Free The Anvil by Ken McClure Page A

almost imperceptibly.
    ‘Would you like to break for a while?’
    MacLean nodded.
    ‘I’ll have to do some shopping. I’ll take Carrie with me. You will be here when we get back won’t you?’
    MacLean nodded but Tansy needed more.
    ‘Promise?’ she said.
    ‘Promise,’ said MacLean. He watched the Mini pull away from the drive and smiled at Carrie who was kneeling on the back seat waving to him.
     
    MacLean could almost touch the silence that descended on the house. It had been a living, breathing place when Tansy and Carrie had been there but now it was just a house, an inanimate pile of bricks and mortar. He found that he could think clearly again. His stay there had been, as he had really known all along, a temporary diversion from what he had to do. He started to look for his overcoat. It wasn’t on any of the pegs in the hall where his jacket hung. Tansy had put it away somewhere.
    As a last resort, MacLean tried the large wardrobe in Tansy’s room. He found his coat hanging in the left side; it was the only thing there. Was this where Keith had kept his clothes? he wondered. He removed it and replaced the metal hanger, which jangled against the others like Tibetan prayer bells for a very long time. He stared at the emptiness he’d left then closed the door. He put the coat on and turned up the collar.
     
    MacLean paused at the gate and looked back at Carrie’s snowman and the igloo. ‘Good-bye Mr Robbins,’ he whispered and started towards the canal towpath. He would walk back to town the way he had come.
    With every step of the way the colours of the last two days faded into the cold grey of reality. The canal was still frozen; the towpath hard as iron and the sky was becoming more leaden by the minute. MacLean was sure it was going to snow again but when it did come it was hail. Icy rivets were driven into his face as he hurried to the shelter of a stone bridge. He waited under the arch, looking down at his feet and listening to his breath coming in uneven pants. He plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat and came across something that he could not remember being there. It felt like an envelope.
    MacLean brought it out and found it was a plain, white envelope, sealed but with no writing on it. He tore it open untidily because of the numbness in his fingers and withdrew a single sheet of paper. On it were the words, ‘You promised!’
     
    Just when he thought he had broken the spell and escaped, Tansy had reached out and touched him. MacLean rested his forehead against the cold stone of the bridge and tried to find his resolve. No good could come of any further delay he told himself. He would only bring hurt to innocent people and yet … he started back along the towpath towards the bungalow. The wind was now behind him. He was uneasy about his decision but he had made it.
    When he reached the house MacLean could see that Tansy and Carrie had returned. Carrie was standing in the garden looking lost. She looked up when she heard MacLean reach the head of the path. ‘You’re back!’ she cried and then to her mother, ‘He’s back! He’s back!’
    Tansy came out into the garden and looked at MacLean standing there. Her eyes told him that she knew what he’d intended.
    ‘I thought I would get some fresh air,’ he lied.
    Tansy nodded without taking her eyes from his. ‘Come inside. I’ll make coffee.’
     

FIVE
     
    Did you get back into medicine?’ asked Tansy as they sat down by the fire.
    ‘Yes,’ replied MacLean, holding his hands out to the flames and rubbing them to restore circulation. ‘I moved to Glasgow, rented a flat in my own name and re-established contact with the BMA. I told them I had been abroad for some time and apologised for losing touch. I had three missing years to catch up on so I spent my mornings in the university medical library going through the journals and my evenings with the latest text books.’
    ‘What about the afternoons?’ asked Tansy