Chapter 2

 

    Dugal clumped gratefully into the cool of John's kitchen, leaned against the old porcelain sink and hurriedly kicked off his wellies.
   'Ah, man,' he wheezed, as his friend closed the back door, shutting out the rare Hebridean sunshine. 'If I'd known it was hiking I was going to be doing on such a fine day, I'd not have put on these damned rubber boots.'
   His sweaty socks left damp footprints on the lino as he hobbled into the living room for a seat.
   'Make yourself at home,' smiled John, reaching into a cupboard for a bottle of whisky.
   Having collapsed onto the sofa, Dugal stretched his legs their short length and wiggled his toes. As his wheezing eased, he looked around the familiar room with a new interest. He'd never considered John's death before and his new status as a beneficiary lent him a proprietorial air as he gazed about what he considered would one day be his property. He closely observed the intricately carved dresser, the oddments of Victorian crockery displayed on its upper shelves and the expensive looking pots and jugs arranged below. As if aware of his thoughts, faded black and white photos of John's parents frowned disapprovingly at him from the walls. A large picture of a red deer held pride of place above the stone fireplace. China dogs kept watch at either end of the long mantelpiece and a couple of brass candlesticks were spaced in between. A pipe rack hung beside the fireplace, within easy reach of John's old rocking chair. The cottage was stoutly built, he reflected, and he liked the small windows.
   His train of thought soon cleared his earlier fears of the hereafter and when he finally stopped wheezing he decided he was going to do something about his fitness.
   'I'll be with you in a minute,' shouted John from the kitchen, 'I'm just getting the jug and glasses.'
   'There's no hurry,' shouted Dugal in reply, despite his eagerness for what he considered was a well-earned dram.
   The sound of glasses clinking in the kitchen made him lick his lips and swallow hastily in anticipation. John kicked open the door and beamed broadly, bearing two glasses well charged with whisky and a small jug of water. He placed the glasses on a small table near Dugal, poured water into one and handed him the jug.
   'Here you are then Dugal. The water is fresh from the well, fine and cold, and the good colour of the very peat itself.'
   Dugal held his glass at eye level and poured from the jug until he was quite sure that the proportions were exactly right. He then raised his drink.
   'Well now, here's to you John and to a long life yet ahead of you. All the best.' He drank deeply with obvious satisfaction and smacked his lips. 'Man, that was pure nectar. It's rare stuff John, rare stuff, and our walk put me in the right mood for it too.'
   'It's the finest malt,' replied John, as he lifted his glass and downed a large sample.
   Dugal found the whisky warming his stomach pleasantly.
   'You know,' he confided, 'I'm finding life can be quite tiring at times. Maybe I'm getting old and should retire.'
   'Here's to your retirement then,' smiled John.
   'I've been thinking.'
   'Have you now?'
   'Yes, looking down into that hole of yours was a sobering moment for me. I think God has put us all on this earth for a reason, but I'm blowed if I know what mine is.'
   'That bleggarty old tractor of mine stinks of oil and fumes,' said John, 'and it is starting to rattle a little more than is good for it.'
   'I suppose each of us must plough his own furrow through life and it's up to us to make the best of it,' continued Dugal.
   'I'm thinking it needs a good service.'
   'I wonder what it is God had in mind for me?'
   'Aye, my old horse, though I used to curse the brute, belonged to the land more than that bleggarty tractor, dirty, smelly thing that it is.'
   Dugal seemed to come out of a daydream.
   'What?'
   'Och it's an old one, and I'm thinking the wheelbase is too narrow and its centre of gravity is too high. I have to watch it like a hawk on the slopes so that it doesn't turn over on me.'
   'Maybe you should build a stout cab on it,' suggested Dugal, a little miffed that John hadn't heard a word he'd said. 'It would shelter you from the weather.'
   'Yes, I have thought about that from time to time. Maybe I'll get around to doing it one day. You know Dugal, it sure is a strange life with all these newfangled devices people have these days.'
   Dugal nodded sagely.
   'Seems a shame to me,' continued John, 'that the young ladies these days don't get any exercise doing their housework. Where is it all going to end?'
  'Why is it that you never married?' asked Dugal, looking thoughtfully into his glass.
   John seemed pained by distant memories. He sloshed his whisky round his glass a few times, sighed deeply, took another drink, but didn't reply.
   'You know,' continued Dugal, 'after this morning, I'm going to make some changes to my life. I've decided to get myself fit, and I'm thinking I might start going to church. Unfortunately, I have no idea which one. How do you tell them apart? Where do you start looking? They all seem to teach different things from the same book and none of them have a good word to say about each other.'
   John settled himself back in his rocking chair and a thoughtful silence ensued which was broken a short time later by a car pulling up outside. A car door slammed and someone strolled up the garden path. Dugal took another mouthful of his whisky, put his glass down on the table and looked towards the door.
   'It's Jason Livingstone, I'm thinking,' said John, getting to his feet to investigate. 'I expect that he will be as dry as his legal terminology and will not say no to a dram on the house.'
   'That's for sure,' laughed Dugal. 'And you'll have a steep bill for his time too, I'll be bound.'
   'Ach, the legal profession,' said John, 'they have a grip on us in this life, and they probably have an agreement with the devil to keep a grip on us in the next.'
   John walked to the porch and smiled as he opened the door.
   'Come you in, Mr Livingstone, come on inside.'
   'Glorious day gentlemen,' boomed Livingstone on entering the living room.
   'Please, sit yourself down,' said John graciously, motioning to the sofa.
   Livingstone sat and put his briefcase on his knees. His round face displayed an anticipatory look as he balanced his reading glasses on his nose. His well-cut black suit and polished leather shoes, his silk tie and gold cuff-links and his rather chubby appearance seemed somehow out of place in the living room of the old cottage. He then noticed the whisky glasses on the small side table and raised his eyebrows.
   'My word!' he exclaimed, 'isn't it a bit early for a dram?'
   'It's my birthday,' explained John, 'would you care to join us?'
   'Oh well, in that case, yes please and thank you. And how are you? Well I trust? You too Dugal?'
   Livingstone eased his briefcase open and peered inside.
   'We can't complain, Mr Livingstone,' replied John, heading for the kitchen for a fresh glass. 'We are both in remarkably good spirits, considering everything.'
   'Hmmm yes, I can see that,' replied Livingstone, glancing again at the whisky. 'I must say, John, putting your affairs in order like this is to be commended. Not that I am anticipating your early demise of course, but everyone should have their property and money legally sewn up. Watertight and beyond litigation are my watchwords. That is what we, of the profession, are for.'
   He puffed out his cheeks and assumed a serious and, he hoped, paternal expression.
   'There you go, Mr Livingstone,' grinned John, returning from the kitchen and handing him a glass.
   Livingstone held up the glass and peered into it fondly.
   'Oh my!' he exclaimed, after taking a sip. 'Rare stuff indeed.'
   He put down his glass for a minute to take a few papers from his briefcase and then scanned them industriously. John glanced over at the clock ticking on his wall.
   'Here is your will,' continued Livingstone, handing him the document, 'which I shall require you both to sign.'
   He watched intently as John slowly signed his name where directed.
   'That will do perfectly, so now it is your turn, Dugal, if you would please just sign here.'
   Dugal did so, noticing with some disappointment that Livingstone covered the document with his hand so he couldn't read any of it.
   'Right then, gentlemen, all is now in order and legally watertight. Here is a copy of the contents of your will, John, for your retention in a safe place. You will be able to refer to it and, should you ever wish to alter it in any way, just get in touch with me. I shall keep the original in my safe against its future production. When that sad occasion arises, which I trust will be a long time hence, all your wishes will be respected, and the sum of . . .'
   Here he paused and glanced at Dugal, who sat up expectantly.
   '. . . er . . . the sum which you stipulated Dugal should have, and the rest, will be forthcoming at the appropriate time. Now then, John, what is to happen in the event that Dugal should predecease you?'
   John and Dugal both stared at him incredulously. Dugal opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. The question had caught them both by surprise.
   'It is, after all,' explained Livingstone, 'something that you should consider.'
   'Ach, Dugal is a youngster yet, so he is,' said John. 'He has a few years yet to face. However, should this unlikely eventuality take place, then I shall make other arrangements with you at the time.'
   'Yes, that would be adequate,' said Livingstone. 'In the profession, you understand, every contingency must be foreseen and legally protected. Anyway, gentlemen, that seems to take care of all the loose ends in this case for the foreseeable future so I'll be on my way.'
   He drained his glass with a smack of his lips, put the signed papers in his briefcase and closed it.
   'Thank you for your hospitality,' he said, getting to his feet, 'and happy birthday.'
   At that moment another vehicle pulled up outside the house and John got up to peer out of the window.
   'It's those bleggarty Thompsons,' he announced. 'They've arrived with my coffin.'
   Yes,' said Livingstone with a somewhat serious tone, 'I'd heard you'd bought yourself a coffin. I must say I found it hard to believe at the time. I have attended to many complex and diverse affairs during my life, but never before have I dealt with a client who is virtually burying himself while he is still alive.'
   John shrugged.
   'Well, no offence,' continued Livingstone, but I still find it all rather extraordinary. However tempus fugit, time flies and so must I.' He transferred his glasses from his nose to their case and pocketed them carefully before heading for the door. 'Good day to you gentlemen.'
   The two friends watched in silence from the doorway as Livingstone wandered down the garden path, eased himself behind the wheel of his car and started the engine. He drove off with a clash of gears just as the Thompsons were manhandling a wooden coffin out of the rear of their hearse. In a slick operation, the undertakers took an end each and made their way in through the gate.
   'You know,' mused Dugal, rubbing his chin. 'I still can't tell those two apart. Which one is Jock and which one is Jimmy?'
   'Am I seeing double after just one drink?' grinned John. 'This is altogether much too confusing.'
   The twins, one the mirror image of the other, down to their black suits, black ties, white shirts and gleaming black leather shoes, even had their short black hair parted to the same side. Dugal stared at the approaching figures and shook his head as if to clear his vision.
   'Good day to you John,' greeted the twin who was leading the way, the coffin behind him balanced in his hands. 'I hope that we find you in the best of health. I'm Jock by the way.'
   'Aye, and I'm Jock too,' chipped in Jimmy, winking mischievously from the other end of the coffin.
   The twins thought this hilarious and both laughed merrily.
   'Good day to you both and a fine one it is too,' welcomed John, peering dubiously from one to the other.
   'Here's your casket,' said Jock. 'And a stout one it is too. Well constructed to our usual high standards and roomy to boot.'
   'Where would you like it?' asked Jimmy, enjoying the perplexed stares he was getting.
   'Is that another coffin in the hearse?' asked Dugal, his eyebrows raising.
   'Aye,' sighed Jock sadly. 'That second one is for poor Colin Drummond who, you may have heard, died last night.'
   'Oh well now, we hadn't heard,' replied Dugal in astonishment.
   'What happened?' asked John in a hushed voice, as he led them into the house and pointed to his bedroom door. 'Through there and mind the furniture. There is a table already in position for it beside the window.'
   'Goodness, poor Colin,' reflected Dugal. 'I saw him only a few days ago and he looked fit and well. His wife is going to miss him.'
   'Aye, she is that,' grunted Jock, manoeuvering the coffin through the doorway. 'One minute he was standing at the bar supping a pint, and the next, by all accounts, he simply fell down.'
   After the coffin had been placed on the table, they all stood around looking at it with mixed feelings. Dugal found himself overawed just as he had been by the graveside out in the moors, and again experienced fear at what was awaiting him in the hereafter. John stood in silence, obviously delighted with the highly polished wood and the brass fittings.
   'Man it's a cracker,' he said at last. 'I'll be able to see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Its presence will make each day from now on that much more valuable to me.'
   Jock scratched his groin for which he got an elbow in the stomach from his brother.
   'It's not the kind of bedroom furniture that I would wish to have around me on waking each morning,' said Dugal with a shudder. 'You will dream of ghosts John, so you will. My imagination would have me already in that damn box every time I saw it. I couldn't abide that thing in my house at all.'
   'Ach,' smiled John, 'come you all away into the living room for a whisky.'
   'Whisky?' chorused the twins.
   'It's my birthday.'
   'Well, happy birthday!' they both exclaimed.
   John busied himself in the kitchen as the others made themselves comfortable, and before long he reappeared bearing a tray with only three charged glasses and the large jug of peaty water. Thirsty hands soon contained a glass. Jock raised his drink and gave a toast.
   'Here's all the best to you John. Now that you have everything in order, you will probably live to be a hundred. Anyway, I certainly hope so. Cheers.'
   'All the best to you man,' added Jimmy, beaming widely as he held his glass up. 'Are you not joining us?'
   John put his hands up.
   'I'm already familiar with it,' he smiled. 'One large one is enough for me at this time of the day. Any more and it is wobbly I will get and I have things to do.'
   'Of course,' said Jock with a wink, 'and by the way,' he continued, 'jerking his thumb at the bedroom door, 'we've made allowances in case you put on any weight. Your casket is so roomy it would probably hold Dugal at a pinch.'
   Dugal's face paled, and he hurriedly acquainted himself with his fresh glass of whisky, which served to calm his agitation.
   Jimmy noticed his pensive frown.
   'What is it Dugal?' he laughed good naturedly.
   Dugal quickly changed the subject.
   'What was wrong with poor Colin then?'
   'Apparently,' said Jock, 'he was vaccinated yesterday morning, complained to his wife of having chest pains in the afternoon, went to the pub to ease his discomfort and collapsed soon afterwards. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.'
   'Ah well,' said John quietly, 'it only proves to me I've been doing the right thing putting my affairs in order.'
   'This is a nice blend of barley and malt,' reflected Jimmy, swirling his whisky round his glass. 'Quite extraordinary.'
   'You will forgive me,' said John, 'if I don't offer you another as you're driving.'
   'Ah, you don't have to worry yourself man,' said Jock, 'we never drink and drive.'
   'No,' agreed Jimmy, 'we've seen the effects far too often.'
   'Mind you,' mused Jock, 'I've never heard of a hearse being stopped by the police.'
   'Indeed no,' laughed Jimmy. 'Think of the public outcry there would be should the police start interfering in the affairs of the next world as well.'
   'Yes,' added Jock, 'and even supposing the police were daft enough to stop us, they would never get a conviction anyway.'
   'Oh?' enquired Dugal, lifting his eyes from his drink.
   'Not a chance,' said Jimmy. 'It would be quite impossible to establish in court which one of us was driving and was the guilty party.'
   'And,' piped in Jock, 'should one of us lose his licence, we could both continue driving for the very same reason.'
   'Oh well yes,' replied Dugal, managing a weak smile. 'Even Solomon would wash his hands of the pair of you.'
   'It must be very useful at times,' said John thoughtfully, 'you being identical twins I mean, but what would happen should one of you decide to get married?'
   The twins burst out laughing.
   'Why, you would find the most contented woman on the island,' laughed Jock.
   'One who'd never realise she had two husbands,' added Jimmy.
   'Hmmm,' mused John, not at all sure whether they were joking or not.
   'We heard yon Roddy Morrison was sniffing around Murdo's wife,' muttered Jimmy quietly, losing his smile.
   'He's no good that one,' said John.
   'Which reminds me,' continued Jimmy, finishing his glass and putting it down on the tray, 'what did yon old barnacle Jason Livingstone have to say for himself?'
   'Ach, he was here with my legal papers and we had a bit of a blether over a dram.'
   'Good on you,' approved Jock, also finishing his drink. Then he looked up rather seriously. 'We'd heard that you were going to dig your own grave. Everyone on the island is talking about it. Have you really done it?'
   'Oh yes, it's all ready and waiting for me, in yon clearing among the trees near the loch. You know the place. But I'm in no hurry to move there just yet.'
   'Yes of course,' said Jock. 'Thanks for the drink. Come on Jimmy, let's get on our way and go and fetch poor old Colin.'
   'Mind how you go,' cautioned Dugal.
   'Aye, we'll do that,' smiled Jock. 'We'll pop by the mortuary for a natter with Charlie, stick old Colin in his box, drop him off at the house with his wife and head on home. What could possibly go wrong? All the best to you.'
   John and Dugal waved from the doorway as, with a cheery wave in return, the twins drove off smoothly in their hearse and sped round a corner.
   'Those two would put the fear of death into you the way they drive,' observed Dugal. 'It doesn't seem right to see a hearse speeding.'
   'Come Dugal, you are on the way to becoming depressed and that won't do. Your moods are so changeable these days man.'
   'Oh well yes indeed,' agreed Dugal. 'This has been a day of decisions for me right enough. Tomorrow I'm going to start exercising regularly and I'm going to get my weight down by a stone or two. And on Sunday, don't be surprised if you catch sight of me in my best clothes heading for a church. Well, that's if I can make up my mind that one of them might actually understand what they were talking about. Undertakers, graves and coffins have not cheered me up at all.'
   'Aye indeed,' reflected John, looking him up and down, 'you would be the better for losing some weight.'
   They went inside to the kitchen where John rinsed out the empty glasses and Dugal wiped them dry. John then held the bottle of whisky up to the sunlight streaming in the window, peered at it and a smile broke over his face.
   'If it's the church you're planning Dugal,' he said, 'I'm thinking this isn't the spirits for you.'
   'Funny that,' said Dugal, a pensive frown crawling over his brow.
   'What?'
   'Why they call the drink, spirits.'

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