Daguerreotype III

Tam went into the kitchen and I let him. I couldn't even hear whispers coming through the door.

On the mantelpiece were the kind of knick-knacks the totters hated. Pottery dogs, miniature brass tea things and, of course, a snow-globe paperweight. From Aviemore, it depicted a scene probably never seen there. Beside it was a locket, on a cheap, silver-coloured chain. The locket itself was of slightly better quality, but heavily tarnished. I opened it. In one side was the woman from the faded daguerreotype, in earlier fashions, with a younger face. It was a miniature, a painting by some long dead dauber, even so it was a recognisable representation of the woman. Or me. In the other side were coarse, curling hairs, as springily resilient as if they had been cut – or plucked – only the day before. I'd never seen the locket before in my life.

The kitchen door opened noisily. Sheena was red-eyed, Tam red-cheeked. I pocketed the locket.

'Weel, we'll be off then,' Tam said.

'I think I'll stay here tonight,' I picked up the snow globe.

'Whit aboot the funeral?' he asked.

I patted my satchel, 'Tam, there's always the internet, even here.'

The cheeks reddened further. He hunted in a jacket pocket and gave me a set of keys.

'Come awn,' he grunted at Sheena.

She followed him, a few paces behind. Tam allowed the wrought-iron gate to swing behind him, Sheena made an ungainly grab for it. She kept her footing despite the icy surface. Tam was already in the Lexus. I went to the driver's window. The red had disappeared from his cheeks.

'We'll expect you tomorrow then. Before 11.00, if you can manage it, Kirst.'

It was a relief to hear the childhood name - and his normal voice.

There was some coffee in the kitchen: on the top shelf of a grease blackened cupboard too near to the cooker to store perishables in. It wasn't Birds. It said Fine Fare on the outside of the tin and I had to take a knife to the contents to get a spoonful for a cup. I used one of the mugs that Tam had been so offended by. Caffeine was my drug of choice and had been since University. The buzz was better than Mary Jane had ever given me. The brew tasted foul, but I drank it anyway. The cottage suite sofa wasn't big enough for me. At just under six feet tall, Tam had to give me a few inches, yet he still expected handbags and dresses from his younger sister. The netbook was on. I checked the e-mails. Someone wanted to know when the Antarctic samples would be ready. They already were. It looked like the rich deposits were under the ice with the Russian flag planted in it. I booked a rental car on line; for delivery that evening, they promised a Golf or similar for 7 p.m. I hoped the time would be similar too.

I closed the netbook down. My eye caught the glass-sealed picture in the leather satchel. I pulled the picture out, sat with it on my lap. The open locket showed me the same woman still. Me – or Effie.

I wondered who we were.