‘She locks him in?’
‘I can get the key.’
‘When?’
‘After two o’clock.’
Sam stared at Morag intently . . . very intently. He smiled. ‘I’ve never been in a situation like this before, but my interest has been piqued by what you’ve told me . . .’ He turned and walked quickly over to the bedside table. He punched random numbers into his useless mobile. ‘Excuse me. This phone call I’m about to make, it’s the call that’s going to change your life.’
‘Ooooh!’
Sam pretended to make a phone call. ‘Hi, Amanda? . . . Sam Kerr here . . . I crave a favour . . . This very minute, arrange a short vacation for a lady I’ve just met here . . . Yeah, send her the tickets right away . . . Write this down: THE LITTLE UGLY OLD WOMAN . . . HOUSEKEEPER . . . TARTAN PAGODA HOTEL . . . UIG . . . ISLE OF SKYE . . . Ciao!’
Sam smiled broadly. ‘Congratulations, darling! You’ve won the prize! A weekend in Stornoway . . .’
‘Stornoway? Ooooh!’
Sam continued, ‘. . . accompanied by the Free Church minister . . . of your own choice!’
‘Oh, thank you, Mr Kerr!’
‘You can take these camera cases downstairs when you’ve finished in here. I must have a bite of lunch.’
‘Whatever you say, Mr Kerr.’ Morag remained motionless, staring enquiringly at Sam.
‘Is there anything bothering you?’ Sam said.
‘Will I see you again?’
‘No. I’m filming in Ha— in South Uist all this week and then I’m off to . . . er, Africa . . . uh, South Africa.’
‘Er . . .’
‘What’s wrong? Have you told me everything?’
‘Oh, yes! I was just wondering, who’s going to pay me?’
‘Pay you? Oh, yeah. Your retainer, you mean? Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do . . . First of all . . . don’t you worry . . . what do you call it? . . . I’ll phone our Contract Department in Edinburgh and they’ll write to you and tell you what duties you’ll have to perform in return for your monthly cheque.’
‘But the money . . . the money, man,’ Morag insisted.
‘What about it? Is it not enough for you?’
‘You don’t understand. How do I get my hands on it?’
‘Oh, it’s Big Patrick – the Eriskay Giant – that’ll hand it over.’
‘The Eriskay Giant?’
‘He’ll approach you and he’ll give you an envelope . . . just as soon as you say the blessed words.’
‘The blessed words?’
‘ “A good thing’s worth waiting for”,’ Sam said.
‘ “A good thing’s worth waiting for”? That’s what I’ve got to say before I get the money?’
‘That’s it.’
‘When will he come?’
Sam glanced at his watch. ‘I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he came . . . I don’t know . . . maybe even today . . . or tomorrow.’
‘Terrific, Mr Kerr. Whatever you say, Mr Kerr. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about our wrestling match . . . but I’m glad . . . I mean . . . everything worked out all right for us in the end.’
Sam moved across to the doorway. He turned and spoke to her seriously, ‘Not a word to anyone about what you’ve heard here . . . or what you’ve seen either . . . You’re a member of the television community now. Know what I mean? “Slippery is the threshold of the big house.” ’
8
East and West
24 August 2010, 12 p.m.
Rachel was standing in the reception area when Sam swaggered in. Suki, well-preserved, late thirties, wearing a sarong, long black hair tied back with a piece of multicoloured ribbon, was standing behind a desk upon which were a brass bell and a telephone. Next to the phone was a wooden box with a slot for coins on the top. The words TELEPHONE CALLS were stencilled on the front.
‘Ah, light of my life,’ Sam said, ‘whaddya say?’
Suki stared balefully right through him.
‘What a splendid place this is for a wedding celebration!’ Sam gushed.
Suki turned her back on him and pretended to busy herself with some paperwork.
‘Just as soon as you sign these papers, I’m going to rename this place “Tartan Pagoda Productions”. Neat, eh?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Suki grunted, ‘but you’ll never get my name on any paper.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Place belongs to Nigel. Nothing to do with me.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’
‘If it were up to me, I wouldn’t part with it at your price. And I certainly wouldn’t sell it to you.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re the guy who ravaged Gaelic television programmes single-handed with Our Land.’
‘I got seven awards for Our Land at the Celtic Film and Television Festival in Stenhousemuir.’
‘You should have got seven years.’
‘What didn’t you like about the programme?’
‘Everything. You’re the one who introduced all the rotten things that have sickened Gaelic-speakers.’
‘What rotten things?’
‘Lowland people without a word of Gaelic trying to speak the language.’ Suki did a take-off of a monoglot English speaker attempting to read an autocue. “‘Ka kritch mee nak ale an t-àm akin toshakag.” Americans and English folk telling us about Highland history.’ She affected an American and a Southern English accent. ‘ “Yeah, my people were Scotch-Irish – from right on the border!” “Communities where an oral tradition predominates is so much out of the experience of the modern Western world that it is extremely difficult for anyone without first-hand knowledge to imagine how a language can be cultivated without being written to any extent, or what oral history is like, or how it is propagated and added to from generation to generation. The consciousness of the Gaelic mind may be described as possessing historical continuity and religious sense; it may be said to exist in a vertical plane. The consciousness of the modern Western world, on the other hand, may be said to exist in a horizontal plane, possessing breadth and extent, dominated by a scientific materialism and a concern with purely contemporary happenings. There is a profound difference between the two mental attitudes, which represent the different spirits of different ages, and are very much in conflict.” What shite!’
‘Wow! You’ve certainly devoted a lot of thought to this.’
‘Do you know what worries me most about this legacy of yours?’
‘No, but I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.’
‘Just as there are people still alive throughout Europe who laboured mightily to establish the Third Reich, so there are people living down in Glasgow who saw Our Land and, worse still, made this programme. They are in our midst. They are biding their time. They will rise again.’
‘Isn’t that funny? I’ve just received a commission to make another historical series, Children of the Exiles.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’
‘That’s why I need an address in the Highlands . . . Listen, where is Nigel?’
‘In the studio.’
‘Can I talk to him?’
‘No, not unless I’m there.’
‘Oh, I see. Listen to me,’ Sam said as he began to become angry. ‘This hotel is going down the tubes. How many people were in the house last night? Four! Me, my PA and a walking sponge from Benbecula and his bird . . .’
Suki retreated to the office door where she stared at Sam with disgust.
‘Where did that babe go anyway?’ Sam said. ‘Quite tidy, she was. I wouldn’t mind giving her an audition . . . yuk-yuk.’
Rachel moved forward to the counter, studiously ignoring Sam, indicated to Suki that she wished to use the phone and extracted some coins and a few banknotes from her purse. She put some coins into the box, picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Hello, Daddy? Is Mummy there? . . . Okay, Uig in Skye . . . We’re . . . I’m in a hotel . . . No. Well, yes, he is . . . until two o’clock anyway . . . I
’ll maybe stay here for another night . . . it depends on what happens . . .’
Sam, obviously reminded of something, pulled out a mobile phone and rapidly punched some buttons. He slammed the mobile against the counter. ‘Bloody phones . . . shit . . . piece of shit . . . DAMN IT!’
Rachel continued to speak to her father. ‘I’m sorry, Dad, a gentleman here has just lost it completely . . . Tell Mummy . . .’
Sam plucked the receiver from Rachel’s hand and pushed her aside with a sweeping movement of his other hand.
Rachel shouted, ‘THERE’S A CHANCE THERE’S GOING TO BE AN ADDITION TO THE FAMILY!’
Sam slammed the receiver down, picked it up and rapidly dialled another number. Teeth bared, he talked rapidly. ‘Hi, Charlie, this is your main man talking, making hay, making your pimples go away . . . Don’t interrupt . . . All rested up? ’Cause have we got visions to mix or awards to win? . . . Look, Charlie, there’s nothing wrong with Mrs Mackenzie’s council house. As I was saying . . . Because, see, this job we’re in, the money’s great, right? . . . Vanessa’s network, we’re regional . . . Money’s great, because we work hard. And there’s plenty of work for you guys. Charlie, cameras are downstairs. Tell Linda to phone HQ and inform D.A. the mobiles don’t work up here. Tell Bill to pick up the tickets for the van and crew, and make sure you park in the right lane . . . That’s right, Tarbert . . . Hope you put the cones out for the Range Rover. I’ll meet you there . . . Wait, I’ve got to weigh the hotel in first and have a bite of lunch. Correction: I’m having lunch, then I’ll pay the bill . . . That’s it, Charlie. Never give a sucker an even break. Ha ha! Look this call is costing the company a fortune, I’ll meet you at the Range Rover in an hour’s time, my man . . . Ciao!’
Rachel stepped forward. ‘Excuse me.’
‘Charlie, you still there? . . . Can I bum a packet of cigarettes off you? Mine are, uh, still in the shop. Ha ha! Still in the shop . . . Right away, of course. Ciao!’
‘I was using the phone,’ Rachel said.
Sam dialled another number, oblivious. ‘Yeah, Donald Allan? Yeah, Sam Kerr here . . . Okay. Well, actually, it’s not too bad at all. The mobiles don’t work, though . . . Oh, did she? Well, the evening meal wasn’t all that bad . . . No, the owner’s English, married to a Chinese chick or something . . . That’s right, Donald Allan, the cooking’s kind of what you’d expect a guy from England and a bird from Hong Kong to come up with . . . Yeah, you eat and an hour later you’re starving . . . and you also have an uncontrollable urge to open a pottery in the Highlands. Ha ha! . . . The two-step deal? . . . Like a good Gaelic song . . . Oh, they’ll sell sure as anything . . . I’ve got the wife wrapped around my little finger already!’
Suki opened the office door and stood motionless.
Sam stared at her. ‘Uh . . . I’ve got to go . . . Oh, geez . . .’ He replaced the phone and smiled nervously at Suki who proffered an invoice. He looked blankly down at the paper, slowly took out a chequebook and in embarrassed silence wrote out a cheque.
Suki affected a cod Chinese accent. ‘Coffee? How many? One? Two?’
Sam grabbed the invoice and made a halting run to the door. He used similar telegraphese. ‘No, no coffee. Big hurry . . . I . . . uh, me. Visions to mix . . . Oh, geez! So, uh, chop-chop, uh . . . Oh, geez!’
‘Pssst!’
Sam looked at her.
Suki was brandishing a hideous statue of a black man wearing boxing gloves. ‘Me give you gnome. You give me money.’
‘No!’
‘You sure you don’t want buy gnome? Is no’ clear to me why no’ buy gnome.’
Sam mumbled, ‘If your eyes weren’t as squint as a Chinaman’s, it would be clear to you. I’ve never seen anything so ugly in all my life.’
Suki pointed to the clock on the wall in the ten past twelve position. ‘Look at clock.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s stopped.’
‘And?’
‘You make clock stop. Yo’ face so very ugly. Poor clock give up ghost. Now he stopped.’
Sam departed in the huff. Rachel doubled up with laughter.
9
Girl talk
24 August 2010, 12.15 p.m.
Suki spoke in a strong Harris accent. ‘If it’s a crime for me to sell twenty Regal tipped to a lad who’s under sixteen years of age, why isn’t it a crime for that arsehole to be on the streets without supervision?’
‘I don’t . . . I don’t know. Oh, did you see his face?’ Rachel composed herself. ‘Rachel MacKinnon, Room 5.’
‘Room 5. Weren’t there two of you?’
‘Yes, at first . . . but he slept in the van.’
‘A rude, fat butterball, very drunk . . . Is that the one?’
‘That’s Murdo.’
‘He’s the guy who hit on me in the bar last night, swaggering like John Wayne, and asked me a question.’ She lowered her voice and spoke in a nasal drawl.
‘ “Hey, honey, can I buy you . . . a tractor?” ’
‘That’s the kind of thing he’d say when he’s drunk.’
‘Tell him not to wear that jacket if he ever comes in here during the day.’
‘Why?’
‘The young guys’ll cut it up and smoke it.’ Suki consulted a book. ‘Ah, you’re leaving us today, is that right?’
‘Well, I wanted to talk to you about that . . . That is, if you’ve got a minute.’
‘It would be a pleasure, young woman.’ Suki placed her elbows on the counter and leaned forward in conspiratorial fashion. ‘Since I’ve got shot of Sam the Scam, there’s nothing I’d like better than a little chat with someone like yourself.’
‘Sam the –’
‘An arrogant braggart. He’s made the odd programme for the Beeb. They’re all crap. He’s also terribly mean. He’d steal the worm from a blind hen.’
‘What a despicable miser!’
‘That’s the word we’re looking for. He wants to buy this place. But he’s constantly cutting the price. My biggest fear is that he’ll get to Nigel – that’s my husband – and he’ll be tempted by a very large sum of ready cash.’ She looked at Rachel seriously. ‘What did you want to talk about, Rachel?’
‘Uh, well, I, I was looking for some . . . advice. I mean . . .’
‘Advice! You’ve come to the right place, haven’t you? All the wisdom of the East just pours out of me.’
‘Was it from China this wisdom came?’
‘Kyles Scalpay. That’s where my granny on my father’s side came from. “Shanghai’s Wife” she was known as. My grandfather was a river pilot in Shanghai once upon a time and he was the one who brought all this furniture home.’
‘Well, I thought . . . I mean . . .’
‘That I had more than a drop of Chinese blood in me? No, though my skin is a tad yellow, but there’s folk on Scott Road far darker than me. No, I’m as Heilan’ as peat. Oh, I like to have the things my grandfather collected round about me. The Tartan Pagoda is a kind of shrine to my granny.’
‘Oh, I get it.’
‘But what are you going to do about Murdo?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve given him an ultimatum: unless he comes up with money, I’m off on the ferry this afternoon and I’m leaving him here.’
‘Good decision, Rachel. That’ll keep him on his toes . . . that is, if he’s really fond of you.’ She paused for a moment. ‘So, what’s all this talk of yours about money?’
‘It’s . . . it’s to do with Murdo as well.’
‘Everything seems to revolve around him.’
‘Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?’
‘Now,’ Suki said, ‘shall I make up your bill?’
‘As the old guy from Barra said, “I’m in a quadrangle”.’
‘Won’t you tell me?’
‘I can pay for last night’s lodgings and still have just enough to get home, or I can stay another night – with Murdo.’
‘Give me both hands, Rachel.’ Suki held Rachel’s hands ligh
tly.
‘What is it we’re doing?’ Rachel said.
‘Let us pray.’
Rachel rapidly took her hands away. ‘Uh, I don’t think so, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’re not going to be praying to the Lord God Almighty. You’re just going to be putting some questions to yourself.’
‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s a matter of indifference to me what religion other people believe in, just so long as they don’t try to put iron horseshoes on my feet.’
‘You’re not listening to me, Rachel.’ Suki seized Rachel’s hands in her own once more. ‘All I’m trying to do is teach you how you can have a conversation between yourself and the Rachel that’s deep inside you.’
‘So that I can talk to myself?’
‘That’s it,’ Suki said. ‘So that you can draw upon the huge amount of power and love you hold inside.’
‘God be round about me! If I start talking to myself in public, guys will be on the phone saying “Check all mental hospitals for empty beds”!’
‘Have you heard of yin and yang?’ Suki said.
‘No. I’d hazard a guess they had something to do with pornography.’
‘Yang is like fire. If the fire is too hot, you’ll burn the cabbage. Yin is like water. If you have too much water in the pot, the cabbage will rot.’
Rachel stared at her in horror. ‘You’ve already turned my head into broth, lady.’
‘Do you trust me enough to do as I tell you – with the result that you’ll change your life forever?’
There was a short pause. Finally Rachel said, ‘Okay. What do I have to do?’
‘Firstly, close your eyes.’
Rachel closed her eyes. ‘What now?’
‘Allow your mind to drift with the wind . . . slowly, flowingly . . . just as the morning dew departs from the greensward at sunrise . . .’
‘Mmmm.’
‘Repeat after me: Where would you have me go?’
‘Where would you have me go?’
After a brief pause, Suki spoke again. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘What would you have me do?’