Ranald leaves a note

When Ranald Braveheart Macpherson received Bertie’s email, he lost no time in packing his school satchel with a change of clothing, a compass, and a water bottle. Then, making sure that his parents were fully engrossed in their favourite soap opera, he crept into his father’s study and began expertly to twirl the dial of the safe’s combination lock. With a satisfactory series of clicks, the mechanism slipped into place and the door of the safe swung open. Inside, Ranald saw the neatly-stacked piles of euros that he knew his father kept for some unexplained eventuality, along with several expensive-looking men’s watches, and a pouch of Krugerrands. Behind the euros were smaller piles of five- and ten-pound Bank of Scotland notes, and it was to these that Ranald now helped himself, tucking them into the zip-up compartment of his satchel. Then he went out briefly – to speak to the girl next door – before returning to his own house for final preparations.

Being as quiet as he could, Ranald let himself out of the door, and darted down the garden path. Within a few minutes he boarded a bus that would take him down to Princes Street and to Waverley Station. Once there, he used some of the purloined Bank of Scotland notes to purchase a one-way ticket to Aberdeen.

“How old are you, son?” asked the official in the ticket booth.

Ranald hesitated. “Eighteen,” he said, eventually, making his voice as deep as he could.

The official burst out laughing. “Do you want to pay an adult fare?” he asked. “Is that what you want, son?”

Flustered, Ranald shook his head, and was given a half-fare ticket.

“You’re not running away, by any chance?” asked the official. “And what’s your name, by the way?”

Ranald cleared his throat. “Ranald Braveheart Macpherson,” he replied. “And I’m going to Aberdeen on a humanitarian mission.”

The official laughed again. “Oh, goodness! Humanitarian. That’s a big word, Ranald Braveheart Macpherson! I must remember that.”

Ranald made his way to the platform from which the Aberdeen train was scheduled to leave. Once on the train, he made himself as unobtrusive as possible, sheltering behind a newspaper left in the carriage by a previous traveller. Ranald could not yet read, and was concerned that he might have the newspaper upside down, but a glance at a photograph on the front page reassured him. It was the First Minister, and she was opening something, or closing it – Ranald could not be quite sure. As the journey began, he gazed out of the window, thinking of what he would do when he arrived in Aberdeen. He had an address for Bertie, and he had a street map of the city that showed quite clearly where Irene’s house was. He would go there, he thought, and help Bertie to escape through a window. Then they would return to the railway station and start the journey back to Edinburgh. With any luck they would have a head start on any pursuers – especially Bertie’s mother, for whom Ranald had a healthy respect. He would not like to be caught by Mrs Pollock, Ranald thought, because he had heard it said that mad people sometimes had the strength of ten ordinary people, and there was very little doubt in Ranald’s mind that Bertie’s mother, even if not entirely mad, was at least half-mad, and was therefore very probably as strong as five normal women.

Ranald had given some thought to what his parents might think and do when they realized he was not there. He was a conscientious boy and had asked Shirley, the girl who lived next door and who was famous for her neat handwriting, to pen a note for him. This note, written in what Shirley described as “my exemplary joined-up writing” had cost thirty pence. “And no credit terms are available, Ranald Braveheart Macpherson!” Shirley warned. Ranald had given her one of the five-pound notes from his father’s safe and told her that she could keep the change.

Shirley had outdone herself. “To whom it may concern,” the note began. “This is to inform you that Ranald Braveheart Macpherson has been called away. He will be back tomorrow. During the period of his absence, he will not have access to email or to a telephone, but will attend to your issue immediately on his return to Edinburgh.”

“What do you think of that?” Shirley asked proudly.

“It’s very good, Shirley,” Ranald said. But then he asked, “Are you sure it says what you say it says?”

Shirley looked at him disdainfully. “Of course it does,” she snapped. “Why would I tell fibs in one of my notes? I’ve got more sense than that, Ranald Braveheart Macpherson. I want to get customers coming back. If you fib, then they don’t.” She paused, and finished, “Your call is important to me.”

Ranald had left the note on the diningroom table where it would be sure to be seen by his parents. He did not want them to worry, and he thought that they

‘What if he arrived too late and Bertie’s mother had sent him off to boarding school, or apprenticed him

to a cruel captain on a Jamaica-bound ship?’

would probably be reassured by the tone of the message. This was not a simple back soon note – this looked, and sounded, official.

Slowly the train wound its way through Fife. Kirkcaldy came and went, and then there was the Tay Railway Bridge, curving across the river, with Dundee nestling on the other side. Then the towns of the east coast, with their hinterland rolling out behind them; farms and villages amongst which lives were led according to nature’s designs: spring, and planting, summer and growth, the harvest of autumn.

Ranald felt increasingly anxious. What if he could not find Bertie? What if he arrived too late and Bertie’s mother had sent him off to boarding school, or apprenticed him to a cruel ship’s captain and he was, even now, being forced to climb the rigging on some Jamaica-bound ship? Ranald had been read a story very much like that not all that long ago, and he could just imagine poor Bertie in the position of the boy in that tale. Bertie’s mother was a desperate character – everybody knew that – and she was quite capable of packing him off to sea.

Ranald shivered. He was beginning to feel homesick. Scotland was much bigger than he had imagined it to be. And what was that smell? Fish. They were approaching Aberdeen now, and it occurred to Ranald that Bertie might even have been put to work on a fishing boat. That was very tough work – and dangerous too. And you came home and you smelled of fish for days, Ranald had heard. It wouldn’t matter to him, of course, because Bertie was his friend, and if your friend smells of fish you should try not to let it affect your friendship. Everybody, thought Ranald Braveheart Macpherson, knows that.

© Alexander Mccall Smith, 2021.

A Promise of Ankles (Scotland Street 14)

is available now. Love in the Time of Bertie (Scotland Street 15) will be published by Polygon in hardback in November 2021.