“I’vegottoraisethirtythousandpounds.Withoutit,I’madeadman!”

Borderline, the fourth novel by Jim Forbes, is set on the Scotland-England border and is a tale of betrayal and revenge that weaves historical scenes into a contemporary narrative. Originally from Tarland, Jim studied and lectured in Aberdeen before moving to the United States where he became a patent attorney. He now lives in Edinburgh, where he penned Borderline, which as well as being a crime thriller, offers a new perspective on the history of the border region

What truly changed Lucy’s world that summer was the unannounced arrival at Davy’s Mill of her stepbrother Rodney Bentham.

Notwithstanding the almost hostile reception he got from his mother, Lucy warmed to him during their first encounter. Of course, she knew he was a bad lot – according to Carolyn at least – yet his good looks and pleasant manner somehow belied that reputation. He certainly didn’t fit his mother’s portrayal of him as the child from hell. So what if he’d done time for drug dealing? Maybe he was making a fresh start. Didn’t everyone deserve a second chance?

For her part, Carolyn refused to let Rodney sleep under her roof, though she had room to spare. No fatted calf was on offer for this prodigal son; if he insisted on staying, the holiday rental would have to do. With no concept of the reason for his arrival at Davy’s Mill, Lucy was happy with the arrangement. It might be fun to hang out with Rod while Carolyn wasn’t around…

As his mother led him across the bridge to the cottage, Rodney’s attempts at small talk fell flat. She had nothing to say to him. When they reached the door, he turned to her in desperation.

‘Look, Ma, I know you don’t want me here – can’t say I blame you. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve let you down. But honestly, if you could just see your way to helping me out of a tight spot I’ve landed in, then I promise never to bother you again.’

Carolyn pursed her lips, remembering many previous occasions when she’d fallen for a similar line. Well, now his luck had run out. No more would she subsidise him or be taken in by his feigned contrition. ‘Sorry, son, you’re on your own this time. You have your life, I have mine. Let’s not complicate things. Do make yourself comfortable while you’re here. Then we’ll leave it at that, right?’

Already she had turned away, but he caught at her sleeve.

‘Hang on a minute! You don’t understand. I’ve got to raise thirty thousand pounds in the next week. Without it I’m a dead man!’

‘Not my concern, Rod. I’m not a magic money tree. Try your father, maybe he’ll be more accommodating.’

She’ll pay for this, Rodney thought as he gnawed at the wedge of cheddar he found in the fridge. He pulled a bottle of whisky from his bag, sloshed some into a cup and downed a slug of it. There she is, awash in money, having bled my old man white in their divorce settlement, and coining it in from those crap books she writes! Yet she refuses to lift a finger to help me!

As the alcohol began to work, his thoughts turned from self-pity to revenge. He wouldn’t be brushed off so easily! Hell… how can any woman reject her own flesh and blood? Just as well she’s going away, otherwise I might be tempted to show my displeasure. He clenched his fists in impotent rage.

It was on the eve of his planned departure, with Carolyn away from home, that Lucy heard the tap at the window. Little of what followed that evening would stick in her memory.

She vaguely recollected him disappearing briefly to the kitchen and returning with two large whiskies. Only much later would she realise her drink had been spiked with a combo of additives.

Flopping down on the sofa beside her, he began to roll a joint.

‘Is that cannabis?’ she asked.

‘You a fan?’

‘Dunno, never tried it.’

‘God, Lucy, you need to get out more. Here, we’ll share this one.’

Within minutes, the combination of spiked whisky and weed had her feeling quite mellow. When he began stroking her hair and kissing her neck, she did not protest, seemed to enjoy it. But when his hands started wandering under her blouse she pulled away. ‘No, Rod, can’t do this,’ she said, slurring her words. ‘Isn’t right.’

‘Why, because you’re engaged to some wimpy public-school toff with a rich uncle?’

‘He’s not a wimp, he’s a …’ She tried to say the word ‘gentleman’ but its three syllables were beyond her capacity for coherent speech at that moment.

‘I get it,’ Rodney said. ‘You think if we had sex it would be incest. But it wouldn’t. We’re steppies. Related only by the accident of your dear old Dad marrying my mother.’

Lucy couldn’t find the words to argue. She felt terribly drowsy after that one whisky and the joint they’d shared. She lay back on the sofa and fell asleep.