Ken McClure - The Anvil

Tansy gradually withdrew from her former circle of friends, which made MacLean feel guilty but she insisted. ‘Do you know what I heard one of them call you behind my back?’ she said. ‘My bit of rough!’

MacLean found it funny, particularly as Tansy was so angry.

‘Well, I am a labourer,’ he smiled.

‘But you are far more intelligent than any of them!’ stormed Tansy. ‘You’re kinder, more gentle and… ‘ She was lost for words and MacLean held her in his arms. ‘There, there,’ he soothed. ‘Don’t be too harsh on them. They’re just people. They need someone to look up to, someone to look down on and they’re probably jealous of what we have together.’

Tansy thumped her hands against MacLean’s chest and said in mock anger, ‘Why do you have to be so damned understanding?’

They both dissolved into laughter.

Carrie had become used to the sound of laughter around the house and she liked it. It made her happy too. She liked MacLean. She particularly liked the way he didn’t talk down to her. He didn’t put on a different voice, pull silly faces and say stupid things like most grown-ups did. She could talk to him. She could ask him things and he would give her sensible answers. He wouldn’t begin by laughing at her questions and rubbing her head like Uncle George always did and he wouldn’t tickle her tummy incessantly like Aunty Jane.

MacLean liked Carrie. Through her eyes he saw the canal again as he had in childhood. The canal ran from a basin in the heart of Edinburgh out to Falkirk, a small town some twenty miles to the west. It had ceased to be used commercially even before MacLean had been born and so had become an unofficial nature reserve outside the city limits. Nearer the city it was used by schools and the like for recreation purposes. Children were taught to canoe and earnest students would row in harmony while track-suited coaches cycled along the towpath yelling encouragement.

On Saturday mornings MacLean and Carrie had a routine; they would go exploring. Armed with a glass jar and bamboo canes tipped with small nets, they would investigate the woodlands near the bungalow and the water margins of the canal and bring home nature’s secrets to Tansy. Tansy would welcome them home with hot chocolate and say, ‘Ooh’ and ‘Ah’ at appropriate intervals as Carrie, clad in her yellow raincoat and favourite red Wellingtons, lectured her from the middle of the kitchen floor.

MacLean enjoyed Carrie’s lectures. He would lean on the corner of the door and admire the animated performance, made all the more endearing because of occasional childish malapropisms. He and Tansy would exchange glances and find some excuse to bring the proper word into the conversation without offending their instructor. It was clear that Carrie was growing in knowledge and confidence and it pleased them.

The relationship between MacLean and Tansy was also growing. Scarcely a day would pass without one of them discovering some new strength or sensitivity in the other to deepen an already considerable affection. There was no question of blotting out the past. Tansy spoke openly of Keith and her life with him and MacLean spoke of Jutte and found doing so therapeutic. For both of them grief had mellowed into fond memories. Neither saw the other as a substitute

It had been agreed from the outset that they should live as individuals so as not to create pressures which one or both of them might find difficult to cope with. MacLean had his own room. Tansy kept hers. This was not to say that they did not have a sex life. Feeling the way they did about each other, it was inevitable and all the more enjoyable because of the ‘illicit’ feel that room hopping had to it.

Separate rooms were maintained for times when one or the other felt the need to be alone; they were sanctuaries which would not be invaded by the other without invite. In the beginning it was MacLean who felt the need to be alone. He suffered from recurring fears that what he was doing was wrong and that, in the end, he would bring tragedy to Tansy and Carrie. But as time went by and largely thanks to Tansy’s reassurances, these fears started to subside. Dan Morrison was taking over from Sean MacLean and his nightmare world. He was a labourer. It was hard work and the pay was nothing to speak of but inside his head, things were a whole lot better.

MacLean opened his eyes and remembered that it was Saturday, expedition day with Carrie. He wondered momentarily why she had not already woken him but then he saw on the bedside clock that it had just turned seven. A shaft of sunlight had found its way through a chink in the curtains and played on his face to wake him. He was relieved that the weather was fine because, although his expedition agreement with Carrie had a ‘whatever the weather’ clause written into it, he much preferred their outings when the weather was fair and it had rained on the last three occasions.

Trying not to wake Tansy, he slid out of bed and replaced the covers on her shoulder. She moved slightly and he made a soothing sound to lull her. He sat for a moment just watching her sleep, thinking how peaceful she looked and how much she had come to mean to him. ‘I love you Mrs Nielsen,’ he whispered.

MacLean went through to the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle to make coffee. He looked out of the window while he waited for it to boil and saw the yellow, spring sunshine highlight the reedy marshland at the back of the house. There was a slight breeze and the grass bent synchronously as if in response to some unseen conductor. White, cotton wool clouds drifted across the sky and prospects for the day seemed good.

He was finishing his coffee when he was joined by Carrie, accompanied as ever by her Teddy bear. ‘It’s Saturday!’ she announced.

‘Ssh, you’ll wake Mummy,’ cautioned MacLean.

Carrie hunched her shoulders and put her finger to her lips in an exaggerated pantomime of guilt. She started taking large silent steps round the room.

MacLean smiled and asked if she wanted breakfast.

‘Yes please,’ she replied in a stage whisper.

‘All right Carrie, let’s not overdo it,’ said MacLean.

Carrie sat down at the kitchen table while MacLean poured out her cereal and added milk from the fridge. Carrie swept up a few stray flakes from the table and popped them onto her mouth.

‘Do you think we’ll catch an octopus today?’ asked Carrie.

‘No,’ replied MacLean.

‘Why not?’

‘There aren’t any in the canal,’ said MacLean.

‘Oh,’ said Carrie but then seemed satisfied with the reply.

When Carrie had finished eating MacLean sent her off to the bathroom to wash her face and hands and clean her teeth before dressing. He said that he would pay close attention to her ears when she returned. When she came back she was already wearing her raincoat and the inevitable red Wellingtons. MacLean made a play of inspecting her ears saying, ‘I could grow potatoes in there!’

‘No you could not!’ insisted Carrie. ‘I washed them.’

MacLean conceded that maybe she had.

‘What are you two fighting about?’ came Tansy’s voice from the bedroom.

MacLean and Tansy looked at each other guiltily. ‘Sorry,’ said MacLean. ‘We didn’t mean to wake you. Coffee?’

‘Please,’ replied Tansy sleepily.

Carrie pranced into the bedroom with news of the day. MacLean followed shortly with a cup of coffee. Tansy propped herself up on one elbow to take it from him.

‘Can we go now, Uncle Dan?’ asked Carrie.

‘I think so,’ replied MacLean, his eyes asking Tansy if there was anything that should delay them.

Tansy smiled and said, ‘Off you go then. Have a nice time.’

Carrie planted a large, wet kiss on Tansy’s mouth and scurried out of the room.