A Debt Of Honour

How was Ellie going to cheer Calum up after another disappointing interview?

ELLIE stared at her mother. “You were supposed to marry someone else, then ran away with Dad?” she said faintly. “We knew nothing about that.”

“Why should you?” Shauna asked tiredly. “It was all before your time.” “Did Dad know?”

A faint smile appeared on Shauna’s face.

“I doubt it would have made any difference. I was down in London to see a show with some friends.

“We were sitting in a bar when this big bronzed Aussie came swaggering over to me, and asked if he could buy me a drink.” Ellie was outraged. “And you agreed? What happened to warning me never to accept a drink from a strange man?” Shauna’s smile widened. “Let’s say my advice was based on experience.” Shauna finished her cup of tea. “Any chance of a refill?”

“It will be stewed,” Ellie warned.

“That’s how good Australian tea should be – a handful of tea leaves boiled over an open fire in a billycan.”

Ellie shot out and was soon back, desperate to hear more.

“What was he like – the guy before Dad?”

“Very serious, very shy. We’d been going out for years.

“We agreed that we would get married when Neil finished studying for his bank exams.

“So he was studying to all hours, when I was gallivanting off with my friends to see ‘Gigi’.” “Then you met Dad?” “And he swept me off my feet – I never did make it to the show.

“Your dad could charm the birds out the trees, when he put his mind to it,” Shauna reminisced.

“Especially when he was short of money!

“He wasn’t that time. He threw his money about like confetti. I thought he must be a millionaire.

“He’d had a big win at the horses.

“His winnings could have kept a family for a year – but he blew the lot on a trip to London, and on giving me a good time.”

Ellie shook her head. There were moments when what you found out about your parents made them seem almost strangers.

“So what’s all this about a debt of honour?” she asked.

Shauna sighed.

“Neil was such a nice guy. When my own dad was raging at me for being such an idiot and going out to Australia, Neil said nothing.

“He drove me to the airport, in his dad’s old car. As I left him at the Departures gate, he slipped an envelope into my hand.

“‘Open it when you’re on the plane,’ he told me.

“I thought it was a farewell card.

“When I opened it, there were five fifty pound notes inside. And a message.

“‘Good luck, Shauna. This is to help you in any emergencies’ . . .”

“What a nice guy,” Ellie said quietly.

“You don’t know how nice. That two hundred and fifty pounds was about all his savings.”

Ellie reached out and took her mother’s hand.

“But five hundred – that’s what you said was in your envelope. Is that not overkill?”

“No. It’s an exact repayment. A couple of months after your dad died, I got another envelope.

“Inside was another two hundred and fifty pounds – and a second card. ‘So sorry, Shauna’.”

“How did he know where you were?” Ellie asked.

“I’ve no idea. The news must have travelled home through other people.” Ellie frowned.

“Did you ever use the money?”

“I had to. I was going to send that first envelope back to him, once we’d settled down.

“Then your dad got fired from the sheep ranch, and we were on our beam ends in Brisbane.”

“He got fired?” Ellie was astonished. “Why?”

“The usual.” Shauna sighed. “One party too many. We had next to no money.

“And with Charlie needing food and clothes, Neil’s money kept us going until your dad was earning again.”

“Oh, dear,” Ellie said limply. “And the second?”

“When your dad died, he left us just about spent out.

“Neil’s money kept you and Charlie alive until I found a proper full-time job.”

Shauna looked up, and held her daughter’s eye.

“We couldn’t have survived without Neil,” Shauna said quietly.

“Ever since old Bessie left me her shop, I’ve planned to return to Scotland.” Ellie swallowed.

“I never knew,” she said again.

“You were too young to know. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for. I’m here for your graduation.

“But while I’m here, I want to try to find the man who helped me, and thank him to his face.”

“So where is he, this guy you left behind?”

“That’s just it,” Shauna said. “I have no idea.”

“How did your mum settle in?” Calum asked over a coffee in the Stirling train station café.

Ellie smiled.

“She was out like a light for almost twenty-four hours, probably as soon as her head touched the pillow.

“Now she’s over the worst of the jet-lag.”

Calum fidgeted, glancing at his watch.

“Relax,” Ellie said. “Your train’s in fifteen minutes.” “But . . .”

“You have your ticket. It will take two minutes to walk through the ticket gates from here, and two more minutes to cross the bridge to your platform.

“How much is that in total? And how much time have you left?”

“I’m too nervous to do sums,” Calum said. He looked up wryly.

“Why get into such an uproar when it’s only an interview that I’m going to mess up?”

“I don’t get into an uproar.” Ellie smiled. “You do. A bit of positive thinking wouldn’t hurt.”

Calum pushed aside his mug.

“What’s the point of me thinking positive?”

Ellie felt sorry for him. Calum didn’t interview well: he got tongue-tied, his mind froze and he did himself no favours.

This was his fourth job interview and he was hugely over-qualified – but then most applicants would be.

“Shall I come through and do the interview for you?” Ellie asked.

“Give them the real Aussie in-your-face treatment? Then you could come in and take the bow.” Calum grinned. “They would offer you the job,” he said.

Ellie checked the clock above the café counter.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll see you to the gate.”

“To make sure I don’t run away?” Calum chuckled. “That, too.” Ellie smiled. They walked to the ticket gates, and Calum slid his ticket into the machine and caught it as it came out on the other side.

He hesitated as the barrier opened.

“Get through before it closes on you!” Ellie urged. “Good luck.”

Calum smiled, slipped through the gate and headed for the steps to the bridge. Pausing, he waved self-consciously.

“So where is he, this guy you left behind?”

Ellie waved back, swallowing the stupid lump which rose in her throat.

Back at the gate, she’d had to fight down a sudden crazy urge to reach up and kiss him goodbye.

“Watch it,” she warned herself. “Don’t even think of going there!”

There was a good old-fashioned Scottish drizzle as Shauna walked from her hotel to Ellie’s flat.

Lifting her face, she savoured the light rain. It felt almost as if Scotland was reaching out to welcome her home.

She climbed the stairs to the first floor and knocked on the door. It opened, and her daughter waved her in.

“A cup of good strong Aussie tea?” Ellie asked.

“Yes, please. The tea in the hotel was undrinkable,” Shauna complained. She glanced around the flat.

“Well, did you see that nice young man off for his train?”

“He’s not a ‘nice young man’. He’s Calum, and he’s heading to Edinburgh for an interview where he will barely manage to tell them his name.

“He’s such a bright guy. I can’t understand it.”

“Maybe he’s shy?” Shauna smiled.

Like Neil had been, she thought.

Still waters run deep, her mother had always said.

Her mother liked Neil. The two of them had always got on so well.

“Sorry?” Shauna asked. “My head’s gone walkabout.”

“I said – do you

want some stale biscuits with your tea?” Ellie repeated.

“Just black tea. Strong.” Shauna sipped with relish, her travel weariness a distant memory.

“Your flatmates still away? When will I get to meet them?”

“Soon enough. If I buy another packet of chocolate biscuits, they’ll come scampering out of the bushes.” Ellie looked at her mother.

“So what are you doing today?” she asked.

“I’m going to rent a car for a couple of days,” Shauna replied.

“Why?” Ellie asked, surprised.

She saw her mother blush and take a big gulp.

“I’m going to start the search,” Shauna said.

“For your mystery benefactor?”

“No mystery about him.” Shauna sighed. “Apart from where he is right now.” Ellie sat down.

“How are you going to do it?” she asked. “Are you tracing him in census returns or something?” Shauna shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said.

Ellie ran her fingers through her hair.

“Could you get one of these search-your-ancestry sites to do the job for you?”

“He’s not an ancestor.” Shauna smiled. “He was only a few months older than me.”

Typical Ellie, Shauna thought, her daughter’s mind going into overdrive.

“OK, it’s your search.” Ellie smiled. “Where does the rented car fit in?”

“Any chance of another cup of tea?” Shauna asked.

“I put in an extra teabag and enough water – then left it to stew.” Ellie sighed, taking the empty cup.

She refilled it from the seldom-used teapot.

She had scoured it clean for her mum’s visit. It looked as if it was going to be well used.

Ellie returned. “Well? How are you planning to tackle your search?” she prompted. “Where does the car fit in?”

Shauna sipped the new and stronger tea appreciatively. “Lovely,” she said. “Why so coy all of a sudden, Mum?” Shauna ignored the jibe. “I’m driving to Blantyre,” she said.

“To where we both lived. My family in Morris Crescent, his in Small Crescent.” Shauna smiled.

“But will he still be there after all these years?” Ellie frowned.

“Unlikely. But his family might be.”

“And will they still be alive?” Ellie asked.

“With luck,” Shauna said. “They should be in their late seventies.

“I’ve no idea how they will react to me. At the time they were more sad than angry. My own mum and dad were furious.” Shauna paused, blinking. “It’s so long ago,” she said quietly. “It’s like it happened to another person. Not me.”

Ellie reached out and gently took her mother’s hand. Shauna felt it and squeezed back.

“So that’s Plan A,” Ellie said, trying to be practical.

“What if you ring the doorbell and complete strangers look out?”

“That’s quite possible,” Shauna said. “But that part of Blantyre’s like a small village on its own.

“If Neil’s parents have gone, some of their neighbours will know what happened to the family.

“And if I can get in touch with the family, then surely they will help me get in touch with Neil.”

Shauna weighed up her own words in her mind. Small village syndrome.

It was maybe an oldfashioned way of tracing someone, but at least it was practical.

“OK,” Ellie said. “But let’s think of the worst-case scenario. What if their near-neighbours have all changed, too? What’s your Plan C, Mum?” Shauna grimaced. “I’ve still got what my granny would call ‘a guid Scots tongue in my heid’. I can ask around.

“Someone, somewhere, is bound to know something.”

“And if they don’t?” Ellie asked gently.

“Then I think of something else,” Shauna said quietly. “I have to.”

Time was hanging heavy, and that annoyed Ellie.

It was one of her few days off from the supermarket, hoarded carefully to give her time to see her mother settled in.

But now her mother was gone and there were no messages from Calum to let her know how he had done at the interview.

Crossly, she tidied up the flat – knowing full well that it would look as if Attila the Hun had rampaged through it as soon as her flatmates came back.

She was just about to check her phone when it buzzed with an incoming text. Limping home. Missed out again. Heading back to Stirling.

Ellie felt a wave of anger, not directed at Calum but at the world in general.

The jobs always seemed to go to the ones who were full of themselves and confident.

The ones who promised everything, then turned out to be all words and little use. Her team in the supermarket was carrying two of these.

If only panels would take time, coax the shy candidates like Calum to relax, to show their real worth.

But in real life, the quiet ones either stepped aside – or got trampled.

Don’t despair, she texted back. Stand you a coffee and a bun when you get home. Don’t worry, a better job will come up in a couple of weeks. xxx

Frowning at the text, she deleted the xxx she had added, then checked her watch and leapt to her feet.

With barely an hour from Edinburgh, Calum was likely to reach the rail station before she could get there herself.

Throwing on a jacket, she raced down the stairs and along to the bus stop.

The train was already squealing to a stop at the northbound platform when she ran to the entrance and stopped to catch her breath.

He looked so down, she thought, as he queued to feed his ticket into the gate barrier.

No wonder: it did nothing for your confidence when you had been to four job interviews in a row, and missed out on all of them.

“Bad luck,” she said, as he reached her. “Come on and wash away the dust of Edinburgh with a big mug of coffee at the Bistro.”

The Bistro had been a second home to generations of students.

These tables had heard everything from esoteric disputes on Philosophy to the latest racing tip at Ladbrokes.

They were the most educated tables – and chairs – in the world.

Pushing Calum into a seat at the quieter but gloomy back of the premises, Ellie decided that a beer might do him more good than a coffee.

She brought it back, with a half pint of lager for herself, and set it down in front of him.

“Well?” she asked. “How did it go? What went wrong?”

Calum looked up. “That’s just it,” Calum said. “I thought it went well – or at least better than usual. I had a slow start, then managed to get into my stride.

“In fact, I thought I had a real chance of that one. Maybe so did everybody else.

“Then the usual . . . a secretary looked into the waiting room where we were all chewing our nails and called out someone else’s name.

“They thanked us for our interest and said what a high-quality field it had been, and how difficult it was to make a choice.”

Calum picked up his drink dispiritedly.

“They must buy in that hard luck speech. It’s the same every time, no matter where you go.”

Ellie watched him regrouping.

“How about your mum?” Calum asked, trying to change the subject.

“Off to distant Blantyre,” Ellie said. “In a rented car that’s scaring her to death.

“It’s so new and spotless. We always have big, battered cars at home.” Calum forced a smile. “Blantyre? Where David Livingstone the African explorer came from? Why?”

“She’s on a mission,” Ellie said.

Calum raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“She wants to try to find

. . . a friend,” Ellie added.

There was no need to go into detail.

“Somebody she knew, before she set off for Australia with my dad.”

“Oh,” Calum replied, sipping. Then he set down his glass and grimaced.

“Ellie, I’m no good at the interview thing for fancy jobs, in IT or anywhere else. I’m thinking of lowering my sights.

“My contract as student flat warden is winding down, now that the semester has finished – and I can’t apply next year, because I won’t be a student any more.”

Ellie bit her lip. “Don’t be so negative,” she told him.

“I bet there are half a dozen other guys feeling just as sorry for themselves right now. There will be other jobs.”

“I know,” Calum said sadly. “But I just don’t seem to have what it takes to impress interviewers.

“It’s not just academic qualifications they’re looking for.

“It’s someone who can come in and maybe make a difference for them. They’re looking for potential.”

“And you’ve got that,” she argued. “Don’t give up.

“There are graduates who go through twenty interviews before they get a proper job to start their lives.”

With his index finger, Calum slowly spread the wet mark on their table.

“What about you, Ellie?” he asked. “What are you thinking of doing?”

“Not quite sure,” Ellie replied honestly.

“What I’d like is to go on and do a Masters. Trouble is, I don’t want to keep drawing on the profits of Mum’s shop for ever.”

Calum picked up his glass.

“To the future,” he said. “May a good fairy appear in a puff of smoke and sort out jobs for both of us!”

“I’ll drink to that!” Ellie smiled and they touched glasses.

As they left, on impulse she turned round and hugged him briefly.

“What was that for?” he asked, surprised.

“Just to show solidarity,” Ellie replied, blushing. “Don’t get any ideas.”

A slow smile spread across Calum’s face.

“If that’s solidarity, it’s nice,” he said. “Makes losing the job worthwhile.”

In theory, it was simplicity itself: plot a route from Stirling to Blantyre on the road map; then use her local knowledge of the town where she had once known almost every street.

In practice, the drive was a nightmare.

By the time Shauna had signed for her small rental car, the drizzle had degenerated into heavy rain and gusty wind.

This “welcome home” weather was wearing thin, she thought grimly. I’m an Aussie now, so give me a blink of sunshine.

A haze of road spray hung over the busy motorway.

To make matters worse, the nippy car she had chosen leapt like a startled gazelle whenever she touched either the accelerator or the brake.

She was used to a big slow-revving car which gave its owner plenty time to make up her mind where she was going and how quickly she wanted to get there.

She stuck nervously to the slow lane, drenched in spray from the heavy lorries in front of her and the endless stream of cars and vans flowing past.

With her route memorised, she followed the signs for Carlisle.

Her plan was to come off at Hamilton and drive back to Blantyre along familiar roads.

On impulse, she exited when she saw a sign for East Kilbride and Blantyre.

Then everything went wrong. Completely lost in road spray and fast-moving traffic, she missed her exit for Blantyre.

Braking and then dithering, she drew a chorus of horn blasts from the rear, and was braking again to avoid someone cutting in on her when she missed the right exit.

Fighting to control her panic, she decided to drive on until she could rejoin the road, then retrace her steps.

Lost in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hostile traffic, a lesser person might have given up, but Shauna was made of Scottish stock and, with each new setback grew stronger still.

She reached Low Blantyre only to find that the village she had known had simply disappeared into new buildings, new roads, leisure centres and supermarkets.

Grimly she crawled along what was left of the old main road, then – more by luck than navigation – found the street she was looking for beyond yet another major store.

With her legs aching from tension, Shauna drove along a road she had walked thousands of times, and now barely recognised.

She had passed Morris Crescent before she even recognised the sturdy old 1930s houses.

A quick three-point turn and she went back to enter the street where she had grown up.

It seemed so quiet and narrow.

The rain had eased, so she slipped out of the car door and drew on her jacket, turning up its collar.

With legs still trembling from the drive, she walked slowly up the line of old houses towards the bend in the Crescent.

They were familiar – but quite different, too.

The house where she had been born and raised had changed so much she walked past it.

She stared at it. She had gone to school from here, and had brought her first boyfriend back to meet her mum and dad.

Everything was so different, it failed to trigger any sadness. Besides, it was too late now to put right what had happened.

Shauna turned away and retraced her steps into Small Crescent, walking round the bend of the Crescent until she reached the house where Neil had lived. Her heart stuttered.

What would happen if she rang the doorbell and he was standing there?

Instead, it was a total stranger.

“Oh!” Shauna said. “Do the Caldwells live here any more?”

“No,” the woman replied. “Only us.”

“Do you know when they left here?” Shauna asked.

The woman shook her head.

“We’ve been here five years. The lot in front of us were only here for a year or so.”

“So the Caldwells must have gone before that,” Shauna said. “Will anybody round here remember them?”

“Maybe aye, maybe no. Sorry I can’t help.”

The door was already closing. Shauna stepped back as it clicked shut. She stared at it.

Was this a sign that her whole trip was a wasted effort before she had properly started searching?

She shook her head. The search would be over when she decided it was over.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the next house.

Then the next again, on both sides of where the Caldwells had once lived.

Nobody knew when the Caldwells had left, or where they had gone – for the simple reason that nobody remembered them.

Blantyre wasn’t a little village any more, where everybody knew everybody else.

It was now part of a suburban sprawl,

where people stayed only until they moved on again.

She had almost given up, but decided to do one last house. She trudged slowly up the path to the front door and rang the bell.

An elderly lady opened the door and peered out. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for the Caldwells,” Shauna began. “Which one?” Taken aback, Shauna blinked.

“Neil. Neil Caldwell.” The old lady stared. “Well, you’re looking in the wrong place,” she finally said.

“Try High Blantyre cemetery – he was buried there three, maybe four years ago . . .”

She paused.

“Are you all right? Didn’t you know?”

Numbly, Shauna shook her head.

“I’m so sorry,” the old lady said. “Maybe you should come in and sit down for a bit . . . have a cup of tea?”

“No thanks,” Shauna said. “I’ll be fine in a minute. Honestly.”

When it didn’t matter any more, the sun finally broke through the clouds.

Not even sunshine could make the old cemetery look better, or warm the desolation in Shauna’s heart.

She walked slowly along the paths at the newer end of the cemetery, scanning the headstones, a neatly wrapped bunch of red roses in her hand.

Even the birds had stopped singing, she thought bleakly.

It was all for nothing: the search, her plans, her rehearsed speech.

After over 20 minutes of searching, she came across the grave, a simple polished grey granite headstone with deeply carved black letters.

Her eyes misted over as she read. Neil Caldwell, died October 2015.

Then everything disappeared in a flood of tears.

Angrily, Shauna scrubbed

her face with her free hand – she didn’t do tears.

She was bending to lay the roses at the foot of the headstone when she realised that there were other lines carved into it, beneath the name. Aged 75 years. Beloved husband of Martha Caldwell, died 2016 aged . . .

Shauna stepped back and the flowers fell on to the gravel in front of the headstone.

Of course! It came to her now – Neil had been named after his father.

There were two Neil Caldwells.

And it wasn’t her Neil who was buried here.

Her Neil could be anywhere. More importantly, he might very well still be alive.

Her heart pounded so fast that her head swam and she thought she might faint for the first time in her life.

Then the world slowed down again, leaving her almost gasping for air.

She read the full inscription for a second time, then slowly bent down to lift the roses and lay them gently at the foot of the stone.

Neil’s dad had always been so kind to her, even when she had destroyed all their family’s plans.

As had his mum, a small, grey-haired and gentle woman.

She was sorry they had died, and now wanted to honour their memory, thanking them for how they had helped her when her own family had effectively thrown her out.

Standing back, Shauna lowered her head and whispered a prayer for the two people whose kindness she remembered.

Stepping away, she bowed towards the grave, then lifted her head to take one last long look round the empty cemetery.

Her shoulders firmed as she turned to stride back towards her parked car.

Today, she had only begun her search. Now she must set out to finish it.