Calamity Jena (Invertary 4)

Lake gave him a rare grin. “Yeah, have fun with that.”

With a grunt, Matt grabbed the food, kicked the door closed and headed for the rickety kitchen table.

“Come eat, Jena,” he shouted as he passed the stairs. “You need energy to kill a man.”

With a grin of his own, he poured a mug of coffee and sighed. This was not a day he could face without being fortified by caffeine.

It took almost an hour of listening to Jena rant before she wound down. When she did, Matt gently explained that he had everything under control, and until they were better informed the best course of action would be to ignore the flowers.

It took another ten minutes to get her to promise to do as she was told. He then dropped her off at work and had a chat with Gordon. The old man was grim, but promised to take good care of his charge. Lake’s security business was two doors down from the hardware store, and Matt knew without asking that Lake would be on the lookout. With Jena as secure as he could make her for the morning, Matt decided to visit his dad.

The drive to Fort William took him through the ominous scenery of Glencoe, with its barren hills and narrow valley road. It wasn’t hard to imagine it as the scene of a massacre. There would be nowhere for people to hide. Nowhere to run. The place always made him feel melancholy. Especially when the piper was at the top of one of the hills blasting out bagpipe music for the tourists. Matt hated the bagpipes. It sounded like someone was abusing a bag of cats.

His mood hadn’t improved any when he pulled into the car park of the nursing home—his father’s residence for the past two years. He spotted his mother’s car. He wasn’t surprised she was already there. She visited every single day, ill or well, no matter the weather, and she never complained when he didn’t recognise her or called her someone else’s name.

He swept through the corridors, nodding hello to the nurses until he made it to his dad’s olive-green door. It was open and his mother was sitting beside the hospital bed telling his father all about her day.

“You

should have seen Morag’s face when the big tourist complained about her pies. He said that there was too much fat in his. I thought Morag was going to burst a blood vessel. I swear I saw her head swell, and she pursed her lips so hard they disappeared into a tight wee line. You know how proud she is of her pies. They won one award twenty-two years ago and she’s never stopped telling people since.” She mimicked the local bakery owner: “My award-winning pies are the best pies in Scotland.” She grinned before her voice returned to normal. “The man said, ‘I don’t care if they’ve won awards, I want my money back. I’m not eating fat-filled pastry.’ It was brilliant. Best thing I’ve seen in ages. It’s about time someone took Morag down a peg or two.”

She leaned over and brushed his father’s hair off his forehead with her fingers. “You used to love those pies,” she said softly. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”

His father stared into space, oblivious to her words. Matt felt his chest tighten. He cleared his throat as he strode into the room.

“Hey, Mum.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “How’s it going? How is he today?”

She gave Matt a tight hug. “He’s doing great.” She looked back at her husband of thirty-five years. “Aren’t you, Bruce?” The room may as well have been empty. She turned back to Matt. “He’s thinking hard today.” She smiled sadly.

“Good to hear.” He settled into the chair beside the bed, noticing the dark circles under his mum’s eyes. She wasn’t sleeping. Instead she was grieving the husband who slipped through her fingers a little more each day, and there was nothing her son could do to make it better for her. “Why don’t you go get a cup of tea and a bite to eat while I sit with him? He needs a little man talk, don’t you, Dad?”

Matt’s chest hurt looking at the man who’d once taken up so much space in his life. The man who’d taught him how to be a man. He owed everything he was to his dad.

“Thanks, love,” his mum said. “I am a bit hungry. I won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” Matt said. “But bring me back a coffee. I can’t shake that dozy feeling today.”

“No problem.” She winked at him, smoothed her hand over her short blonde hair and glanced at her husband with such brutal longing it made Matt hold his breath. “I’ll be back soon,” she said as she left the room.

Matt rubbed his chest as he turned back to his dad. “I’ve got to tell you about this crazy woman I’m looking out for,” he said. “You’d get a kick out her.”

His dad’s eyes fought to focus on Matt’s face. “Donald?” His voice was a raw croak, brittle from lack of use.

Matt swallowed hard. His dad never called him Donald. That was the name of the uncle he’d been named after. Matt didn’t mind; he was used to playing the part of his long-dead uncle. “That’s right,” Matt told him as he reached for his hand. “It’s Donald. How’s the family doing, Bruce?”

“Good, good.” He looked confused. “I thought you were at sea.”

“I was. Came back to see you, you old codger.”

The smile his father gave him was worth every moment of the pain Matt felt. “Who you calling an old codger? I’m two years younger than you.”

“That you are, that you are.” Matt squeezed his father’s brittle hand. Holding on to more than his skin, trying to hold on to the man who was fading away. He fought to get words past his tight throat. “Tell me about that lovely wife of yours.”

He watched as his dad’s whole face lit up so much it was blinding. “Heather,” he said on a sigh. “She takes my breath away. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Aye,” Matt said. “Aye, I do.”

And an image of a crazy American woman flashed into his mind.