Wellington Dustbags (aka Bike) Part 624 by Angharad

Mr Dunstan was in the kitchen doing his best. He tried to chase me out but I pulled rank and he finally agreed we could work together. He was doing haggis. I thought for a moment he was joking, but sure enough, there were two of the things ‘bilin’ in a pan, as Tom would have said. I helped him peel potatoes and then with the neeps, or Swede as I usually called them.

In getting something from the fridge I noticed there was a large piece of beef in there, why couldn’t we have eaten that, not this traditional fare. If they do porridge in the morning, I shall scream.

I thought Burns’ night was in January not April, “Is this some strange form of St George’s day dinner?”

“No, ma’am, it was what the Laird suggested we ate.”

“I can’t guarantee my girls will eat it.”

“It’s an acquired taste, like whisky.”

“One I haven’t acquired nor intend to.”

“It’s good it’s not Burns’ night, the whisky is almost obligatory.”

“Yes, it is good. Mr Dunstan, did you see where Prof Agnew went?”

“I think he was walking his dog around the courtyard.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a dog here.”

“We do usually, but they’ve all gone off with the staff.”

“All? How many do you have?”

“Three usually. Two labradors and a cocker.”

“If anything starts, they might get in the way.”

“I don’t know, they have better hearing than we do.”

“That’s true, but we still have Kiki,” although she can sleep through anything.

“That’s fine then, we’ll have warning if there’s anyone about.”

Between us we laid the table, a huge refectory type made of oak, I think. The dining hall, because it was a very large room was exquisitely decorated, with painted walls depicting murals of Scottish mythology and history. It could take all day to get around the whole castle and see just the ornamentation. It was so over the top it was verging on delightful.

We laid ten places. The children would sit either side of me. Then after mashing the tatties with butter and doing the same with the neeps, Mr Dunstan banged the gong and within a few minutes people were assembling for the meal.

Tom stood opposite me at the table, and Henry asked me to move up so I was next to his seat at the head of the table. “As the only lady here, you must sit here next to me. Protocol dictates it. Meems sat next to me, and Trish was seated opposite me, then Tom, who could do his granddad bit and help her with anything she needed.

Mr Dunstan walked in with a tureen of Scotch broth, my eyes must have been as big as saucers. It wasn’t cooking in the kitchen while I was out there. He smirked at me and whispered, “Microwave.” I sniggered.

Apparently, I was given the honour of ladling soup into dishes and passing them along–a variation on ‘being mother’ when pouring teas. Oh well, I could live with that. The soup was fine as was the roll accompanying it. The girls ate theirs, so they must have been hungry.

Then he brought in the salver with the two haggis on laid out side by side, like two skinned piglets. “Och hurdies,” said Tom.

“What?” I asked.

“Buttocks,” said Henry quietly.

“What are buttocks, Mummy?” asked Trish in voice loud enough to be heard in Glasgow.

“Yer bum,” answered Grampa Tom. We then had two giggling girls on our hands.

“Doesn’t look like my bum,” said Trish, which had Mima almost convulsing with laughter.

“Mummy’s bummies,” said Meems, and Trish fell about laughing.

I clapped my hands, “Right children, that's enough.” I glanced sternly at Tom, who was pretending he wasn’t there.

“Mummy, would you care to serve?” called a voice from down the table, which had everyone laughing but me.

Mr Dunstan placed a pile of plates in front of me and I was required to spoon neeps and tatties and couple of spoonfuls of the meat and oatmeal mess that oozed from the haggis skin once it had been slit open. These were then passed down the table. To the girls I gave a small amount, because I didn’t think they’d eat it.

I tucked into mine pretending I knew and liked the taste, preparing to soldier through what I wasn’t at all sure was my idea of delicacy–the Scottish equivalent of sheeps’ eyeballs. However, I was pleasantly surprised and the savoury taste was quite nice, although I wouldn’t want to eat it very often.

Once again the girls proved me wrong, and ate theirs with gusto. The pudding, which like the soup, I wasn’t party to, was lemon meringue. I was full anyway, which was an easy get out, I don’t like meringue in any shape or form, call it Pavlova if you will, I still don’t like it.

Instead Mr Dunstan brought me some fruit, so I was quite happy. The wine we drank made me feel mellow and for a short time I began to forget the reason we were in this stronghold.

Dusk fell and I started to feel uneasy. If there was an attack, it would be by night. I still had the image intensifiers with me, but I’d try and sit this one out if I was allowed to.

As the party broke up, Tom took the girls up to bed and read them a story, when he came down, Henry was distributing flak jackets. “Do I get one?” I asked feeling somewhat left out.

“No, Cathy, you and Tom are designated to go to the hidey-hole if anything starts. Your job is to protect the girls, we’ll deal with the rest.”

“Fine, wake me up when it’s all over,” I’m off to bed.

I rose from the table and all the men stood up until I left. I kissed Henry and Tom goodnight and went up to my room. Tom’s was apparently next door to mine. I suppose they thought he was too old to fight, which tended to indicate that they didn’t know him as well as I did. He was a dab hand with a shotgun and held his own against the mafia once before. I left him with the other men to sort it out for himself, I was too tired to care.

Once in bed, I began to think about Simon. Henry hadn’t told me where he was, despite intimating he had a good idea of his son’s whereabouts.

I tried to remember the conversation we had earlier. It seemed Simon hadn’t been sent away to save his skin, he was doing something, but what and where?–I had no idea.

Then I recalled a conversation I had with Simon months ago, after the attack on Tom’s house and Stella’s kidnap. “I wonder,” I said to myself and drifted off to sleep.

I was fast asleep when there was a blinding flash in the sky. Instead of it vanishing immediately, it held for a minute or two. I realised it was a flare, there was the odd popping noise going on as well. I leapt out of bed, and got the girls grabbing their clothes and some of my own, I shepherded them into my room and thence the little room by the fireplace. Trish grabbed the book Tom had been reading them earlier.

I dashed into Tom’s room, knocking as I opened it. He was fast asleep with a shotgun across his chest, it was ‘broken’ open so I was in no danger. I lifted it off him and shook him. He was out to the world and a strong smell of whisky emanated from him. I dragged him off his bed and wrapping him in his duvet, pulled him under his bed and hoped he would be safe there. He was still fast asleep. I locked his room as I left it and took the keys with me, along with the shotgun and the box of cartridges I found by the side of him.

I shut the girls in the little room, making sure they could get in and out but to open it to no one they didn’t know. They had their bedding with them and I hoped they went off to sleep. I went out onto the veranda and in the fading light of the flare I donned the image intensifier and crouched down watching and waiting.