Sewing the Shadows Together by Alison Baillie Read Free Book Online

the Lord’s Will.’
    *
    Sarah’s eyes opened. She was in bed with her husband beside her. Although her father had been dead for more than thirty years, his voice rang through the darkness of the bedroom and his eyes looked down on her, condemning her. She sunk her head in the pillow, trying to bury the shame and guilt she still felt so keenly.

Chapter 5

    Sarah busied herself in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and preparing the Sunday roast. Rory had got up and left early, and she had a few hours before her mother and the twins arrived. And Tom, too. She smiled despite herself, but then shuddered – thinking of him brought back the memory of Shona and that awful night. Should she have followed her? Could she have done anything to save her?
    She’d waited in the park for what seemed like hours, until the air turned cold and the last rays of evening light disappeared. Walking home slowly, she’d looked round every time she heard footsteps, hoping they were Shona’s. Her friend running off had made her feel angry at first, but as the darkness fell she started to feel scared. Shona had never left her alone before.
    By the black front door of their granite house next to the Free Presbyterian Church, she’d hesitated. She’d be in trouble; she was not supposed to stay out after dark.
    Her mother was waiting at the door, crying. Her father had gone out looking for her. Sarah became even more frightened. Her distant, silent father always had an air of barely-suppressed anger, but when this broke through, he could be terrifying.
    When he’d come back, he was trembling, angrier than she’d ever seen him before, his stern face dark with rage and his deep-set eyes red-rimmed. She’d been only too glad to retreat to the sanctuary of her bedroom. As she lay quaking in bed, the phone rang. Her father didn’t like people phoning the house at an hour he considered ‘unsuitable’ and had answered sharply: ‘Yes, Sarah is at home. No, nothing at all,’ and replaced the handset firmly. Sarah was sure it was Mrs McIver. Did that mean that Shona hadn’t gone home?
    Sarah hadn’t slept well that night.
    She basted the meat and went through to lay the table in the high Georgian dining room, going through the comforting ritual of making the table beautiful, laying the cutlery, polishing the glasses, folding the napkins and arranging the freesias as a centrepiece. She must concentrate on today, making it a lovely day for her family, and for Tom. She smiled, despite herself.
    *
    Tom woke up with a start and looked at his watch.
    12.20.
    With the long journey, the beers, and the emotional whirl of the last two days, he must have slept for nearly twelve hours. He heard Sarah’s voice in his memory:
‘Lunch 1.30 at 95 Great King Street’.
    He showered and dressed quickly, and hurried down the stairs.
    ‘You’ve missed your breakfast again, Mr McIver.’ Mrs Ritchie stood at the door of her sitting room in her good Sunday coat.
    ‘Sorry, got to rush.’ Tom ran out into the quiet Sunday street, his landlady’s voice ringing in his ears, still reminding him about Rory Dunbar’s autograph.
    Up at the High Street, he remembered the 26 bus used to go up to the centre of town. Checking at the bus stop, he saw it still ran. So many things were just as he remembered them. The long gardens leading up to the solid Victorian houses, the cracked pavements, the trees overhanging the grey stone walls; the familiarity washed over him with a strength that hurt almost physically. He willed the bus to arrive.
    When it did come, he went upstairs to his old favourite seat at the front. As the bus made its way slowly through the centre of Portobello, he saw that there were changes; the power station and the open air pool had disappeared, and the old Fun Palace area was now replaced by regular rows of neat housing. He winced again remembering the fire – but it was better really that it had been razed to the ground. It had been an awful place. He