The Low Road by A. D. Scott Page B

bonus on a cadet’s wages.”
    â€œYou’re still a cadet?” He was more than surprised.
    â€œAye, but finished this autumn.” She didn’t elaborate on her late start in journalism, her abandonment of her career in law, and the subsequent fights with her mother. “See you, McAllister,” Mary said in farewell.
    â€œMind how you go . . .” He stopped himself. No need to warn her of the big bad bogymen of the city; she already knew. And besides, he was not her father.

F OUR

    A s McAllister turned in to the street of his mother’s flat, he noticed that the hum of the city was lower than usual by a decibel or so; it acknowledged it was the Sabbath. However, he knew that the great cathedral would be awake; Sunday was when it came into its glory, accepting its rightful place as the center of Christian lives. To a heathen like McAllister, the quiet weekdays were preferable. Then the ancient building offered a refuge from the city, a place for contemplation and silence.
    The train to the Highlands left in two hours. He knew he should call Joanne. I need to call now. She’s not at her best in the evenings . He knew darkness still scared her half to death; most afternoons she would sleep, but be up and bright for afternoon tea. It’s still light until eleven, even midnight, at this time of year, thank goodness . He knew he should be there, sleeping beside her, holding her when the nightmares left her shaking, sobbing, incoherent, but terrified her daughters would hear her cries, wake up, and be distressed by their mother’s horror of the dark. Yet something was stopping him. And he had no idea what.
    â€œMcLean household,” he heard Rob say as he was connected and the coins dropped into the box below with a thunk.
    â€œMcAllister here.”
    â€œYou’re in a call box. Where?” Rob was concerned, knowing McAllister should be on a train somewhere on the Grampian plateau.
    â€œI’m taking the sleeper. I’ll be in in the morning. Listen”—he cut across the sound of Rob starting to say something—“will you pop up to see Joanne? I spoke to her but . . . I’m sure she’s fine, it’s just . . .” Rob was not helping. McAllister felt the silence as a reprimand. “I missed the train. It couldn’t be helped. Could you make sure she’s doing all right?”
    Rob said, “Why can’t you call her?”
    â€œI will again before the train leaves. It’s just I’d like you to check up on her . . . you know, a friendly face . . .” He was blethering. And he sensed Rob thought so too.
    â€œI’ll drive over now. By the way, you’re sounding very Glaswegian.”
    That threw McAllister. He didn’t know what to make of the remark. “I’ll be back in the morning. But start the Monday news meeting without me.”
    â€œFine. See you in the morn—”
    The pips went. His money had run out. Again. This time McAllister didn’t mind.
    He and his mother had their usual taciturn farewell, she treating him as though he came by every other day, and would see him next day, next week, next year, time making no difference.
    â€œNo news of your friend?” was all she asked about the reason for his visit.
    â€œNone.” He was certain Jimmy could look after himself but was glad he had come to Glasgow. The thawing in his relationship with his mother was enough reason to be pleased; any other reasons to be cheerful he didn’t acknowledge.
    â€œAye, well, no news is good news. I made you some sandwiches.” She handed him an old tartan shortbread tin, her declaration of love. “And there’s a fresh gingerbread an’ all.”
    He swallowed and nodded his head. This trip, they came as near to talking as they’d ever had. Perhaps it was his attendingmass, perhaps the visit from Gerry Dochery; his mother had been