A second or two went by.
‘What would you have me say, and to whom?’
‘What would you have me say, and to whom?’
There was a long delay. Suki released her grip and looked expectantly at Rachel. ‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘Are you going or are you staying?’
‘I’ll stay another night – if the room’s still vacant.’
‘You’re more than welcome,’ Suki said. ‘I won’t charge you for the room tonight. Just give me twelve pounds.’
‘Thank you. That’s terrific.’
‘Come on, aren’t you formal, young lady! You can be informal with me. Just call me Suki. That’s my correct name anyway . . . Suki Morrison.’ Suki looked closely at Rachel. ‘What are you going to do about him?’
‘That’s up to him. If he gets the money . . .’
‘What’ll the pair of you do?’
‘Well . . . I suppose we’ll have a night of mad, passionate love.’
‘I hope he makes it.’
‘Me too,’ Rachel said.
‘Not for his sake, but for yours . . .’
‘But if he doesn’t get what he owes me, and if he doesn’t stay sober . . . well, he’ll be sitting on the chair all night with his legs crossed.’
‘If it’s your destiny to sleep with him tonight, ask your heart what you ought to do.’ Suki paused. ‘What size are you?’
‘Pardon?’
‘What size do you take in clothes?’
‘Ten. Why?’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ Suki said. ‘You’ll knock everybody out with the cheongsam.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Wear the beautiful silk dress I’ve got for you and every man in the place will have the hots for you.’ She paused. ‘Including Murdo.’
‘What if he’s not seduced by the dress?’
‘Find somebody who will be.’
‘Hey, Suki,’ Rachel said, ‘I’m very fond of Murdo. I don’t want anyone else.’
‘If you look nice for him, well, you’ll be doing him a favour. Listen, I don’t care if it works out between you and Murdo or not. Either you’ll sleep with him or you’ll not. All I want is to see you in that Chinese dress.’
‘Then I’ll ask you just one question,’ Rachel said.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why are you so keen on me putting on this dress?’
Suki brandished a statue of the boxer/Saviour. ‘Look, I’m married to a dunderhead who doesn’t know the difference between Frank Bruno and our Saviour. Amn’t I entitled to a little romance?’
Both women broke into laughter.
‘Okay,’ Rachel said, ‘but we’ll have to be quick.’
‘What’s your hurry?’
‘I want to find out how Murdo got on.’
They parted. Suki went into the office. Rachel ran upstairs with her bags.
10
Rehearsal
24 August 2010, 12.30 p.m.
Murdo was crouched by the bed, methodically going through suitcases and trunks, discarding wigs, dresses, Highland dress, Wellington boots etc. – all the props needed by a two-handed theatrical company on tour. When he had finished selecting items of clothing he went into his trouser pocket and slowly and carefully took out the small jewellery box. ‘Oh, ya beauty!’ he said.
He closed the box, reverently almost, and placed it in the inside pocket of a beat-up old jacket. Quickly Murdo moved to a pre-selected pile of clothing and donned a wrinkled flannel shirt with a Salsa Grenade tie, an over-large Harris tweed jacket, shapeless lilac cords and steel-toed boots. Heavy framed spectacles with milk-bottle lenses completed the ensemble. He stood before a mirror and combed his hair from back to front. Satisfied, he moved over to the bed and assembled his handwritten papers. He patted the pockets of his jacket, producing a rattle that sounded as if he might be carrying lots of little bottles. He took a deep breath and read the words in the manner of an opera singer at rehearsal. ‘Zsa, zsa-zsa, zsa, zsa-zsa, zsa-zsa . . . A MUZZLE ON THEE . . . zsa-zsa . . . MY SANITY . . .’
Murdo strutted and shook his head and hands at length, occasionally taking the box out, slowly raising it to eye level and gazing at it adoringly. Eventually he slumped on the bed and read his script in silence.
Rachel, dressed in the scarlet cheongsam, split from knee to waist, glided in on stiletto heels. Raising her arms to pat her dark hair which was done up in a chignon, she vamped it up as she approached Murdo. He gazed at her, open-mouthed.
‘Hello, sailor,’ Rachel said.
‘It’s me, Rachel!’
‘I know it’s you, fool. What’s with the get-up? Go over to the mirror there and take a swatch at how awful you look.’
‘I’ve done that already. It’s okay. It’s all part of the plan.’
‘What plan?’
‘I’m resorting to deceit and cunning,’ Murdo said, ‘to get the dough.’
‘Haven’t you sold the van yet? What have you been doing all morning?’
‘I’m not selling the van.’
Rachel dug the fingers of both hands under her hair at the scalp line, threw her head back and looked Murdo straight in the eye. ‘Oh, aren’t you?’
‘No, I’m going to sell something else. Look, I’ve worked everything out in fine detail.’
Murdo handed her the script. Rachel glanced at the first page only. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’
‘Read it.’
‘Well, well, well. What a busy little pumpkin you’ve been!’
‘Busy enough,’ Murdo said. ‘This’ll work. I’ve pulled strokes like this before. Did I tell you about the time I sold my mother’s cow to Duncan Macdonald? I asked him for the head and I stuck it in the peat bog?’
‘And when the poor old soul realised the cow was missing,’ Rachel said in tired tones, ‘you showed her the head and told her the beast must have drowned.’
‘I’m telling you, if we follow this script all our problems will be solved.’
Rachel put both palms down flat on the bottom of the bed, stiffened her arms, leaned forward and said, ‘But where’s the cow going to come from this time?’
‘What are you talking about? What cow?’
‘Whose head are you going to chop off this time?’ Morag asked.
‘I know I’ve written a cracking script. And I know what’s going to happen when we act on it.’
‘You’ve been so busy scribbling, you don’t even think about anyone else in your life.’
‘Such as you, I suppose.’
‘Such as me. Where do you think I got this gear I’m wearing? Why do you think I’ve made the effort to look glamorous? You leave me up here with seventeen pounds to my name? You promise to get three hundred and fifty pounds? I go downstairs to speak to Suki, eh?’
‘Suki?’
‘The owner’s wife. She gives me a break on the room and lets me stay another night for nothing.’ She spoke softly. ‘I’m looking forward to being with you.’
‘What do you think of the script?’
‘Have you memorised this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Go ahead. A. B. C.’
‘What?’
‘Anger . . . Blethers . . . and Catching.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah, get on with it. Anger first.’
Murdo threw his head back, mouth agape, and jerkily rotated his head. With clenched fists crossed, he beat his ribs in the manner of someone trying to restore circulation to frozen hands. Rachel, looking off to the side and apparently indifferent to his convulsions, smothered a yawn and nodded once briskly. ‘Next: Blethers.’
Murdo looked down, remained with his head bowed for a beat or two, then slowly raised his gaze. He was weeping and shouting. ‘. . . THOU BLACK-MOUTHED MAID, THE ONLY TREE IN THE GARDEN OF EYES . . . A MUZZLE ON THEE.’ Murdo paused theatrically. ‘WITH BOLD ASSURANCE YOU BENT ME TO YOUR WILL AND GNAWING DOUBT YOU BANISHED FROM MY HEART, AND SO ON TH
E SMOOTH PREDESTINED PATH OF MY YOUTH I MOVED THROUGH EACH DAY AND MY SENSE IMBIBED THEIR SAP.’ He sobbed uncontrollably and laid his head on folded arms.
After a long pause Rachel murmured, without looking at him, ‘Try and get a little more volume, Murdo.’
‘Huh?’
‘A bit more like Pavarotti.’
‘Pavarotti?’
‘I’m only winding you up. Now, C for Catching.’
Murdo reached into his pocket and pulled out the jewellery box. He slowly raised it to eye level, opened the lid and gazed at the contents. His arms began to quiver with tension. With a strangled animal-like cry he lost his grip of the box and it flew six feet or so in the air to be caught one-handed by Rachel.
‘Ugh . . . Oh!’
Rachel tossed the box back to him and he stuffed it in his pocket.
‘Have you got the pills?’
Murdo slapped his jacket pocket. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, do you want the truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘The script’s not bad.’ She handed it back to him.
‘The script’s not bad? It’s outstandingly good.’
‘You make a pretty good fool.’ She embraced him.
‘If you deliver the lines I’ve written for you, Rachel, there’s no way in the world we can fail to con anybody.’
‘That’ll depend on the guy you pick.’
‘I’ve already picked him.’
‘Who?’
There was a brief pause. Both spoke simultaneously: ‘Sam the Scam!’
‘Okay. Enough’s enough.’ Murdo abruptly disengaged himself from her embrace and marched purposefully to the doorway. ‘I’m leaving you now and I may be gone for some time.’
11
Stalking
24 August 2010, 12.50 p.m.
Murdo stood beside the notice board at the entrance to the pier. His whole body stiffened. Rachel was running at full pelt towards him. She wore a nurse’s uniform with a little white cap on her head. ‘Murdo, Murdo,’ she shouted almost out of breath.
‘What’s up?’
‘Murdo, you’re behaving like a madman.’
‘It’s got to be done.’
‘You’re not going to go through with this nonsense, are you?’
‘You bet . . . What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I don’t . . . I want to . . . You need help. You can’t do this on your own.’
‘Oh, yes I can. But you’re welcome to tag along, if you want to see me taking the piss out of the man from Etive Television.’
‘I can’t let you do this on your own. I’m here to help.’
‘Do you think I can’t beat him?’
‘Well . . .’
Murdo slashed the air with the script. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘he’s going to get whipped, kicked, trampled and thrashed.’
‘Stop that kind of talk. It is terrific being with you. You’re a very attractive man, you know?’
‘I know, I know.’
‘Let me know honestly how you feel.’
‘I’m feeling powerful.’
Rachel moved swiftly behind him, slipping her arms through Murdo’s armpits. ‘Why did you pick Sam?’ she said.
‘Why? Because he’s the guy who made Our Land and he’s a big player.’
‘Never mind that bloody programme. I don’t want to talk about that just now. And neither do you.’ After a brief pause, she placed her hands on his chest. ‘Why did you pick Sam?’
‘He has no respect for anyone but himself. As far as he’s concerned, there are only two types of people in the world: those who are used by others and those who are able to use people. He thinks that I can be used, but he’s got another think coming.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘Please yourself. I’ll play him like a salmon on the hook.’
‘Did you hear what I said? I’m going to help you.’
‘Did you hear what I said? I’m going to pull this off on my own.’
Rachel let her hands run down his chest and leaned over him until her chin was resting on the top of his head. ‘Murdo?’
‘Mmmm.’
‘What would you say if I told you I don’t really care about the money?’
Murdo was preoccupied scanning the script. ‘Do you think it would be over the top if I started spitting?’
‘I’m spending the night . . . here.’ Rachel settled herself against him even more cosily, until her bosom was up against the back of his head. ‘How do you fancy a soft, warm bed yourself?’
‘That would be very . . .’ He paused. ‘Listen, Rachel, I’ve got work to do. I’m not thinking about beds but of the glorious day that has dawned – the day that has always been my destiny.’
Murdo slumped down still further.
‘Why don’t we take a chance?’ Rachel said. There was a slight pause. ‘I’m willing.’
‘But why did you suddenly lose interest in the money?
‘Ohhh – two reasons. One, Suki has given us this room for nothing tonight. And two, I want you to be with me, Murdo.’
Suddenly somebody emerged from the Tartan Pagoda. He made for the door of a Range Rover and took out a brown leather briefcase.
‘Look, Murdo, that’s the guy we’ve been looking for.’
‘Where? Who is it?’
‘That half-wit in the baseball cap who’s probably from Corstorphine but imagines he’s in Hollywood – that’s him on the other side of the Range Rover.’
They looked at Sam as he gave some instructions involving exaggerated hand gestures to the driver of the Range Rover. He turned away and moved briskly down the line of vehicles in the direction of the Bar Restaurant beyond. As he approached Rachel and Murdo, the couple turned their backs and pretended to read the ferry timetable.
‘I recognise him,’ Murdo said. A new thought occurred to him. ‘Maybe he’ll recognise me. I’ve been on television, you know?’
‘Murdo, you’ve been on Gaelic television. Speaking Our Language.At half past four in the morning. Those Etive TV guys didn’t see you. Nobody saw you. The odd member of your fan club maybe saw you, but that folded last year when two of them died.’
Murdo’s head went down, his face crumpled and tears were not far away. ‘There’s no need for that, Rachel . . .’
Rachel spoke in exasperation. ‘Look, when anybody comes home at the weekend and hears Gaelic on the telly, it’s high time to get into the jammies. That means that it’s really, really late.’
‘I’m a semi-famous actor.’
‘Semi-famous? You’re an unknown, darling. Actually, you’re not even an unknown. You’re a fucking missing person!’
‘I think you might be right,’ Murdo said plaintively.
‘I’m sorry, Murdo. It is terrific being with you. It’s my fault, Murdo. I shouldn’t have mentioned Speaking Our Language.You were terrific in that programme. First time round, they got thousands of letters singing your praises.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Now, are you up for socking it to Etive Television?’
As Sam passed them Rachel extended her forefinger towards him and curled it as though squeezing a trigger. With an almost imperceptible nod of her head towards the retreating Sam, they casually followed their prey. They walked very slowly – this caused by Murdo’s suddenly acquired ataxic gait – towards the entrance of the Bar Restaurant.
12
Showtime
24 August 2010, 1 p.m.
With Rachel in the lead, the pair made their way to the table occupied by Sam. He was busy with a bottle of Tippex, meticulously altering receipts with the small brush. When he saw how fetching Rachel looked in her nurse’s uniform, his eyes almost popped out of his head. He hastily put down his tools and openly ogled her.
‘May we join you?’ Rachel said.
‘Uh-huh,’ Sam grunted.
A young Thai girl carrying a tray of dirty dishes passed them. She executed a formal bow and said, ‘Kam sah ham ni da.’
; ‘What’s she saying?’ Sam said.
‘I suppose she’s asking how the pig is,’ Murdo said.
Sam looked at Murdo blankly, and then continued falsifying his receipts.
The Thai girl, carrying a notebook and pen, came up to the table. ‘What you have?’ she asked.
‘A bottle of water and two glasses, please,’ Rachel replied. She unbuttoned Murdo’s jacket. ‘Medication time, Angus.’
At the sound of her voice Sam looked up from his receipts.
Murdo was fiddling with an array of medicine bottles on the table.
Rachel acknowledged Sam’s interest with a tight smile of apology. She half rose to accept the mineral water and glasses which the girl laid on the table. Placing her palms together and bringing the tips of her fingers up to her chin the waitress bowed. ‘Welcome,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Rachel said. ‘God, I hope these new pills work. I’m just hoping that he doesn’t have another one of his . . . attacks.’
When he heard this, Sam looked down at his papers. He glanced over at Murdo who was nervously tossing his head from side to side and snapping his teeth together, as though trying to bite his left ear. Suddenly, he emitted a high-pitched scream, shuffled his feet on the floor and, with clenched fists crossed, beat his ribs in the manner of someone trying to restore circulation to frozen hands.
Rachel was calmly opening the medicine bottles and measuring out an assortment of brightly coloured pills onto the table. She filled the glasses and held hers up. ‘Good health,’ she said.
Murdo chinked her glass with his own, crammed a fistful of pills into his mouth and gulped a mouthful of water. ‘Goo’ healsh . . . ish lo’ liff.’
Sam leaned forward and indicated Murdo with a tilt of his head. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
Rachel tapped her breast. ‘Heart.’
‘Oh, right,’ Sam said.
‘His heart’s knackered and there’s nothing they can do for him.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
During this exchange, Murdo pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket, threw his head back, mouth agape, and jerkily rotated his head.
‘He’s just been discharged from hospital in Inverness this morning,’ Rachel said.