own problems, Sandra had been forging a family business for now and for the future.

  He came back to life as she began to broach another topic.

  “Rachel has met a lovely man and she wants to start a family soon. We have talked about adding a meal service with Rachel in charge of healthy foods. She loves working with the hospital dieticians and knows how much working mothers would appreciate ready meals to collect when they pick up their children from day care here. It wouldn’t need much more added to the kitchen and ………….”

  “Stop! Please stop! I can’t take in any more. You, my darling wife are a powerhouse. You could run the sorry government in this country if you so desired. I can’t believe you have accomplished so much for all of us. I was honestly afraid to think about retiring but now I just can’t wait! Come here Sandy!”

  He took her in his arms and they danced around the table in sheer delight. It was part relief and part wonder. They laughed till they were breathless.

  How had he been so fortunate to find and keep such a woman? He felt rejuvenated. It was almost like starting over again in a whole new life and his darling wife had done it all. He clasped his hands around her waist and lifted her off the floor and into a close embrace. This had turned out to be a special celebration after all.

  It would be a night to be remembered for the rest of their lives. An anniversary he would never forget.

  Wednesday.

  Colin Carstairs had an endless ring of numbers circulating in his brain. When he could not focus on what his Dad was saying, or think about what his Mum was asking him to do, it was because the numbers had become louder.

  The worst one was 453.

  Four hundred and fifty three British soldiers had died in Afghanistan. Colin Carstairs was one of the lucky sods who made it home alive. He did not count his injuries as important. Any of the lads or gals in his squadron who had died out there in the searing heat or blown to pieces by an IED, would give any injury, any limb, any eye, to be in his place, safe at home with family to look after him.

  The question that haunted his days and nights was; why him? Who had died to save him? Why not him blown to smithereens? Why not him sent home in a body bag? Why not him?

  And then there was the number 13.

  Thirteen years of military operations in Afghanistan. Thirteen whole years of blood and sweat and constant worry. Thirteen damned years of watching your mates cave in to the pressure and walk out into the desert for the last time.

  Thirteen. Never a lucky number for anyone, or anything. Not lucky for the boys and girls in uniform. Not lucky for the villagers left behind in Afghanistan to the untender mercies of the Taliban.

  And Why? Was all the sacrifice worth one death among so many? What had changed in that God-forsaken land? Some farmers’ field had been salted to kill the poppy seeds that earned them a pittance from drug lords. Did that policy help one child eat? What were the politicians thinking? How could they make rules for a people hardly emerging from the Stone Age in a land that fought against their survival in every way possible. These benighted people living in mud houses whose children were afraid to go to school, if there even was a school left after the Taliban had destroyed most of their village, and the combined forces of the world had effectively destroyed the rest.

  What was it all for? Who could answer that question? Who?

  And then the irony of another thirteen; Friday, March 13, in St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.

  The commemoration service for all those lost in the war. Black hats on the women. Black armbands on the civilian men who had been safe at home during the thirteen years of struggle. Black robed clergy. Royal Family members in sombre black and the glorious coloured ribbons and medals of the decorated young royals, surpassing those of the survivors and even of the old guard from previous conflicts.

  He had scarcely been able to sit still for the parody of a church parade. His Dad made him watch it on television. He actually said it was a way to face up to the pain.

  Ha! That was a joke! As if he wasn’t facing up to the pain every waking minute. He occupied his mind with counting all the rows in the cathedral and all the men and women in those rows, trying to see if there were 453 spectators for this spectacle. That might have been of some value to the public watching on TV. If anyone cared to watch, that is. Most would be glad to put the whole sorry business behind them as quickly as possible and get down the pub for a pint, or three. Colin wished he could do the same.

  There was no point in telling this to his parents. Carla’s friend in London had recommended a shrink for him. He had gone to a few sessions then bunked off. If he didn’t complain too much the parents would think the intervention had been a success. No reason for them to feel like failures. One total failure in the house was enough.

  The shrink said he would get better in time. His Dad said he would get better in time. His Mum just bit her lip and gathered him into a big hug. She had seen enough mourning and pain in hospitals to know platitudes were meaningless.

  The only one who understood, if only in a limited way, was his once brother-in-law. Brad Newbigging didn’t say much but he was able to get him out of the house to the gym as a guest member.

  He didn’t think it would do any good. After all, it was his mind that was in pain not his body, now that the two bullet wounds and the muscle damage were healed. He went as a favour to Brad. He hated what his silly sister had done to the guy. Practically leaving him at the altar and running off to London with her own selfish dreams. He went along so as not to turn Brad down again. There had been enough of that in the guy’s life.

  In spite of his reluctance, Colin had actually found a slight relief in the physical challenges. He had piled on the weights to see how much he could bear after months of inaction at home. When he saw other men staring at him as he grunted and sweated with trembling legs that threatened to cave in any moment, he backed down. The weights bounced on the gym floor and the other men scattered.

  “Hey, Colin!” warned Brad, “You’re not here to punish yourself. Go easy!”

  He moved to the mat after that and did sit ups and push ups where he could count the number and feel more in control.

  After a shower, they went for a coffee. Colin would have preferred to head home alone, but again, he felt he owed it to Brad to stick around for a drink. Out of politeness he asked how things were going now the divorce was all settled.

  “I won’t lie. It was real tough at the start. Carla left stuff in the studio flat. I saw it every time I turned around and it was like a knife in the heart, you
know what I mean?” Colin blinked.

  “I finally took it all over to your folks and accepted the news that she wasn’t about to come home anytime soon, if ever. After that it got a bit better. What really helped the most was just keeping busy. I took a part-time job in the evenings to keep me out of the pubs. Watching the pity in my pals’ faces was not doing me any good, right? Too many free beers were coming at me and I was drinking every one.

  Then I signed on for an internet course. That took care of the weekends.”

  “No girlfriends?”

  “God, no! When you’ve been through the hell I had with Carla, the last thing you want is to risk another woman doing it to you again.” He stopped short when he realized what he had said.

  “Jeez, Colin! I didn’t mean… she’s your sister, of course, and I didn’t mean to compare what I went through with Carla to what happened to you in the war.”

  Colin saw Brad colour up and knew he was sincerely sorry. He couldn’t let him hang out to dry like this after he had tried to help.

  “Look, Brad, I’m no great fan of Carla. She was always a stuck-up little kid, too good looking to be part of the real world. Don’t get me wrong. I’m kind of glad she’s doing okay in London. That film thing on Saturday looked like the kind of life she always wanted. Mum’s happy with her at long last. Carla never treated you right, brother. You deserved better.”