Getting Acquainted

Chapter Six

After the pony riding they ate the lunch that Mr. Scott had prepared for them. Margaret had promised to give Iain an answer, but she had not yet made up her mind and he was not asking anything. It might be because they were eating in the presence of others, but she was certainly not going to remind him of the issue during a meal.

There was talk of going shopping after lunch, but Iain declined. Margaret did the same. Whatever it was he said he needed to look up, she would watch. She would be such a coward if she chose to go shopping instead of discussing with him what they were going to do. It had been delayed long enough. She only needed to build up some courage, but that had to be done in his presence.

She had assumed he would go to his own house to look things up, but he moved into his father's study when the rest of the family had left the house. "You don't have a computer?" she asked, surprised.

"I don't have an internet connection." He started up the computer, pulling the chair closer for himself.

"Why not?" She could not imagine life without one.

"Because I'm rarely home." It would be a waste of money to pay for it if he rarely used it and if he could easily use it here.

Margaret wondered if it was still such a good idea to marry him if he was always out, although he had never struck her as someone who had a dazzling social life. It was more likely that he spent too much time at work. "Where are you then if you're not home?" she asked nevertheless.

"At work, here, at my sister's." He shrugged, because it was hardly interesting.

She realised she was away for work quite often as well, but it was not an attractive prospect to marry someone who was never going to be home. They might never be home at the same time, even if she was secretly considering working less after she was married. All of her extra jobs could be dropped if she had someone to stay home for. Perhaps he had something that could be dropped as well. "But if you could play at home and if you had a wife..."

"I would come home to play with my wife, yes. Sit down."

"No." She stood behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders. "I'm fine." Besides, there was no place to sit, except on the desk or on his lap. Strictly speaking one of the two options was not sitting and she would have a hard time looking at the computer screen, and the other was not yet something she considered doing. She could see the screen perfectly from here.

"I won't protest against that. Now..." Iain switched into work mode to outline the problem they had to solve before he could ask for a massage. That might just be a little too much for her. "I was going to look up how to get married and where. I thought it would be easiest if we did it here, unless you insist on another location. I can't think of any that I'd specifically want and to pack off the entire family to such a location might not be a good idea at such a short notice."

"The entire family being?" If the photographs in this house were anything to go by, there were rather a lot of Scotts and many of them were very young. Iain seemed to be the only one who did not have a handful of children. Yet. Margaret drifted off on a tangent. He did not appear to have any objections to them, given how he had behaved with Ailsa.

"Ailsa and two witnesses, possibly more family members if they insist. I suspect my parents won't have any objections to being used as witnesses, but I don't know about yours. As far as my sister and brothers are concerned, they have children, but my brothers don't live in the area and you might not see them before the wedding, so it might not be a good idea to have them there if you've never met them," he said, thinking as he spoke.

Margaret had not really given any thought to which people should be present. "In a very shallow female manner I'd only imagined looking beautiful in my dress. All the rest was just a blur." Just like what she really needed to think about was a blur. It was interesting how you could see the path your thoughts had to travel and still ignore it.

"Do you have people who must be present?" asked Iain, who wisely did not reveal he had also imagined Margaret looking beautiful in a dress.

"It cannot be just you and me, can it?" she asked regretfully. She did not want too many people who could say they did not really know each other. It was none of their business.

"We need a minimum of two others."

"What if I cried? They would see it." It was an important step in her life. She did not know how she would hold up.

"Marrying me is not going to be that bad," he joked, but he was not sure how committing himself for life would feel the moment he could no longer turn back. Crying was out of the question. He would not do that, but he might be required to kiss the bride and that was something he might not like at all with people looking on. Or he might not care at all and forget about the spectators. It was hard to tell at this point. Still, if there had not been any practice in three weeks it might be advisable to confer with Margaret if she needed any.

Margaret squeezed his shoulders. "I know. Anyway, I vote for your family only."

"Not yours? Are you sure your parents will be able to handle that? My parents know me, but they would certainly be a little disappointed if I wouldn't tell them about this occasion." If the wedding was going to be nearby they would certainly like to attend and he felt it would be wrong to leave them out of it. He understood that Margaret did not have the same kind of bond with her parents, but if they still kept in touch with her they might feel offended if they were left out of this.

"But you share a lot and I never do." He brought home his suspects and the report of his case, whereas her parents did not even know where she had been.

"Think about it," he advised. "To be honest, I'm glad there won't be anyone I don't know, but I'd hate it if you got into trouble with them because you hadn't told or invited them."

"It's my life," Margaret said stubbornly. She only foresaw trouble if she invited her parents. They would spoil her day. "I can just imagine what they'd say. No. It's my life."

"And I'll be sharing it."

He had a point and she relented. "I would never take it out on you, but if it makes you happy I'll see if I can see them by accident in a week or two to see how they behave towards me." If they were friendly and sensible, she might let them know. Inviting them was something that was probably not going to happen.

"That'll make me happy -- unless you take me to see them." He had a feeling they might not be easy.

"Be consistent."

"A person doesn't have to like the best course of action." Iain had also been looking at websites in the meantime. That was more interesting than wondering how he would be introduced to Margaret's parents and what they would say. "Forms, documents -- do you have your passport with you?"

"No. I hadn't reckoned with the fact that I might meet someone at Nigel's house that I'd want to marry. Wait. I was home Saturday night and I still didn't reckon with it."

"I'm not insulted. When do you want to give notice -- must be once at home, once here. And do you want to be married here? You haven't said what you wanted." They could also go elsewhere if that was what she preferred, although that seemed to be more difficult and time-consuming to arrange.

"Here would be fine, since I never heard you mention that kilt again, so I'm guessing you don't really want to get married in it. We wanted to be married within four weeks. Is that possible?" She had been trying to read over his shoulder, but that had proved to be a bit difficult. There were also other things that distracted her, so she counted on him to inform her.

Iain smiled. He had not really been serious about the kilt and he was glad she was not insisting that he wear one. "Then we should give notice as soon as we can -- and why not? I never understand why people wait a year or more after they've decided on it."

"That's for the party that we don't need to plan. But we can't give notice today." She needed her passport.

He scrolled down. "You can only do it in the morning anyway." It was already too late. Tomorrow was the earliest opportunity.

"And I must fetch my passport." She leant past him and looked up the procedure in her hometown. "All day. That's ... not convenient. I'll have to go there to get the passport, which can be done at any time, and then give notice, which can be done during the day, and then come back here and give notice in the morning. At least, I assume we are both needed for that. That means we need at least two days to get it arranged."

"Not if we do it there at nine and here just before twelve," Iain commented, seeing an efficient option. All these formalities were a nuisance and he wanted to get them over with as soon as possible. "And get your passport at eight-thirty or something like that."

They would not even have to get up at a terribly indecent hour, Margaret calculated, but another consideration threw a spanner in the works. "I have to do more at home than that. I'd have to go back another time this week anyway. The plants, the mail, there's a party for Ailsa to plan that I'd forgotten about..."

"We could go there right now," he suggested. That would give her some of the afternoon and all of the evening.

"Oh!" That sounded like the perfect solution because it would give her enough time for all those small tasks. Later she would have to go back to pack and clean, but there was no immediate hurry. Perhaps they could make a start with that as well.

Then she realised that staying over had other consequences. She would not have to decide whether to stay with Iain's parents or with Iain tonight. That problem was solved very easily in this manner -- for one night, at least.

"Should I ... take a hotel?" asked Iain, who had apparently been thinking about the same topic.

"A hotel?" She leant against the desk to look at him. Why did he ask that?

"How big is your house?" Perhaps a hotel was not necessary and she had enough bedrooms, but he wanted to make a gentlemanly offer nevertheless.

Margaret coloured. She could never let him take a hotel. That felt very wrong. "Big enough. We're going to be married -- I can't send you away as if I can't bear your company. That would be so wrong and it would be so wrong to get married if I sent you to a hotel because even two bedrooms is not enough of a separation for me. If I decide to break my promise there it's not as bad as here, because no one will know. Here, everyone will know."

"It can be very bad to break your promise there too." He wondered what her greatest fear actually was -- breaking her promise or the consequences of it. And of what did her promise consist precisely? But he was glad to hear she objected to a hotel. He might have talked her out of it if she had said it was a good idea.

"How? For me? Yes." Yes, she should probably stick to what she had always told herself, otherwise she was a very weak person. She straightened her back unconsciously.

"Yes. And for me," Iain clarified when she did not realise there were more sides to this issue.

"How?" As far as she could tell he was going to benefit from that weakness. It could never be bad for him.

"Just think logically. I'd hate to sound patronising, but I think you're overlooking something. I know what you think, but you don't know what I think about it. You've never asked. What about my promise?" he asked.

"Yours? You're a man. They're always..." His question confused her and she did not know what he meant precisely. His promise? Did he simply want her to be fair or did he really have an opinion?

"Always what?" He thought he could guess what she meant. Men were always in for anything. He would agree that some of them were.

"Never mind." She should not be generalising, not when she knew very little about men. Quite obviously any answer of hers would be considered incorrect. That gleam in his eyes predicted it and she knew very well that he was going to attack the sweeping generalisation that she had not even voiced. She leant back in resignation.

Iain pushed his chair back a little so he had a better view of her. He put his feet on the desk, looking extremely relaxed. "I've heard you wouldn't do anything without a ring on your finger, but what do you know about me?"

Margaret frowned because the direct attack did not come. "Not much," she admitted, while trying to come to a conclusion about him based on what she had seen and heard. He was not in for anything, she would guess, but just how much he was in for was indeed something she did not know. Still, he could never be at risk, because there could not be anyone who was in for less than she was. He had objections to her generalisation -- that was all.

"Before you think of subjecting me to something, shouldn't you ask if I haven't imposed similar restrictions on myself?"

Iain sighed. Margaret had been staring at him wide-eyed for at least a minute. "One-sided decisions can never be good."

"Even I know that," Margaret said, trying to hold on to that last shred of dignity. "I'm only subjecting myself to a lot of suffering by talking myself into a corner about it. I thought we could avoid suffering by getting married, but your mother was right."

He could reiterate twenty years of maternal advice, but he decided not to do it, since he had always pretended not to listen. "If I think of what you want and you think of what I want, you don't have to be afraid of breaking your promise, whatever that might be. Come a bit closer and I'll whisper something in your ear."

Margaret bent forwards curiously and listened. "Why did you have to whisper that?" she asked when he was done. It was not bad at all. He could have said it out loud, since there was no one else to hear it.

"Because it's between you and me."

"Can I ... think about it for a minute outside? I don't want to think about it where you can see it." It had been long enough for her to need some time to look at it from all angles.

Iain snorted. He did not see the difference between staying and going. "Of course you may. I wouldn't ever tell you something and then tell you not to think about it. It was my intention to make you think, but you don't have to tell me what you thought."

Chapter Seven

They had travelled down to Margaret's house in a little over an hour and a half. Before they left Iain had phoned his mother to ask if it was all right if she could keep Ailsa one more day. Of course it was. Many activities for the next day had already been planned, since she was babysitting three grandsons then and she could use an extra hand. Iain would not be surprised if Ailsa mentioned brothers and sisters again after the exposure.

Margaret had felt like a depraved mother, leaving her child alone yet again. Iain had said it would be worse to drag her along, so she settled for believing him. They would be reunited tomorrow afternoon anyway and the way he made it sound, babysitting baby Scotts was the highest honour that could be bestowed on an outsider. That was remarkable, considering that baby Scotts did not appear to be scarce.

He made himself comfortable in her living room, as she moved into the kitchen to make some tea. "I noticed this is the same town Ailsa's school is in," he said.

She turned back on the threshold. "Yes, it is. Isn't it wonderful? It was close to university and now it's close to her school."

"Yes, she told me she went home sometimes." He had not asked about it then, but he understood it now.

She would like that to be every day, but that was impossible. "But I'm away to work sometimes for five weeks at a stretch, so ... and I don't want someone living in my house to take care of her."

"What if you'd moved closer to work?" He supposed she had investigated that possibility long ago.

"Oh no. I didn't want her to grow up in a city. Besides, lectures were more regular than work, so it made more sense to live here. That's until I stopped going, of course, but I still didn't move after that. Do you want to have a look around while I make the tea?"

"Oh, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie," he said with a shake of his head when he studied Ailsa's room. She did indeed have two bedrooms, but of what kind? Ailsa's room had a pink bed with Barbie covers that looked far too short for him. Between the huge pillows and the animals there was barely room for a child.

He tried it out. Even if he removed the pillows his legs stuck out over the panel at the end. It was unlikely that even Margaret fit into this bed.

"What did you think?" Margaret asked when he returned. She had made some tea and dug up some biscuits. "Do I have too much stuff? Did you enjoy my party outfits?" That was how she usually referred to her expensive clothes. There might be a little too many of them for his comfort.

"No, I didn't."

"Do you mean you haven't been everywhere?" She did not understand how he could have missed them or why he had broken off his tour before seeing them.

"Not yet. Speaking of enjoyment ... er ... I want you to look at something."

She followed him and looked into Ailsa's room when he gestured. Enjoyment, or a lack of it, could only be connected to one thing. "It's pink." And there was a huge Barbie on the bedcovers that might be causing some problems. "I give you permission to sleep with Barbie. Besides, she's on top of the covers and you'll be underneath."

Iain smiled. "I could stand Barbie for one night. I wouldn't see her if it was dark. It's not her. It's the bed."

"The bed?" Margaret looked at it with renewed attention. It was smaller than she had imagined. She should have remembered that children's beds were smaller.

"Doesn't it look a bit small for me?"

It did. "Then I'll take it. No problem."

"Try it." Iain was fairly sure she was too big for it as well. "Have you ever?"

"No, Ailsa always comes to lie with me." Margaret got into the bed and her feet stuck out. "Hmm. It doesn't look as if it will be very comfortable in here. I think I need to buy another bed for her. She's grown so much since we bought this bed and she'll be going to secondary school. She might think it childish. Well, that's one thing we won't need to move." She rambled on to buy time. "I appreciate your telling me this now," she ended all of a sudden.

"The alternative crossed my mind, but I could never do that."

"So now you think we have a problem." She swung her feet back onto the floor and sat pensively. It was funny how she would have thought it a huge problem a day ago. Now that it came up she was less sure of that. "Maggie is not at all freaked out by this. Interesting. How do I keep my integrity without becoming a caricature of myself?" she mused.

Iain snickered, also because he was glad his reassuring whisper appeared to have had some effect. "Oh, do you mean like me?"

"You're not a caricature!" Margaret protested. "I don't care what your police station thinks of you. If they have anything to say about that in my presence, I'll give them a piece of my mind."

Chapter Eight

It was not long before they were disturbed by the doorbell. Margaret had just begun to search some drawers for her passport. She closed them with a hasty bang and went to the door. It was a shock to see her parents on the doorstep. The last thing she wanted was to expose Iain to them already. They might be horrible or they might be nice, but neither was the impression she wanted him to have. She had not been too complimentary about them and she did not want their behaviour to enforce or contradict that. Her sincerity was at stake as well as theirs.

"Hello, Margaret. We thought we'd stop by now that we finally saw your car," said her mother. "Since we were just passing and you never think of visiting us."

Her mother spoke loud enough to be overheard by Iain and Margaret coloured in anger. She took her mother's coat nevertheless. Was it a very big wonder that she never thought of visiting?

"Really, I wish you'd get decent coat hangers instead of those cartoon ones. Suppose you get visitors?" Mrs. Maxwell advanced into the sitting room without waiting for her husband, but she stopped in the door opening when she perceived Iain. "Margaret, you have a visitor," she called over her shoulder, her voice a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

Margaret squeezed herself past her mother into the room, after carelessly depositing her father's coat onto a peg. He at least did not insist on so much useless formality. "Goodness, when did he come in?" she asked sarcastically. Why did she have to be told she had a visitor? Would it not occur to her mother that he had been here for longer? Her mother was probably only interested in embarrassing her.

Iain observed her heightened colour. That, together with the comments he had heard the woman make and her resemblance to Margaret, convinced him that these were her parents and that Margaret was not at all happy to see them. They looked smartly dressed and reasonably affluent, but also as if they ought to be well-mannered. Something was clearly amiss.

"You must be a friend of Margaret's. I'm her mother. This is my husband." Mrs. Maxwell did not wait for her daughter to effectuate the introductions.

"Iain Scott," he said politely.

The mother turned, after having looked at all corners of the room. "Margaret, where is Ailsa? Why hasn't she come to greet us?"

"She's with friends." Margaret felt thoroughly humiliated and treated like a little girl whose house could be taken over. Still, she had to be good. "Would you like some tea?"

"Of course we do. Why is she with friends? She's just got out of school. Any friends we know?"

This was all a set-up so she could ask why Ailsa had not been brought to her first. It had happened like that before. "I'll tell you after I make tea." That would give her time to think something up. It was ridiculous, actually, to have to do that.

Iain waited for them to start questioning him. Perhaps they would ignore him until Margaret came back with the tea. In the father's face he could not detect any resemblance, but the mother was visibly related to Margaret, although her dark hair was now tinged with grey.

He should not forget that they had lost a daughter. It might go some way to explain their behaviour, although Margaret was not helped by that one iota. He could understand how she felt. He would hate it too if his parents dropped by behaving as if they owned the place, just when he was entertaining a female friend. Fortunately they never had and they never would.

"Are you a friend of Margaret's?" asked Mrs. Maxwell. Mr. Maxwell feigned disinterest in the conversation by picking up a newspaper.

"Yes, I am."

"Margaret doesn't have many friends."

He wondered what her purpose was. However, he did not think she meant to imply she was happy that Margaret had a friend at last. "She doesn't need many if she has me," he said with calm determination, not sure if Margaret could hear him from the kitchen.

"Well, if you say so." Mrs. Maxwell looked a bit unsettled by his tone.

"You'll understand. She's your daughter."

Obviously she did not understand. "Are you a special friend?"

"Use your own judgement." Iain smiled mysteriously. "You'd know what she likes." He was not sure Margaret already wanted her parents to know they were going to be married. It was up to her to tell them.

Margaret returned and placed the tea tray before them on the table. Iain noticed the difference between this tray and the one from which he had been served. This one was classier, as if her parents could not drink from a mug. He also noticed that her hands trembled a little and that her face was still red. When she had poured the tea he pulled her down onto the couch beside him. He needed her to be nearby to be able to give her the support she needed.

She did not resist the gentle but insistent pull on her wrist. She sat down, hoping he would not want to do anything in front of her parents because she would freeze. If Iain had not been present, she and her parents would probably have argued. They had to keep up appearances now. As much as she disliked that, she did not want Iain to see her argue.

"Were you in the neighbourhood then?" she asked politely. It was a relatively stupid question, since they lived in the neighbourhood.

"We wanted to see how Ailsa was doing. Where is she?"

Of course with Ailsa absent it was very easy to feign interest in her and to blame Margaret for keeping Ailsa away from them, Margaret thought cynically. She wished they showed this much interest in their grandchild when Ailsa was actually available. "She went pony riding with friends."

"Friends from school?"

Margaret was about to lose her temper, since she was convinced that her mother knew all too well that Ailsa had not been home yet and this was nothing but an underhand way of finding out where she had been instead. Perhaps one of the teachers at school had been gossiping in town and her mother would even know there had been a man with her when she had picked Ailsa up. "For goodness' sake, does it matter?" She knew she played right into her mother's hand, but she could not help it.

"Margaret, we're interested in what your niece is doing. There's no need to become so unmannered," Mrs. Maxwell reprimanded her.

That was a direct stab below the belt. Tears of anger sprang into Margaret's eyes. Her niece? They could have phrased the same thing in so many other, less hurtful ways. This was done deliberately. "I'm naturally unmannered. Please don't think I make an effort on your behalf." Especially not if she was treated like a child in her own home -- in front of a guest -- and if all her efforts and loving care of the past eleven years were so offhandedly dismissed with that single word niece.

Iain braced himself for the worst. He had not missed either the word or Margaret's reaction to it. He would not be surprised by an outburst.

"What was that you phoned Lucy about on Friday? I hope you're taking good care of Ailsa," Mrs. Maxwell continued in apparent obliviousness.

"Do I ever not take good care of her?" The insinuations bothered her deeply. She was fairly sure Lucy had told her parents exactly what Margaret had asked her to do last Friday, which was to pick up Ailsa and look after her for a day or two. She had deliberately not phoned her parents, knowing they would find it a bother. They would also have had something stupid to say about the murder case, such as that they did not want a daughter of theirs to get caught up in it -- as if one had any say in the matter.

"You're being very hostile, Margaret."

Could anyone wonder why? Margaret glared and drank her tea.

"Are you still doing that awful show?" Mrs. Maxwell asked, as if she was merely inquiring politely after her daughter's well-being.

"I've never seen the show. Why is it awful?" Iain cut in. He feared that this might be too much for Margaret.

That led to a moment of silence. Obviously Margaret's mother had not expected a question from him. "People watch it."

"So it's successful? You must be proud of your daughter then," he said sympathetically.

Margaret stared at him. No one had ever said such a thing to her mother in her presence. She wondered if it was effective.

"I don't know how many people watch it," Mrs. Maxwell said stiffly. "I don't."

"I think it's admirable that you're proud of her regardless." Iain almost beamed without overdoing it. He could see Margaret was in turmoil. She wanted so much to strike back, but it was good that she kept silent. If she were any good at solving her family problems, they would no longer exist.

"Hmm. Yes," said Mrs. Maxwell in an uncertain tone. She evidently did not know what to make of him. "Are you from that world?" It was spoken with a certain disdain.

"I don't really know which world you mean."

"The TV world."

"No, I'm not, but I don't have a problem with TV jobs. All jobs are most likely the result of circumstances, don't you agree?" He did not think Margaret had chosen it because she had wanted to become famous.

He sounded so innocent and so devoid of an ulterior motive, but Margaret was not fooled. He had a plan. She shrank into the couch as if she were a guest and not the hostess.

"You're a bit quiet today, Margaret," said her father. Those were his first words.

"Iain can speak for himself if Mum is interrogating him."

She had her curiosity from her mother, Iain thought, but it came out differently for the both of them.

"Don't be like that. We never get to see your men," said Mrs. Maxwell, as if this was a good excuse for her questions.

"Because there aren't any!" Margaret cried in vexation. She was afraid Iain would think she had had lots of men she had kept hidden.

"Nonsense, you're on television."

"That doesn't mean I have men. Why do you always think that of me?"

"You're on television."

"You wouldn't believe it of the daughter who did, but you're all too willing to believe it of the daughter who didn't. And don't give me the Immaculate Conception again -- if that was feasible I would have been a mother of three. Or four. Or five. Or six. Or seven."

"Don't mention Catriona," said her mother, tight-lipped.

"Then don't bring up things she did that I will never do."

Iain wondered if the two things were related, if Margaret had tried to avoid what Catriona had done.

"I only said we never get to see your men," said Mrs. Maxell, as if it had been perfectly acceptable to say so and much less acceptable to become irritated by it.

"And I told you there were none -- and the way you're carrying on there never will be." They had never done this in front of anybody else. Margaret did not know whether it bothered Iain. He might not think her sweet anymore.

"Would you like some more tea, Maggie?" he asked, deliberately shortening her name because her parents did not. "Don't you worry about men. They can make up their own minds." They did not need any help from mothers, although any help from his own mother was very much appreciated.

"Yes, please." Margaret sat back and let herself be served. Perhaps she should also let him handle the conversation. He was much better at it. She kept on saying the wrong things.

"The number of previous men," said Iain, "is something between you and me."

"I should not like it if my daughter had many men," said Mrs. Maxwell.

"Although it takes only one man to get a girl into trouble, doesn't it?" he said, referring to Catriona. "And if a girl said she had no men at all, people might assume she was strange. She could never do right with any number."

Mrs. Maxwell pursed her lips. She did not want to pursue this angle any further. She had understood his reference very well and she was also afraid she was going to be tricked into admitting that Margaret was strange.

Margaret crunched her mug between her hands. Had it been a glass she might have broken it, but now it was safe.

"Virtues are harder to defend and believe than faults," Iain continued. He was deliberately provoking the mother. Even if it did not make her voice her agreement it might at least start her thinking. "It's pretty useless to defend virtues."

"It seems you are doing it anyway," Margaret's father observed. He had lowered the newspaper, which he may not have been reading at all.

"It's not useless to lend some support." Iain did not yet know what to make of the father. He could have interfered and stopped either his wife or his daughter, but he had not. Perhaps he was no match for either when things got really dirty.

"Why are you drinking from mugs?" Mrs. Maxwell wanted to know. "I gave you such a lovely set of china for your twenty-fifth."

Iain wondered if this was meant to show that she did care about her daughter in some way. He was not sure Margaret was going to interpret it like that.

"I like mugs," Margaret answered tiredly.

"Why did I give it to you then?"

"You are drinking from it. It does get used."

"But what if you have very important guests?" her mother pressed.

"If you must know, I'd drink from a plastic beaker if that's what she gave me," said Iain.

Chapter Nine

Margaret counted on her parents to leave as soon as they had drunk their tea. There was nothing here for them. She was not arguing much and Iain proved to be more than formidable for them. What would they think of him? They could only think him suitable, except perhaps in the way he responded to them.

Margaret frowned at her mug, on which she could barely make out a runner and the year 1999, images that had nearly faded in the dishwasher. Her mother would be appalled if she was served out of such a cheap keepsake, but Iain did not care.

Why did her mother have to be so annoying? There was no need for that at all.

Something had obviously gone horribly wrong between them during her upbringing. Although that had shaped her, she tried not to think of it too much unless she was confronted with it, like now. Words, her preferred weapon, failed her here and she could not fight back. There was always a nagging doubt that it was her fault.

It was not a recent thing. They had had arguments ever since Catriona had started to perform better than she had. She had sometimes spoken up against the unequal amount of attention they were given, although when she was told that she was merely jealous, she had tried to make sure she was not whenever she spoke up.

She wondered whether things would have gone better if she had kept silent and if she had not learnt to fend for herself. Obviously acceptance one way led to acceptance the other way.

Honestly, she had supported Catriona's goal, but she wished it had not required that so many things were pushed aside to achieve it. The closer they had got to the Olympics, the more had been pushed aside. For a while, after the medal, it seemed as if these sacrifices had all been worth it, but then the family had found out about the pregnancy and her parents' life had been as good as over.

They had decided to work towards the next Olympics and a next medal when this had happened and upset all their plans and sponsoring contracts.

It had been quite a shock to her conservative parents that this pregnancy should happen to their favourite child, who could never have done anything wrong. Because that was what they had quickly chosen to believe: that it had happened to Catriona without her conscious participation. All the blame could be allocated elsewhere so their opinion of Catriona was not changed.

Margaret had been equally shocked, but contrary to them she had thought of the fate of the baby, the poor child who would undoubtedly be pushed aside too in the quest for another medal. She could speak up when she was neglected, but a baby could not. She had felt the moral responsibility to take care of the baby, however difficult that was going to be in her situation. Nobody had protested when she had offered. They had been happy to neglect the both of them, perhaps to ignore their feelings of shame and guilt, if they even had those.

In the most bitter of moments Margaret had thought the others did not have any feelings at all and that she was only mean for having felt some smugness about their thwarted plans.

She had distanced herself even more when she had found out that Catriona had started to use performance-enhancing substances and that nobody agreed with her opinion on the matter, no matter how loud she was in voicing it. Or they simply denied the fact. They had all been blinded by their goal.

Any guilt Margaret had felt at taking somebody else's child had slowly disappeared and it had been replaced by the fear that she would be resented for it after Catriona stopped competing.

Then suddenly, Catriona had died. Her parents had been devastated, but not Margaret. She had always stressed the dangers and the deceit, and she was mostly angry that no one had listened and that they even pretended that this had come as a complete surprise. The -- in her eyes -- hypocritical grief of her parents disgusted her and she had stayed away from them.

That their complete incapacitation caused her practical problems had never even occurred to them. They were hurt. That was all that mattered. That their remaining daughter had significant trouble making ends meet while combining university with raising a child was something they never even thought of.

Before then, they had sometimes looked after the baby or given money, but after Catriona's death they seemed to want to ignore anyone who lived on.

Later, after they had recovered enough to remember Margaret, they had never managed to strike the right tone. To make up for the unconditional admiration they had always had towards everything that Catriona did they seemed to have opted for unconditional criticism of everything Margaret did, or so it had felt to her. She would have preferred to remain neglected, because she did not recall receiving quite so much criticism then.

It had to be her particular failure that she could not distance herself enough from the situation to see it in an objective light. Perhaps Iain would think she was just as much at fault, or he would think that any criticism was justified. It might be. She could not see clearly because it was directed at herself. Perhaps all that was wrong was that she was a horribly bitter and jealous person. Nevertheless, she had done things well and right in her life and she should have received some acknowledgement despite any jealousy she might have felt.

All she had done was turn away and become independent, but how independent was she, really? She was doing the same as her parents had done -- she ignored the difficult things and pretended they were not there, until she could not get away and she proved to be terrible at coping with them.

"She's no angel," Mr. Maxwell said warningly as he lagged behind while Margaret silently accompanied her mother to the car.

Iain was going to ask if he meant his wife or daughter, but decided against it. "Maggie?" He wondered why he was receiving this warning.

"Yes, Margaret."

"It depends on how you treat her." Iain shrugged. She was certainly not the opposite of an angel in his company.

"Are you suggesting we don't treat her well?"

The man would not ask if he had no suspicions, Iain thought. He would not have to explain much in that case. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. You cannot disagree with me. To be honest, if someone provoked me in the same fashion I don't know if I could be as polite as Maggie was." He was already having trouble.

"She is usually worse. She must have made an effort for your sake."

Iain was not surprised that her father blamed it on Margaret. He had expected as much. "Doesn't it ever occur to your wife to make an effort for Maggie's sake?"

"You don't know our history."

Perhaps he did indeed not know all the particulars and how Margaret had behaved. From what she had told him he could easily believe that she had spoken up and perhaps she had said hurtful things in the process. That, however, had been over ten years ago and if both parties were still behaving in this manner then not only Margaret was to blame. Her parents should have been wiser at the time. Margaret had been only twenty-one. He did not expect her to have been the essence of tact and wisdom.

"I know what I saw and that was an extremely rude woman deliberately out to hurt and embarrass her own daughter. I don't care about your history. It can never be an excuse. Maggie is moving in with me. You and your wife won't be welcome in our house. Yes, I know you said very little, but you never made an effort to stop that woman and that is just as reprehensible." Iain had not meant to end like that, but his anger had been building slowly as he was speaking.

Mr. Maxwell gave a curt nod and joined his wife in the car, not saying anything to Margaret.

Chapter Ten

"What did you say to my father?" Margaret asked curiously when she returned to the doorway where Iain was still standing. Her father had not said anything to her at all, not even goodbye. No matter how much she argued with her mother, her father always said goodbye to her.

"That he and the woman are not welcome in our house."

She pressed her hands to her mouth. "You said that? They'll be furious." She had never dared to say anything like that herself, even though she had often been tempted. The most she had been able to do to limit the contact was not to return any visits.

"Well, so was I." He pulled her inside and closed the door. "I don't want to see how they treat you."

"But what if it's all my fault?" It might be and then she would look selfish and stupid.

"I don't think it is," Iain said calmly. "You may have contributed over the years, but she was rude to you today before you ever did anything. She could at least have made an effort because I was there."

Margaret threw her arms around him, very much in need of a hug. "Why do you support me?"

"Why should I support them?"

"While they were finishing their tea I thought about it again and thought it might be as much my fault for not distancing myself enough to make amends."

He did not see why she should have to be the one to suppress all her feelings. "Your father knows very well that they are not treating you properly."

"How do you know?"

"He didn't contradict me when I said so. Now cheer up, Maggie. I only told him they cannot visit you in my house. If you still want to see them, you can see them in their house or somewhere else and if you don't want to see them at all, you won't have to. You can have my parents."

She made a strange sound at that ridiculous offer. It was comforting in all its simplicity. "You sound like Ailsa."

Iain grinned. "Well, we know what's good for you. Shall we go and buy some food now?" He did not want to dwell too much on these things.

"What did he say?" Mrs. Maxwell inquired of her husband. If she had know he would be talking, she would have stayed close to him, because she was curious. Perhaps Margaret's boyfriend had said more about himself.

He hesitated for a few moments until he had decided whether she would be able to handle it. "He said we were rude."

She gasped. "The nerve!"

"He was right. I think he may know another Margaret than we do, but," he said regretfully, "that's not one we're likely to get acquainted with soon, because we're not allowed to visit." Perhaps Margaret did not even like arguing. Perhaps she never had. Realisations always came too late. Perhaps he even had some grudging respect for someone who did what he had should have done long ago, which was to end this situation, yet he supposed it was easier for an outsider. He would have needed to choose between his wife and daughter.

"He doesn't have the right to decide that for her!"

"He does, if she's moving in with him into his house."

She gasped again. Apparently this was even worse than being told she had been rude. "Margaret is?"

"Apparently. Do we know where he lives?"

"We don't even know what he does! And did he say whether they'd be married first?" she asked anxiously when another shocking thought struck her.

"Probably not. He mentioned moving in, not getting married."

"Not Margaret too!" Mrs. Maxwell wailed.

"On the other hand," said Mr. Maxwell, not so much to defend his daughter as to prevent his wife from lamenting Margaret's lack of morals at length, "she did become upset when you suggested she had many boyfriends, so perhaps you'll have nothing to worry about."

"I did not suggest she had many boyfriends."

"I'm sorry, but I think that's what the rest of us understood anyhow."

"I was only afraid she had not told us about them. It was too good to be true."

Mr. Maxwell sighed. It was going to be a long evening. He wished he could get away from it by locking himself into this study, but today his wife was not going to leave him alone. He could tell she would have much to share.

"You don't care at all," she said accusingly.

It was time someone started to care, he thought. "No, you don't. We may have lost a second daughter as well as our granddaughter and all you care about is whether she brings shame onto the family."

Back

Back to Novel Idea