Lonie49

Audrey parked her car in the cobbles of Gibson Street. Parking on Byres Road was too nerve racking and it was just a short walk to the Kodak shop to pick up the photographs. The assistant behind the counter wore the red livery of the shop and made Audrey feel like a frumpy old maid. The girl gave her a bubble-gum smile when Audrey handed over the docket and left her standing waiting. The back of the shop smelled like a lab and she disappeared into it. Moments later she was back with a thin folder of photos. She checked the name again. ‘Mrs Lonnigan that’ll be £1.25.’ Her voice had a curious nasal quality. She smiled again before handing the photos over.

Audrey smiled back at her for a different reason. She wanted to explain that she wasn’t Mrs Lonnigan, but she swung her bag off her shoulder and searched through her purse for change. Her hands quivered slightly as she put the portfolio of photos in her bag. She stood outside the shop, pressed up against a crash barrier, traffic on one side of her, people streaming past her on the other, going about their everyday business. It was very cold with a light rain. She felt it on her face, felt it on her legs and thighs and she stomped her feet. Her hands shook for a different reason as she balanced her bag on the rail and brought the photos out and leafed through them. Nervousness gave over to grim faced anger. She wanted to storm in and give the inept shop girl a piece of her mind. The photographs were of some holiday camp, ice-cream cones, dodgems and kids on a Ferris wheel. Then she saw the picture of a man holding his hand up to block the picture being taken and her stomach lurched. She knew it was Davy Brown. There was another of a fat looking cat with its whisker turned up as if it was sniffing the camera or picture taker. There was one of her car and her in it scowling. She flicked quickly through the rest, her heart beating faster and faster as if she were jumping hurdles. They were of trees and bushes and what might, or might not, have been a Scout belt flopping from one. She flung them to the bottom of her bag. She wanted to hang Lonie for his dumb incompetence. He’d obviously used the entire spool up before he’d even got to the blackened oak tree.

Audrey was calmer when she was back in the office. She was apologetic to Bresslen about being late, but emphasised it was work related. He swatted it away as of no consequence.

‘I’m not worried about that. I’m more worried about Russell the photographer. What did you do to him?’ When she said nothing, he continued, ‘he was absolutely furious.’

‘I think he got lost.’ Audrey leaned back in her chair and stretched out her long legs. ‘And I wasn’t waiting for him.’ She licked her lips.

Bresslen shook his head and shrugged. ‘I suppose…Russell couldn’t find his own feet. But he said you never got any photos?’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Audrey leaned forward, showing a little cleavage. The package of photos Lonie took was lying on her desk. ‘Mr Lonnigan took these the other day. Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for there?’

‘Aye. Aye. You might be right.’ Bresslen stood by her desk, not quite sure what to do, or what to say. ‘Have you had a chance to have a look at them?’ He looked down at the folder of photos in his hand.

Audrey’s eyes grew big as gob stoppers and her mouth dropped open. ‘Not yet Mr Bresslen. Should I’ve?’ She held her hands out for the package. ‘You want me to look at them now?’

‘No. No. that’s fine.’ Bresslen’s right hand involuntarily pulled the folder in closer to his body. ‘We’ll look at them later.’ He sniffed. ‘Any idea when he’s comin’ back?’

‘Sorry, no idea.’

‘Right, well if you do see him.’

‘I won’t.’

Bresslen nodded. He’d expected that. In his job nothing was ever easy if it could be difficult. It was the equivalent of dropping toast on the floor. Invariably, it always landed butter side down. ‘Well, if you do…’ but one look at her face and he gave up that notion. He sniffed. ‘Well, what are you doing now? Are you going back up to Goldenwell?’

‘No, I thought I’d go and interview Father Campbell’s mother and father.’ She smiled up at him, or maybe even his grandfather. ‘He was very close to him you know?’

‘Great stuff.’ Bresslen sounded impressed. ‘We’ll make a proper newspaper…’ he was going to say man, ‘woman out of you yet.’

‘Thanks.’ Audrey’s face flushed with warmth. She reached for her bag. ‘Need to be going.’ But she fiddled about and waited until Bresslen was safely ensconced in the editor’s booth before she left. She’d need to go down to archives to check, but offhand she knew that Father Campbell had stayed in a small village called Old Kilpatrick. If she found the church his grandfather and parents worshipped in, there would be church records. They should be easy enough to find from there.

The Old Kilpatrick Church was old fashioned enough to be near the main road and to be surrounded by parishioner’s graves. Audrey parked her Hillman Imp within its stone walls. The line of the hills surrounding it pushed down black shadows, challenging twilight and the daub of orange street lights. The air had a bitter edge to it, making Audrey courie into her wool coat when she got out of the car and search her bag for her gloves. She’d walked around the whole circumference of the church before she was sure there was no manse. Her feet tip-toed cautiously over the cut grass as she examined some of the older gravestones, running her fingers over the ornamental runes. There was no one about but the dead. The squeak of the iron gate had her scurrying from the side of the building and round to her car. An older woman with the palest wash of blue eyes came carrying out of season tulips. She did not seem surprised to see Audrey.

‘I’m looking for the vicar, or elder. I’m not sure of the right word.’ Her voice sounded off the stone walls and there was the softest of echoes. She laughed nervously.

‘You’ll be looking for Reverend MacDougall.’

‘And where does he stay?’

‘He stays down that way.’ With the faintest nod of her head the old woman suggested a direction. The old woman took her hand. ‘You’re cold child. Get yourself heated up in a good fire.’ She pulled a shawl up over her silver hair. The red stone chips crunched as she walked around the side of the building, disappearing from view.