M. Beaton: Death Of An Addict

"I suppose I should have asked you to marry me first."

Olivia snapped the box shut. "Yes, you should, Hamish. I can't marry you."

"Why?"

"You're not in love with me and I couldn't bear to live here."

"I am in love with you."

"Okay. Let's try this. I can't live here. I would expect you to get a transfer to Glasgow."

"But I thought you liked it here!"

"As they say, it's a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live here."

Hamish picked up the ring box and put it in his pocket. "If that's the way you want it," he said stiffly.

"I'm leaving today, Hamish. I don't think you're going to forgive me for this rejection. But you're not in love with me."

"If you say so. Let me know when you're ready to leave."

And that was that. Hamish drove her to Inverness to catch the Glasgow train. He would not unbend. His stiff-necked Highland vanity would not let him. He stood on the platform and watched the train pull out. She hung out of the window and waved, but he would not wave back.

Hamish drove the long road home, now tired and miserable. He had planned to go to Strathbane and see if they had got any further with investigating who was responsible for the leak but he no longer had the interest or the energy. He was sure the culprit was Blair, but Blair was a wily fox and would have made sure there was no evidence against him.

When he got back to the police station, which still smelled faintly of the perfume Olivia had worn, he phoned Strathbane and put himself back on duty.

An hour later, the phone rang. Hamish answered it. It was Jimmy Anderson. "This is probably a load o' rubbish, Hamish, but there's a report of the sighting of a monster in Loch Drim." Jock, thought Hamish, and the way I feel at the moment, I'll kill him.

"It looks as if you willnae be promoted down here after all," said Jimmy. "Some bod from Amsterdam put in his expenses. Pieter something. Charged for giving the police a backhander to look at some street videos to find out where you'd gone and you were shacked up with a tart. Daviot's a puritan. You've to report to the hospital for an AIDS test. Also, you'd better account for all that money they lent you to play the big shot. And what about the fancy gear?"

"I sent back the Rolex, the credit cards, passport, and the sunglasses, cuff links, all that stuff."

"And what about the clothes?"

"Got ruined during the investigation."

"What! All of them?"

"All of them."

"Well, I suppose you'd better get something out of it. Daviot says he'll make you up to sergeant again so you've got a wee promotion."

Hamish's heart sank. "Just so long as they don't send me some daft constable like last time. I mean Sergeant MacGregor over in Cnothan doesnae have a constable."

"Bad luck, mate. I think auld Daviot feels you need a stern and upright constable to make sure you don't stray onto the primrose path."

"What a day!" moaned Hamish. "I'll go and kill the monster for you."

As he drove towards Loch Drim, the clouds rolled back and the stars shone down. He kept telling himself that he was heartbroken but with each mile Olivia's face grew fainter in his mind. The whole drug case began to seem in retrospect like a fevered dream.

As he drove into Loch Drim, he noticed that Jock Kennedy's store was still open and that many cars and a coach were parked in front.

He parked alongside and went into the shop. It was full of people. Jock and Ailsa were busy selling Monster Toffee and small plush toys of monsters.

Jock looked up and saw Hamish.

Hamish nodded to him and turned and walked out.

It was hard to make a living in the Highlands. Jock was doing good business and giving a lot of people some harmless excitement. It would be a shame to stop it. He didn't care much about anything anyway. He climbed back into the Land Rover and drove off into the heathery darkness of the Sutherland highlands.

Some months later, Olivia sat in a doctor's surgery in Glasgow.

"Yes, I am afraid there is a definite lump there," said the doctor. "It may be benign but I think you should have a biopsy."

Olivia sat rigid. Traffic hummed on the street below the frosted glass windows of the surgery.

"How soon?" she asked through dry lips.

"As I said, I'll get on to it right away. The sooner the better. Are you married?"

"No. If it is cancer, will I need to have the breast removed?"

"Yes, but they do wonders these days in building up a new one."

It would get round the station, thought Olivia bitterly. If she had cancer and if she survived, new breast or not, she would be dubbed One Tit Olivia until the end of time. Men were cruel.

When Olivia returned to her flat, she looked at the phone. She had an impulse to phone Hamish but she fought against it. This was one battle she would need to fight on her own. If Hamish had really loved her, he would have followed her to Glasgow. He had never even tried to get in touch with her.

About the same time as Olivia had heard the bad news, Hamish strolled along the waterfront with Angela. He had finally told her of how he had proposed to Olivia and had been turned down.

"She told me I didn't love her," said Hamish, "and that turned out to be the case. I wanted to be married and have children." He sighed. "It would have been nice to have a wee bairn about the place. She was such a bonny, strong, healthy woman."

"You make her sound like a cow," said Angela. "Strong, healthy woman, indeed! Anyway, don't give up hope."

"I've still got the ring." Hamish laughed. "Who knows? It might come in handy someday."