The Low Road by A. D. Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

with you. Go sort out thon ticket else you miss another train.”
    He was glad he had acknowledged her insistence on his studying. And so was his mother. As he left the house, he was thinking, It’s too bad my education has made us strangers to each other.
    He was about to walk to Central Station, but a tram came by and he jumped on. As it rattled its way down George Street, he knew he should also call Mary as promised, letting her know he’d met up with Gerry Dochery. Her number was in his notebook under MB. Somehow writing her full name had not seemed wise. Not that I’m hiding anything , he told himself. I enjoy her company much as I enjoy the company of Rob McLean on the Gazette —another person going places, another person twenty years younger than myself.
    He changed his train ticket, paid the supplement for the sleeper, then decided to call from the phone box outside the station.
    â€œHello.” Again it was Annie who answered.
    â€œNot at Sunday school?” he asked, putting what he hoped was a smile into his voice.
    â€œNo. And you’re not on the train.”
    â€œI missed it. Too busy chatting to my mother to notice the time.” There was a silence to that. “But don’t worry, I’ll be on the overnight train and see you in the morning.”
    â€œI don’t care. It’s Mum who worries when you’re not here.”
    She was being deliberately rude, and there was nothing he could say because she was right. “Can I speak to your mother?”
    The sound of the receiver being put down was loud, and he saw he was short of florins for the call. He put in his remaining change and pressed the button, hoping it would be enough. There was a wait of about two minutes before the sound of someone breathing like the sigh of wind in pine trees came down the line.
    â€œHello? Is that you, McAllister?” Her voice, timid, hesitant, was so unlike the Joanne he’d fallen in love with.
    â€œI am so sorry, I missed the train, I’ll . . .”
    â€œAre you coming back? Will you be here soon?”
    â€œOf course I’m coming back. I’ll be home in the morning. Promise. I’ve already got my ticket. I’m . . . I’ve just got a couple of things to see to. I’m staying with my mother . . .” He knew he was blethering. “How are you? How are you feeling?”
    â€œI love midsummer. It’s never really dark. I like that. Last night a full moon came up just as the sun was going down. It was beautiful.”
    â€œHas the doctor been by? What did he say?” McAllister was feeling he no longer knew how to talk to her. He didn’t know how to reassure her. Not without being with her, holding her.
    â€œCome home soon, McAllister.”
    â€œI will and I’ll . . .” The pips started. “I’ll be back in the morning and . . .” He was shouting over the beeping counting down the seconds. “I’ll . . .” But they were cut off.
    He swore under his breath. He strode towards the newsstand to ask for change, then stopped, turned around, and made for the Herald building. The newsroom was always open, Sundays being no exception. He had calmed down by the time he reached his temporary desk to call Joanne again, and have a proper conversation.
    Without quite knowing how, he found himself saying, “Hello Mary? It’s McAllister.”
    He had no intention of taking out his notebook. Looking up MB. Calling. He would have sworn he dialed by accident. A typewriter was sitting plumb in the middle of the desk—he could have left her a message. All this ran through his head in less than a second in real time.
    â€œYou’re up bright and early for a Sunday.” It was after eleven o’clock, but he remembered what an unearthly hour that was for a news reporter used to midnight deadlines.
    â€œI had a visit from Wee Gerry