Empty Nets and Promises by Denzil Meyrick Page A

making himself comfortable on an old couch. ‘Exactly what the doctor ordered. We’ve been up in Scotland for months now, and all we’ve seen is the inside of the plane and the barracks.’
    â€˜And the Douglas Arms,’ said Bertie.
    With another two lanterns lit, Geordie busied himself lighting the fire with scrunched-up pieces of old newspaper. The heavy rain beat a tattoo on the iron roof. The bothy appeared to be a one-room affair, with various old chairs and the couch gathered around the fireplace. In a corner of the room a flimsy-looking camp bed was covered by a grey blanket, while on the other side of the dwelling sat an old pot-bellied stove and a tiny basin.
    â€˜No’ much in the way of home comforts,’ observed Hamish. ‘Where’s the cludgie?’
    â€˜Och, I jeest pee in thon bucket while I’m here. But if it’s the secondary function you need to oblige, there’s a dry closet oot the back. It can be a bit breezy in the wind, mind – I keep meaning tae get that hole in the wall fixed,’ said Geordie as he got to his feet and lit his pipe.
    â€˜Damn near the Savoy, my bonnie lads,’ said Hoynes, producing two bottles of whisky from a duffel bag. ‘Here, I’ll put on the wireless.’
    Amidst a crackle and a high-pitched whine, the sound of twanging guitars backing a distinctive baritone could be heard. The five men listened in silence for a while, as drams were handed round in chipped mugs. The fire began to smoulder.
    â€˜Whoot on earth is that racket?’ asked Hamish, his face screwed up.
    â€˜That’s the Rolling Stones,’ replied Bertie. ‘My boy plays them all the time on a little Dansette record player his mother was stupid enough to buy him.’
    â€˜The Rolling Stones, eh?’ said Hoynes, sounding as though the words were something new to him.
    â€˜As far as I’m concerned, they can jeest keep rolling – as far away as possible,’ said Hamish. ‘For me, you canna beat Jimmy Shand. Have a fiddle aboot wae that wireless and get us some proper music on, skipper, before thon wailing drives me mad.’
    â€˜Och, you’re no’ like a young man at all, Hamish. You should be up there gyratin’ aboot like these young folk I see wae Pete Murray every Saturday on the television. If I was young you widna be able tae keep me back. There wiz nae such thing as the permissive society when I wiz a young buck. And it’s still no’ arrived in my hoose tae this day,’ Hoynes observed, somewhat ruefully.
    â€˜Can’t you get no satisfaction then, mate,’ said Ralph, making his fellow pilot guffaw. The three fishermen were bemused. ‘Oh, never mind,’ he said with a smile.
    â€˜Wait the noo,’ said Geordie. ‘There’s another Land Rover at the road end. Who the hell can be oot on a night like this?’
    â€˜They’ll see us, Sergeant Grant,’ said Marshall, a note of panic in his voice.
    â€˜Aye, well, they’ll have to sometime,’ replied Grant, turning the vehicle onto the track that led down towards Geordie’s bothy.
    â€˜What if they’re disposing of the evidence?’
    â€˜That would be a neat trick,’ chortled Watson. ‘There’s no such thing as plumbing away out here.’
    â€˜Is that a crown on the side?’ asked Hamish, peering through the tiny window, Hoynes at his side.
    â€˜It’s no’ the Fishery Officer, is it?’ said Hoynes, his nose pressed to the glass.
    â€˜Whoot would it matter if it was, Sandy? There’s no’ a fish tae be had in the place.’
    â€˜I’ve got a couple o’ tins o’ sardines in the press thonder,’ said Geordie.
    â€˜Och, you widna put anything past that Watson,’ replied Hoynes. ‘He’d likely find an excuse tae impound them, no matter that they’re fae Spain and got tinned before the auld king