Page 37 of Fixing a Broken Heart at the Highland Repair Shop
He’d left his packed suitcase zipped and upright by the door of his flat. He’d cleaned the place until it gleamed in the August sun streaming through the window. There’d be no deposits lost to landlords for the fastidious, disciplined Jamie Beaton.
He’d returned his high viz Highland Police vest and key card, badge and all the rest of it to the station, shaking hands with Chief Inspector Edwyn.
‘You’ve been a credit to us, Special Constable. Lothian and Borders will be very fortunate to have you.’
Edwyn had rocked on his heels, hands behind his back as Jamie said his thanks and was presented with his whip-round single malt and a handshake from the Mason brothers and all the others who’d come, belatedly, to recognise the contribution he’d made.
All of them admitted he’d be much missed.
He hadn’t been able to give much of an answer when they’d asked if he’d come back to visit any time soon.
‘We’ll see,’ he’d mumbled, thinking how for now he’d no real reason to return. He’d carried the bottle out of the station and into the street.
His police fitness test was due to take place at half four in the east end of Edinburgh, his train was at ten to eleven. He’d need to be quick.
He made his way down the high street that had seemed so provincial and poky when he arrived here, not expecting much; he’d hoped for some collegiality at the station, maybe, some learning opportunities, a closer insight into the systems, that kind of thing.
He’d trusted that seeing how another constabulary operated would be beneficial for his CV.
And he’d dreamed of walking in his mum’s footsteps, retracing the holiday he’d only the vaguest memories of.
Looking back, it hadn’t been all that bad, his three months in the Cairngorms. It had started out tough, and he’d faced the challenges of being the new kid at the very bottom of the pile, but he’d risen to them and even harder ones too; foiling a gang, finding his mum in the landscape – and unexpectedly finding a way to reach his father too.
Then there’d been the discovery of just how beautiful the place was: mountains and open valleys, the community paths and the little villages, chimneys that smoked even in the summer.
He’d fallen a little in love with all of it.
He was finding, as he made his way through town this morning, that near enough everyone had a word of greeting for him. That was new too.
It came about after news of the other raids had hit the papers.
Properties all across the region and into the lowlands had their hinges busted and unsuspecting inhabitants cuffed.
Even wider networks shifting drugs and stolen goods had been uncovered and stopped in their tracks because of Jamie collaring Francie Beaumont and his men, millions of pounds worth of contraband and stolen property seized.
The court cases were already underway, the charges stacking up for Francie and his networks.
He wondered what had become of Livvie Cooper, but there was no way of finding out; the systems for hiding people from harm were impermeable, even for his superiors.
Her whereabouts, and that of her daughter and elderly mother, would remain shrouded in mystery for their protection.
This brought him the strongest glow of pride. He’d done that.
Though, as he looked up at the hunched back of Cairn Dhu mountain, the vegetation on its lower approaches already turning copper and orange as the first hints of the season’s end touched the park, it struck him how Livvie and her little girl would surely miss this scenery? He knew that he would.
As he came to the long curving wall that led off the high street and onto McIntyre land, he tried to tell himself that the mellow pink and grey granite of the Cairn Dhu houses was nothing compared to the dirty brick and cobbles of Edinburgh.
The eagles and buzzards nesting in the snowy peaks of Ben Macdui paled in comparison with the chattering house sparrows in Princes Street Gardens or the puffed-up pigeons perched around the town’s distilleries and docks.
Try as he might, he couldn’t even begin to convince himself.
He tried to take it all in, one last look around. He wanted to preserve these memories but he grew interested in the busy scenes before him. There were an awful lot of cars lining the street today, were there not?
He joined a slow-moving crowd milling on the gravel and clogging up the doors to the repair shed which today were held open and letting out a cacophony of fixing sounds, grinding and planing, tapping and tinkering, mixed in with the clinking of teaspoons and crockery, and music playing, and voices lifting.
He checked his phone: half an hour before he’d have to make a dash for the station. If he could just get inside.
* * *
The Cairn Dhu Repair Shop and Café skills share recruitment drive and societies soft launch wasn’t going quite how Ally had imagined it would during her brainstorming sessions, or when she’d presented the vision to the other repairers, or even when she’d put together the sleek case study justifying today’s event with which she’d impressed her new boss, Barbara, at her second interview.
It was in fact, going far, far better than she’d hoped.
Early that morning she’d worried she hadn’t made enough noise on their new social media platforms, or that the new website she’d built hadn’t had enough hits, and that fifty-eight email newsletter subscribers wasn’t much to show for its first week of sign-ups. But she’d been wrong.
She hadn’t counted on the way news spreads from house to shop to classroom to business premises around here. She hadn’t bargained on every one of the people turning up today bringing an entourage of curious pals and nosey neighbours.
Even though she’d talked the talk about how events like these big community projects require ‘buy-in’ from the locals, she hadn’t banked on the extent to which folks from all across the park were invested in her idea.
Yet, here they all were.
Ally watched from her spot behind her repair bench, taking it all in as she wiped an old laptop and re-installed it with Office so it could be donated to the repair café cause.
‘Someone will be able to make use of it,’ Mr Meikle the Minister had said when he brought it in at ten, just as the doors opened, and sure enough, it had pre-emptively been claimed by one of the primary school teaching assistants who had a family in mind for it.
Sachin stood behind his triage desk directing the repair clients, his music spilling everywhere, putting a bounce in everyone’s step.
A photographer from a local paper was here capturing the first of the repair café’s sessions, a demo by Peaches and Willie of embroidery to give old clothes, that would otherwise be scrapped, a new lease of life.
A few people had brought favourite garments for them to work on and were watching delightedly now as Peaches’s deft, simple darning needlework covered over a little stain on a white T-shirt with a red heart made of only a few stitches, while Willie efficiently disguised a worn patch on a denim jacket with what he called ‘Scandi-inspired’ crosshatched embroidery.
They made it look so easy. People applauded and said they’d try it at home themselves, now they knew how.
Between repairs, Cary Anderson worked away making a little workbench, explaining to visitors how he’d soon be running his junior carpentry sessions for bairns and their grown-ups to learn some basic woodworking skills.
Senga and Rhona were run off their feet but keeping cool heads as they dished up chocolate crispie cakes and coffees, and invited kids to try their hand at icing and decorating biscuits in the shape of the repair barn.
Three little ones sat in a row on the stools in front of the café counter, their heads bent, piping bags moving, and sneaking just as many dolly mixtures and jelly tots into their mouths as they stuck to their cookies.
Senga pretended not to notice, and Rhona happily topped up their wee bowls.
McIntyre and Roz had a long line of repairs come in and had only stopped when the man from the local newspaper asked for some quotes on their new venture and they’d pointed them in Ally’s direction, saying how none of this would be happening without her.
Ally, however, found that even in the midst of all her success she couldn’t quite celebrate yet.
Even though Carenza – still trying to make amends – was setting out the chairs and beanbags, building blocks and puzzles in the far corner by the doors for the ‘carers and kids cuppa and play’ session that was going to take place over lunchtime with her friend, a practitioner from the Speech and Language Therapy service on her day off from her clinic, who she’d managed to convince to come along today to listen and to advise.
Mhairi Sears had arrived for it early, bringing a wide-awake Jolyon in his buggy and, after hugs and a quick catch-up with Ally, the mother and son had taken their cakes from the café out into the courtyard where right this second Jolyon was sitting in the cushioned seat of Pigeon Angus’s little red vintage tractor, which was decorated with colourful bunting for the occasion, his feet kicking ecstatically as he screamed and clapped and bit into chocolate crispie cake, Angus and Mhairi delightedly watching on.
Yes, it was all bustling and beautiful and the jar was already half full with donations, and the chalkboard repair totals were jumping up another few notches, but Ally couldn’t help scanning the room, waiting for Jamie and what she hoped was going to be a decent goodbye.
* * *
There she was at her workbench. Red hair gleaming purple in the glow from the pink neon sign. Eyes deep green. Even from all the way over the heads of the crowd he could see their emerald shine.