Iain Banks - The Crow Road

"Aw, but dad…»

"But one thing's definite."

"What, dad?"

"It's light-out time."

"Aw…»

"Night-night."

"Night, dad."

"Yeah; night."

"Sleep tight."

"Don't let the bugs bite."

"Right. Now lie down properly; noddles on pillows."

He made sure they were both tucked in and went to the door. The night-light glowed softly on the top of the chest of drawers.

"Okay… Dad?"

"What?"

"Did the man not have any family, dad?" Prentice asked. "In the story: the merchant. Did he not have any family?"

"No," Kenneth said, holding the door open. "He did, once, but he threw them out of his house; he thought he wasted too much time telling his two youngest sons bed-time stories."

"Aww…»

"Aww…»

He smiled, padded back into the room, kissed the boys" foreheads. "But then he was a silly man, wasn't he?"

They left Margot to look after the children and set off in the car, heading for Gallanach. Kenneth smiled when he saw the hand-painted sign at the outskirts of the village that said, "Thank You."

"What are you grinning at?" Mary asked him. She was bending down in her seat, staring into the little mirror that hinged up from the glove-box flap, inspecting her lip-stick.

"Just that sign," he said. "The one that goes with the Slow Children sign at the other end of the village."

"Huh," Mary said. "Slow children, indeed. I hope you weren't telling my bairns horrible stories that'll keep them awake all night."

«Na» he said. The Volvo estate accelerated down the straight through the forest towards Port Ann. "Though maggoty meat and people with one eye did come into it at one point.

"Hmm," Mary said. She snapped the glove-box closed. "I heard Lachy Watt's back in the town; is that true?"

"Apparently." Kenneth rotated his shoulders as he drove, trying to ease the nagging pain in them that too much drink the night before always seemed to give him these days.

They had spent Hogmanay at home, welcoming the groups of people roaming the village as they came round. The last revellers had finally been seen off at nine in the morning; they and Margot had done some cleaning up before going to bed, though Ken had anyway had a couple of hours" sleep between three and five, when he'd fallen into a deep slumber on the wicker couch in the conservatory. The boys had gone out to play on the forestry tracks with their new bikes on what had proved a bright but cold day; Mary had got three hours" sleep before they came back, noisily demanding to be fed.

"Haven't seem him for… what? Ten years?" Mary said. "Has he been away at sea all that time?"

"Well, hardly," Ken said. "He was in Australia, wasn't he? Settled down there for a while. Had some sort of job in Sydney, I heard."

"What was he doing?"

"Don't know; you could ask him yourself. Supposed to be coming to Hamish and Tone's shindig tonight."

"Is he?" Mary said. The Volvo hissed along the dark road; a couple of cars went past, holes of white light in the night, scattering spray which the water jets and wipers of the Volvo swept away again. Mary took a perfume spray from her handbag, applied the scent to wrists and neck. "Fergus and Fiona are coming tonight, aren't they?"

"Should be," Ken nodded.

"Do you know if Lachy and Fergus still talk to each other?"

"No idea." He laughed. "Don't even know what they'd talk about; a member of the factory-owning Scottish gentry and a second mate — or whatever Lachy is these days — who's spent the last few years in Oz. What is there to say; aye-aye, captain of light industry?"

"Fergus isn't gentry, anyway," Mary said.

"Well, good as. Might not have a title, but he acts like he does sometimes. Got a castle; what more do you want?" Kenneth laughed lightly again. "Aye-aye. Ha ha."

The lights of Lochgilphead swung into view ahead, just as rain started to spot the windscreen. Kenneth put the wipers on. "Aye-aye!" he sniggered.

Mary shook her head.

"Going to the dogs, if you ask me."

"Fergus, people like you have been saying that since somebody invented the wheel. Things get better. They're always looking up."

"Yes, Kenneth, but you're basically Bolshie, so you would think so.

Kenneth grinned, took a drink of his whisky and water. "It's been a good year," he nodded. Fergus looked suitably disgusted, and threw back the remains of his own whisky and soda in one gulp.

They stood in the lounge of Hamish and Antonia's house, watching the others help themselves to the buffet Antonia had prepared. Neither of the two men had felt hungry.

"You might not be saying that when the refugees come back from Australia," Fergus said sourly. Kenneth glanced at him, then looked round for Lachlan Watt; he was sitting on a distant chair, a plate of food balanced on his knees, talking to Shona Watt, his sister-in-law.

Kenneth laughed as Fergus refilled his glass from one of the whisky bottles on the drinks trolley behind them. Fergus, you re not talking about the Domino Theory by any chance, are you?"

"Don't care what you call it, McHoan; not saying it'll be next, either, but you just watch."

"Fergus, for God's sake; not even that asshole Kissinger believes in the Domino Theory any more. The Vietnamese have finally got control of their own country after forty years of war; defeated the Japs, the French, us, and the most powerful nation in the history of the planet in succession, with bicycles, guns and guts, been bombed back into the bronze age in the process and all you can do is spout some tired nonsense about little yellow men infiltrating the steaming jungles of the Nullarbor Plain and turning the Aussies into Commies; I think a Highland League side winning the European Cup is marginally more likely."

"I'm not saying they won't pause to draw breath, Kenneth, but I can't help feeling the future looks black for those of us interested in freedom."

"Fergus, you're a Tory. When Tories say freedom they mean money; the freedom to send your child to a private school means the money to send your child to a private school. The freedom to invest in South Africa means the money to invest there so you can make even more. And don't tell me you're interested in freedom unless you support the freedom of blacks to come here from abroad, which I know you don't, so there." Kenneth clinked his glass against Fergus's. "Cheers. To the future."

"Huh," said Fergus. "The future. You know, I'm not saying your lot won't win, but I hope it doesn't happen in my lifetime. But things really are going to the dogs." Fergus sounded genuinely morose, Kenneth thought.

"Ah, you're just peeved your lot have elected a woman leader. Even that's good news… even if she is the milk snatcher."

"We got rid of an old woman and replaced him with a younger one," Fergus said, mouth turned down at the corners, staring over his whisky tumbler and across the room to where his wife was talking to Antoma. That's not progress."

"It is, Fergus. Even the Tories are subject to change. You should be proud."

Fergus looked at Kenneth, a wealth of sombre disdain in his slightly watery-eyed look. Kenneth gave him a big smile. Fergus turned away again. Kenneth looked at the other man's heavily jowled, prematurely aged face and shook his head. Chiang-Kai-Shek and Franco dead, Angola independent, Vietnam free at last… Kenneth thought it had been a great year. The whole tide of history seemed to be quickening as it moved remorselessly leftwards. He felt vaguely sorry for Fergus. His shower had had their reign, he thought, and grinned to himself.

It had been a good year for Kenneth personally, too. The BBC, bless its cotton socks, had taken some of the stories from his first collection; a whole week of Jackanory to himself, just six weeks before Christmas! At this rate he could start thinking about giving up teaching in a year or two.