at all. My priorities were my own. She was my only concern. Other people didn’t exist. Other people were noises that fluttered at my ears or drifted past my eyes. They were in the world but not in mine. People were obstacles and stepping stones. They thought they were talking to me and that I was listening. They thought I cared. They thought. I didn’t think about them.
Oh we all live in our own self-centred little worlds but my isolation was more than that. Their selfishness was no match for my obsession. Other people live for themselves but want to be loved by others. I lived only for her and had no need for love.
I wouldn’t say it was callous. More indifference. Maybe that amounted to the same thing but I didn’t care to hurt. I just didn’t care. Other people’s feelings were as irrelevant as they were, somewhere on my horizon, shadows upon shadows. That is how I could do what I had done and what I was about to do.
I picked up the Herald. Glasgow Herald as was. I didn’t like it when things were changed without good reason.
Page 22 is the Gazette page. Why it is called that has never been particularly obvious to me but it didn’t matter. The Gazette page is where they have the obituaries and the BDMs. Births, Deaths and Marriages.
Except in the Herald it is Births, Marriages then Deaths. They probably consider it a more natural order of things but I was always uneasy with the change from the conventional. The Gazette page is where people celebrate themselves in print. It is where they let their friends and neighbours know of their achievements or failures in genetics. Weir
John and Fiona are delighted to announce the safe arrival of their beautiful twin girls,
Victoria Susan Eilidh (5lbs 11 ozs) and Emma
Ann Marcia (5lbs 9 ozs) at 34 weeks on
22nd February 2010. Sisters for Jack. Many thanks to Dr James Hines, Dr Ken French and all staff at the Royal Alexandra Hospital, Paisley, for all their care and attention.
That was not to be it.
I felt for John and Fiona though. They were pain waiting to happen. John and Fiona still thought life was fair. Beautiful twin girls. Victoria and Emma. Lovely. Victoria. Emma. Sisters to Jack. Good weight for premature twins too.
So many bad things could happen to Victoria and Emma. A world of bad possibilities. That was a fact. I almost despised John and Fiona for their ignorance. How could they be so unaware of fate, so naive, so stupid to think otherwise? McGowan
At the Southern General Hospital on 28th February
2010, to Neil and Polly McGowan (nee Rawstone) a son Angus Michael, a little brother for Claire.
Not the one.
Angus, a good name but anachronistic. Parents really had to be more considerate when naming their offspring. We had taken two months to settle on Sarah’s name. Sarah was a princess, wife of Abraham and mother of Isaac. If it was a boy it was to have been David, the beloved one.
Two columns of births. One and a half of marriages. Four and a half columns of deaths. Three of acknowledgements which was really just another three of deaths.
I looked carefully at the last seven and a half columns. Why so many more deaths than births and marriages? The population was dropping but not that quick.
If deaths were more worthy of noting in a national newspaper then that sounded more like guilt to me than honouring those that had gone. Anyway, deaths clearly didn’t suit my purpose. That would have been impractical on so many levels.
It was to be the last marriage. I’d settled on that before picking up the paper. No reason. Just a random choice. Those at the end of the alphabet were at a distinct and dangerous disadvantage but that was life. Sinclair
Gardiner
The marriage took place at Iona Abbey on
20th February 2010 of Brian, son of the late Archibald Sinclair and of Elspeth Sinclair,
Arran, and Mary Anne, daughter of
Ian and Anne Gardiner, Inchinnan.
The newly wed Brian Sinclair and Mary Anne Gardiner. Brian and Mary. Mr and Mrs Sinclair. By the time the glorification of their union appeared in the Herald they had enjoyed thirteen days of wedded bliss.
It struck me that the right thing to do would be not to separate Mr and Mrs Sinclair. Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. Matthew 19:6.
The thought struck me but I dismissed it. God and I were no longer on speaking terms. Mr and Mrs Sinclair together would pose far more problems. The rights and wrongs of separating them paled beside the practicalities of what had to be done. Brian and Mary were both obstacle and stepping stone.
So, Brian or Mary? Husband or wife?
I was ambivalent but thought I should redress the unfairness of the alphabetical disadvantage.
And behold, there are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last. Luke 13:30.
God and I did not speak any more but I still remembered his words. It would be Brian. Mrs Mary Sinclair, wallowing in the blissful ignorance of the newly wed, would soon be a widow.
These days I had only misery to share. It burst out of me now.
CHAPTER 27
Brian Sinclair was a runner. Twice a day, every day, he left the house at Inchinnan overlooking the White Cart and headed onto the hill behind it where a path cut a trail through the woods. I didn’t know how far he ran but he was gone a good hour each time and seemed to pick up a very decent pace. He was very fit, which was a bit of a worry. Not necessarily a major problem but definitely an issue.
Thankfully the new Mrs Sinclair was not a runner. Their inseparability did not seem to extend to staying fit together.
I’d parked half a mile away and positioned myself in the shadow of a tree that let me view their house without being seen.
I waited. And waited some more.
I was wearing jeans and walking boots, a shirt and waterproof jacket. In the back pocket of my jeans was a rolled-up newspaper. I didn’t care much for papers or the people who wrote them. I’d known journalists. I hadn’t liked them. Pretending they are your friend. Just there to help. Only wanting to tell your side of things. Then when they write stuff you didn’t say, put it in ways that you didn’t mean, then it isn’t their fault. The editor wanted it that way, the sub-editor wrote the heading, nothing to do with them.
But, of course, once it is in black and white it is gospel. Once it is plastered across the columns of a newspaper everyone believes it to be fact. It is so true that the pen is mightier than the sword but it’s not the only way a newspaper can be a weapon.
I felt the weight of the rolled-up paper in my back pocket and was reassured by it.
I waited.
Eventually the door opened and I saw Brian Sinclair wave before closing it behind him. He began to run. He didn’t have the dog with him. That meant it was time.
I gave him fully five minutes then made my way away from the house and circled it before joining the path and walking deep into the wood.
It was a fairly steep climb but I was fit enough. I’d already worked out that I wanted to be far enough in that only one person was likely to pass me. Not so far that it would take me too long to get out again.
When I got to the point I’d picked out, I sat and waited. It wouldn’t be long.
My timing was good. I’d been sitting no more than three minutes when I picked up the sound of running. He was on his return route.
It was a scratch that became a roar. Feet through leaves. Feet across packed ground. Getting closer. Louder. Scrunching towards me.
