Page 3 of The Moon Sister
‘I’m going up to see the Kinnaird estate on Thursday.’
‘Good.’ Margaret’s bright blue eyes shone like laser beams in her wrinkled face. ‘What did you think of the Laird, or Lord as he’d be called in English?’
‘He was very . . . nice. Yes, he was,’ I managed. ‘Not at all what I was expecting,’ I added, hoping I wasn’t blushing. ‘I thought he’d be a much older man. Possibly with no hair and a huge belly from too much whisky.’
‘Aye,’ she cackled, reading my mind. ‘He’s easy on the eye and that’s for sure. I’ve known Charlie since he was a bairn; my father worked for his grandfather at Kinnaird. A lovely young man he was, though we all knew he was making a mistake when he married that wife of his. So young he was too.’ Margaret rolled her eyes. ‘Their girl Zara’s sweet enough, mind you, if a little wild, but her childhood’s nae bin an easy one. So, tell me more about what Charlie said.’
‘Apart from looking after the cats, he wants me to research indigenous breeds to introduce to the estate. To be honest, he didn’t seem very . . . organised. I think it would only be a temporary job whilst the cats settle in.’
‘Well, even if it’s only a short wee while, living and working up on an estate like Kinnaird’ll teach you a lot. Mebbe there you’ll start to learn that you cannae save every creature that comes into your care. And that goes for lame ducks of the human variety too,’ she added with a wry smile. ‘You have tae learn tae accept that animals and humans have their own destinies to follow. You can only do your best, an’ no more.’
‘I’ll never toughen up to the plight of a suffering animal, Margaret. You know I won’t.’
‘I do know, dear, and that’s what makes you special. You’re a wee slip o’ a thing, with a great big heart, but watch you don’t wear it out wi’ all that emotion.’
‘So, what’s this Cal MacKenzie like?’
‘Och, he comes across a bit gruff, but he’s a poppet underneath, is Cal. The place is in his blood an’ you’d learn a lot from him. Besides, if you don’t take this, where else will you go? You know me and the animals are gone from here by Christmas.’
Due to her crippling arthritis, Margaret was finally moving into the town of Tain, forty-five minutes’ drive from the damp, crumbling cottage we were currently sitting in. On the shores of Dornoch Firth, its twenty acres of hillside land had housed Margaret and her motley crew of assorted animals for the past forty years.
‘Aren’t you sad about leaving?’ I asked her yet again. ‘If it was me, I’d be crying my eyes out day and night.’
‘Course I am, Tiggy, but as I’ve tried to teach yae, all good things must come tae an end. And with the will o’ God, new and better things will begin. No point in regretting what was, you just have tae embrace what will be. I’ve known this was coming for a long time now, and thanks tae you helping me I’ve managed an extra year here. And besides, my new bungalow has radiators yae can turn up when they’re wanted, and a television signal that works all o’ the time!’
She gave me a chuckle and a big smile, although I – who prided myself on being naturally intuitive – didn’t know if she reallywashappy about the future, or just being brave. Whichever it was, I stood up and went to hug her.
‘I think you’re amazing, Margaret. You and the animals have taught me so much. I’m going to miss you all terribly.’
‘Aye, well you won’t be missing me if yae take the job at Kinnaird. I’m a blow o’ wind down the valley and on hand to give you advice about the cats if you need it. And you’ll have tae visit Dennis, Guinness and Button, or they’ll be missing you too.’
I looked down at the three scrawny creatures lying in front of the fire: an ancient three-legged ginger cat and two old dogs. All of them had been nursed back to health as youngsters by Margaret.
‘I’ll go up and see Kinnaird and then make a decision. Otherwise, it’s home to Atlantis for Christmas and a rethink. Now, can I help you to bed before I go up?’
It was a question I asked Margaret every night and she responded with her usual proud reply.
‘No, I’ll sit awhile here by the fire, Tiggy.’
‘Sweet dreams, darling Margaret.’
I kissed her parchment-like cheek, then walked up the uneven narrow staircase to my bedroom. It had once been Margaret’s, until even she had realised that mounting the stairs every night was a number of steps too far. We had subsequently moved her bed downstairs into the dining room, and perhaps it was a blessing that there had never been funds to move the bathroom upstairs, because it still lay in the toe-bitingly cold outhouse only a few metres from the room she now used as her bedroom.
As I went through my usual routine of stripping off my day clothes then putting on layers of night clothes before I climbed between the freezing cold sheets, I was comforted that my decision to come here to the sanctuary had been the right one. As I’d told Charlie Kinnaird, after six months in the research department of Servion Zoo in Lausanne, I’d realised I wanted to take care of and protect the animals themselves. So I’d answered an ad I’d seen online and come to a crumbling cottage beside a loch to help an arthritic old lady in her wildlife sanctuary.
Trust to your instincts, Tiggy, they will never let you down.
That’s what Pa Salt had said to me many times. ‘Life is about intuition, with a splash of logic. If you learn to use the two in the right balance, any decision you take will normally be right,’ he’d added, when we’d stood together in his private garden at Atlantis and watched the full moon rise above Lake Geneva.
I remembered I’d been telling him that my dream was to one day go to Africa, to work with the incredible creatures in their natural habitat, rather than behind bars.
Tonight, as I curled my toes into a patch of bed I’d warmed up with my knees, I realised how far I felt from achieving my dream. Looking after four Scottish wildcats was not really in the Big Game league.
I switched off the light, and lay there thinking how all my sisters teased me about being the spiritual snowflake of the family. I couldn’t really blame them, because when I was young I didn’t understand that I was ‘different’, so I’d just speak about the things that I saw or felt. Once, when I was very small, I’d told my sister CeCe that she shouldn’t climb her favourite tree because I’d seen her fall out of it. She’d laughed at me, not unkindly, and told me she’d climbed it hundreds of times and I was being silly. Then, when shehadfallen out half an hour later, she had glanced away from me, embarrassed by the fact that my prophecy had come true. I’d since learnt it was best to keep my mouth shut when I ‘knew’ things. Just like I knew that Pa Salt wasn’t dead . . .
If he was, I would have known when his soul had left the earth. Yet I’d felt nothing, only the utter shock of the news when I’d received the call from my sister Maia. I’d been totally unprepared; no ‘warning’ of the fact that something bad was coming. So, either my spiritual wiring was faulty, or I was in denial because I couldn’t bear to accept the truth.
My thoughts spun back to Charlie Kinnaird and the bizarre job interview I’d had earlier today. My stomach resumed its inappropriate lurches as my imagination conjured up those startling blue eyes and the slim hands with the long, sensitive fingers that had saved so many lives . . .
