Fin turned to his own car, unlocked the door, and slid into the driver’s seat. He started it up, slipped into first gear and released the handbrake. As long as he kept Fionnlagh’s lights in sight, he could keep his own turned off. He rolled down the hill after the Mini.
Fin kept a good two hundred yards between the cars, and slowed to a stop as the Mini pulled up outside the Crobost stores at the foot of the hill. By the light of Fionnlagh’s headlamps, he saw the tiny figure of Donna Murray dart out from the shelter of the shop doorway, hefting a carrycot in both hands. Fionnlagh jumped out to tip the driver’s seat forward and she slid it inside before running back to fetch a small suitcase.
Which was when the headlamps of a third car flooded the scene with light. Fin could see the rain driving through them, and the figure of a man stepping out to interrupt their beam. He lifted his foot from the clutch and accelerated down the road towards them, turning on his headlights to throw this midnight drama into sharp relief. Three startled faces turned towards his car as he braked, skidding to a stop on the gravel. He let the door swing open and stepped out into the rain.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Donald Murray had to bellow to be heard over the roar of the storm. His face was liverish pale in the light of the cars, his eyes sunken in shadow.
‘Maybe I should be asking you that,’ Fin shouted back.
Donald punched an angry fist through the air towards his daughter and her lover, a solitary finger pointed in accusation. ‘They’re trying to run off with the baby.’
‘It’s their baby.’
A sneer curled Donald’s mouth. ‘Are you in on this?’
‘Hey!’ Fionnlagh bellowed red-faced at the night. ‘It’s none of your business! Either of you. She’s our baby and it’s our decision. So you can all go to hell.’
‘That’s for God to decide,’ Donald Murray shouted back at him. ‘But you are going nowhere, son. Not with my grandchild, you’re not.’
‘Try and fucking stop me!’ Fionnlagh took Donna’s bag and threw it into the car. ‘Come on,’ he said to her, and dropped into the driver’s seat.
Donald was there in two strides to reach in and pull out the ignition key, turning to throw it into the teeth of the gale. He moved swiftly around the car to reach in and grab the carrycot.
Fionnlagh leapt out to stop him, but Fin got there first. His sou’wester blew off and vanished in the dark as he grabbed the Reverend Murray by the shoulders and pulled him away from the car. Donald was still a powerfully built man, and he pushed back hard to try to break free of Fin’s grip. Both men stumbled backwards and tumbled to the ground, rolling over on the gravel.
The fall expelled all the air from Fin’s lungs, and he gasped for breath as Donald got back to his feet. He managed to rise to his knees, still fighting for air, and looked up as Donald reached out a hand to help him to stand. He caught a flash of white at Donald’s neck. His dog collar. And for a moment the absurdity of their situation flashed through his head. He was fighting with the minister of Crobost Church, for God’s sake! His boyhood friend. He grasped the hand and pulled himself up. The two men stood glaring at each other, both breathing hard, both faces wet with rain and shining in the light of the headlamps.
‘Stop it!’ Donna was screaming. ‘Stop it, both of you!’
But Donald kept his eyes fixed on Fin. ‘I found the ferry tickets in her room. The first sailing tomorrow for Ullapool. I knew they’d try and get away tonight.’
‘Donald, they’re both adults. It’s their baby. They can go where they like.’
‘I might have known you would take their side.’
‘I’m not taking anyone’s side. You’re the one who’s driving them away. Refusing to let Fionnlagh come to the house to see his own daughter. You’d think we were still living in the Middle Ages!’
‘He has no means of supporting them. He’s still at school for God’s sake!’
‘Well, he’s not going to make much of himself by dropping out and running away, is he? And that’s what you’re forcing him to do. Both of them.’
Donald spat his contempt at the night. ‘This is a waste of time.’ He turned again to try and take the carrycot from the car. Fin grabbed his arm, and in that moment Donald swung around, his fist flying through the light to catch Fin a glancing blow on the cheek. The force of it knocked Fin off balance and he went sprawling backwards on the tarmac.
For several long moments, the scene was frozen, as if someone had flicked a switch and put the movie on pause. None of them could quite believe what Donald had just done. The wind howled its disapproval all around them. Then Fin struggled back to his feet and wiped a smear of blood from his lip. He glared at the minister. ‘For Christ’s sake man,’ he said. ‘Come to your senses.’ His voice was almost lost in the roar of the night.
Donald stood rubbing his knuckles, staring back at Fin, his eyes filled with disbelief, guilt, anger. As if it were somehow Fin’s fault that Donald had struck him. ‘Why the hell would you care anyway?’
Fin shut his eyes and shook his head. ‘Because Fionnlagh’s my son.’
TWENTY-TWO
Catriona Murray’s concern turned to confusion when she opened the door of the manse and found her husband and Fin Macleod standing on the top step like two drowned rats, bloodied and bruised. It wasn’t who she had been expecting.
‘Where’s Donna and the baby?’
‘Nice to see you, too, Catriona,’ Fin said.
Donald said, ‘They’re at Marsaili’s.’
Catriona’s dark eyes darted from one to the other. ‘What’s to stop them heading for Stornoway first thing and catching the ferry?’
Fin said, ‘They won’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’re afraid of what me and Donald might do to one another. Any chance we could come in out of the rain?’
She shook her head in confusion and frustration, and held the door wide for the two men to come, dripping, into the hallway. ‘You’d better get those wet things off you.’
Fin smiled. ‘Better keep mine on, Catriona. I don’t want to inflame your delicate sensibilities.’ He held open his oilskin to reveal his vest and boxer shorts. ‘I was only popping out to get a book from the car.’
‘I’ll get you a dressing gown.’ She canted her head to take a closer look at him. ‘What happened to your face?’
‘Your husband hit me.’
Her eyes shot at once towards Donald, the slightest frown drawing creases between her brows. The guilt on his face, and his lack of a denial, deepened them.
Fifteen minutes later the two men sat around a peat fire in the living room, sipping on mugs of hot chocolate by the light of a table lamp and the glow of the peats. Donald wore a black silk dressing gown embroidered with Chinese dragons. Fin wore a thick white towelling robe. Both men were barefoot and only just beginning to feel the circulation returning. On a nod from Donald, Catriona had retired to the kitchen, and the two men sat sipping in silence for some minutes.
‘A splash of whisky would be good in this,’ Fin said at last, more in hope than expectation.
‘Good idea.’ And to Fin’s surprise Donald got up to retrieve a bottle of Balvenie Doublewood from the dresser. More than two-thirds of it had already gone. He uncorked it and poured generous measures into each of their mugs, and sat down again.
They sipped some more, and Fin nodded. ‘Better.’ He heard Donald sigh deeply.
‘It sticks in my craw, Fin, but I owe you an apology.’
Fin nodded. ‘Damn right you do.’
‘Whatever the provocation, I’d no right to hit you. It was wrong.’
Fin turned to look at his one-time friend and saw genuine regret in his face. ‘Why? Why was it wrong?’
‘Because Jesus taught us that violence is wrong.
