Scots vocabulary
a nosy – an intrusive look, usually in the search for gossip.
evils – a glare
Story
You’re not going to believe this but I had a run-in with Reid’s latest…I don’t even know what to call them by this point. I think if Fionn and Chronos hadn’t been there to witness it I wouldn’t have believed it happened.
Chronos and I are at the glass counter, the travel size monopoly board laid out between us. Somehow, I was still losing. The Madam Nornas spent their lengthy lifespan helping people and fixing problems whilst this wee shite was becoming a master at every card or board game in existence. At least I have the next few hundred years to improve.
Fionn has emerged from storage, dusty, covered in spiderwebs, sporting a few bruises here and there I dare not ask about, and is currently amongst the aisles. He seems in a better mood today given he’s exchanged more than two words with me. All of us, in general, are minding our own business.
I barely notice a lad lingering outside, glancing down the street one way and then the other as though wating for someone. Maybe it happens a lot and I’ve never noticed. My attention is pulled back to monopoly, but every so often I glance up to see if he’s still there. Perhaps a customer?
I eventually glance up and he’s staring straight at me. I immediately look away, stung that I’ve been caught having a nosy. I’m apprehensive when the bell goes, but just assume he’s a new breed of customer arguing with himself if he’s going to give into the superstition outside rather than after he’s come in the door. I take a peek to find he’s still staring at me. Not the antiques, not the floor, not down the aisles wondering which one to choose, not in his pocket for a business card. Directly at me.
I feel the panic prickle at the back of my neck. Do I know him, and I’ve just forgotten? Mercy to all the gods out there that he mentions his name so I don’t have to ask. He doesn’t look familiar.
He walks over to the counter where Chronos and I are bent over a small monopoly board. If he notices, he doesn’t react.
He asks if I’m Maya.
Ah, fuck.
I nod, still praying he’ll remind me who he is.
He says that he’s Douglas, Reid’s boyfriend.
If someone’s attention span could make a noise, it was Fionn’s. I could feel, let alone hear, his ears perk up at this comment. I was honestly surprised he didn’t appear from one of the aisles like a rabbit poking it’s head out its warren.
Douglas takes a look at Chronos, his hand twitching, but thinks better of it as the wee shite’s tail whips back and forth, as if batting away a fly. I ask him if he’s waiting for Reid, and he confirms he is.
I’m about to ask something equally mundane to fill the silence when he stares me down and asks what the “deal” is between Reid and I since Reid was always talking about me. I wasn’t so dense I thought the correct answer was “just pals”, even though that was the truth. I said it anyway.
Douglas rolls his eyes so far back into his head I think he’s going to lose them and then snorts derisively that he’s heard that before. Why did he fucking ask then? It didn’t take me long to realise that although Fionn and I had made bets, commented on, even worried over Reid’s love life, that I didn’t want to get involved. I try not to sigh loudly in exasperation but assure Douglas that nothing can or will ever go on between Reid and I beyond friendship because I’m not interested in that kind of thing.
Oh, so you’re gay then? he questions, looking hopeful.
I should’ve just said yes, but instead, I replied:
“Something like that.”
This wasn’t the answer Douglas wanted, and if looks could kill, I’d have been dead on that monopoly board. I’ve never been so thankful to hear the bell above the door. I’m also rarely that happy to see Reid, but he strode in, fumbled over an apology, or excuse, I couldn’t tell, and then dragged his special pal back out the door. Douglas threw me suitably pathetic evils before both were out of sight.
It didn’t take Fionn 5 seconds to appear from one of the aisles, and although it was partly at my expense, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of joy from seeing his devilish grin returned. Eventually he confessed he was surprised it hadn’t happened before with Reid’s queue of relationships, but that it was hardly my problem. There’ll probably be a new one next week anyway.
I didn’t feel like it was my place anymore to agree, or to judge. The entire encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth and an apprehension settling into my bones. I hoped it was an anomaly rather than a portent of things to come.
I didn’t have long to ponder or fret, as when the bell above the door went again a large, stained grey sheet managed to get through the door, hiding whoever was behind it. I didn’t recognise the hands that gripped the corners for dear life to stop it from falling, but when a voice called desperately for help, I recognised Flora’s gentle lilt anywhere.
Fionn and I managed to manoeuvre both Flora and her mysterious luggage through the door where she removed the grey sheet to reveal a tarnished gold frame, intricately decorated with grape vines and leaves. Inside was an oil painting of a red brick cottage cradled by some ivy growing up the sides, and hens pecking at the land to the front. I’ve never been one for art, although I can appreciate a beautiful painting when I see one. But as we all know by now, it’s beauty probably wasn’t the thing that was going to hurt.
I asked Flora what it did, or what it was, but it was difficult to ignore the distance Fionn and I had put between us and the large painting. Flora laughed at us and said that it wasn’t dangerous, she was only giving it to the shop because it was too big for her house. It was a bit like an electric photo frame, the ones that show you an endless loop of your last family holiday or event. The only difference was that the frame cycled through paintings instead of photos.
Fionn and I nod and continue to stare, but it doesn’t change, the wee red brick cottage doesn’t disappear. Maybe it’s shy. Flora thanks us and leaves and whilst Fionn goes and fetches the Madam I continue losing my game of monopoly to a cat. In the midst of being a sore loser, I glance over at the frame to find that, as Flora said, it’d changed.
The cottage and hens and ivy have disappeared, replaced by a baby’s cradle. Made of dark, polished wood, the marks and fading show that it’s been well-loved by a family or two in its time. A wee girl, no bigger than 2 or 3, has her hands on the edge and is desperately trying to peer over and inside to where, presumably, a baby lies squirming in its swaddling clothes.
This isn’t a modern setting, there’s no light bulbs or electrical sockets. Not a piece of plastic in sight. I abandon the game and drift over to the frame, prepared for the next picture, the next snapshot.
The cot has disappeared, replaced by a small bed. A wee bairn is poised to hobble its way over the wooden floorboards to the wee girl from the first picture who stands with arms outstretched a few steps away, a bright smile lifting her features.
A few years have passed by the next painting. A grave looking family sit around a table, empty plates getting cold despite the fire blazing away in its place. Every lock of hair around that table is brown, the adults and the bairns, except for one. The wee lassie, the one in the cot, the one who took her first steps, has a shocking head full of ginger hair. Some of the family look disgusted, others look angry, and it’s obvious that the ginger haired bairn is not as related to the others as she should be. Whoever painted the picture did an excellent job of making the older looking man, presumably the patriarch, appear sheepish. But if you look closely, just under the table, you can see the wee girl holding her half-sister’s hand tightly.
And that’s how they stay. The two girls, two sisters, grow up close, playing together, reading together, having lessons together, running errands for their family, visiting pals with their Ma. They attend their first dinner, first ball, first assembly. Time goes on and the two girls grow into adults. The letters to each other pile up, and soon one box isn’t enough to contain them all.
I notice Madam Norna come and stand by me as the picture begins to change. She says nothing and watches the unfolding story with me.
The next one is a church. The alter is draped in bright colours, the priest or minister dressed up to match with colourful robes and golden embroidery. Two couples stand before him wishing to be married. The sisters glance at each other through the solemn ceremony and stifle a chuckle. Both sisters leave the church and their maiden names behind and start on their lives as wives and mothers.
They live close, in the town they grew up, close to their family and friends. When one’s about to give birth to yet another bairn, the other is just around the corner. Their bairns grow up together, walk together, learn to talk together. The sisters share everything in life, every milestone and birthday and heartbreak and loss.
Until a loss comes that puts an end to things forever. The younger sister, the ginger haired one, grows paler and smaller. Her energy is taken from her and there are days she can barely get up from bed. The older sister is more frequently around at their house, taking care of the bairns and doing what she can to help the household and nurse her sister back to health. But she knows. Knows that time is running out.
The younger girl dies in her sister’s arms, her bairns and husband surrounding the bed where she breathed her last.
The last painting shows the older sister sat in front of a canvas, paints strewn around her, brush poised over the surface already saturated with colour in the shape of a red brick cottage. Just before the images reset, she makes eye contact with me and smiles a wistful, melancholy gesture that shows her pride and anguish like they’re two sides of the same canvas.
There are a few moments of silence as I digest what I’ve seen, and Madam Norna lets it linger before she explains what it is, although I’m pretty sure myself. The set of paintings were done by the older sister so no one would ever forget the younger one. It was a tribute to the greatest relationship she ever had, and one she vowed to never forget.
She asks me what I want to do with it. I tell her it’d be a waste putting it in storage where no one can see and admire it. Even though it takes up most of the narrow aisles, it was more important for someone to find it.
Together we moved it further into the shop, propping it on one of the many wardrobes where it was difficult to miss. It was only at that point that I realised Fionn hadn’t come back down from fetching the Madam.
She noticed me looking about and explained that he’d gone into storage. I asked her if she thought I’d done the right thing when I’d made the deal with Death for Fionn’s life. I don’t really know where it came from, but it’d been somewhere in my mind, and with Reid preoccupied who else was I supposed to discuss it with? I’d been trying not to let it get to me, not to let his misery infect me, not to look at him and hate myself for being so selfish.
The Madam paused and I could feel her eyes on me. I like to imagine for the first time in centuries she didn’t know what to say but given her reply I doubt it.
She confessed that there was no right and wrong in a situation like that. A lot of circumstances in life can rarely be boiled down to black and white, right and wrong. There’s only outcomes and consequences. Fionn was alive, and that’s what I’d wanted.
Was this what I wanted? A ghost in the shop haunting me? I whispered it, uttered that I wasn’t sure I should’ve interfered. I felt awful and relieved that I’d said it, that I’d acknowledged those dark thoughts of mine. Fionn wasn’t Fionn anymore. Even though I’d interfered and “saved” his life it was like a part of him died that day anyway. I hadn’t saved Fionn but a shell of him, a shadow. All I did was make him miserable. I stole his soul and expected him to live fine without it.
What if he’d have been better off dead?
The Madam had nothing to say, and I didn’t really want her to say anything. These weren’t her burdens; she wasn’t the one who had put their foot into something they should’ve left alone. And she was right. There was no answer that’d make me feel better, that’d turn Fionn back to the way he used to be or make me accept him for who he was now. There was no right because there wasn’t really a wrong.
Madam Norna took my hand and together we watched the scene of the two sisters play out again, from the cradle to the grave, and I wondered, in the same circumstances, if all of us wouldn’t make a deal with Death to save the ones we love.
Scots-ish language version
You’re no gonnae believe this but I had a run-in wi’ Reid’s latest…I dinnae even know whit tae call them by this point. I think if Fionn and Chronos hadnae been there tae witness it I wouldnae have believed it happened.
Chronos and I are at the glass counter, the travel size monopoly board laid oot between us. Somehow, I was still losin’. The Madam Nornas may have spent their lengthy lifespan helpin’ people and fixin problems whilst this wee shite was becomin’ a master at every card or board game in existence. At least I have the next few hundred years tae improve.
Fionn has emerged fae storage, dusty, covered in spiderwebs, sportin’ a few bruises here and there I dare no ask aboot, and is currently amongst the aisles. He seems in a better mood today given he’s exchanged more than two words wi’ me. All ae us, in general, are mindin’ our own business.
I barely notice a lad lingerin’ ootside, glancin’ doon the street one way and then the other as though watin’ fae someone. Maybe it happens a lot and I’ve never noticed. Ma attention is pulled back tae monopoly, but every so often I glance up tae see if he’s still there. Perhaps a customer?
I eventually glance up and he’s starin’ straight at me. I immediately look away, stung that I’ve been caught havin’ a nosy. I’m apprehensive when the bell goes, but just assume he’s a new breed ae customer arguin wi’ himself if he’s gonnae give intae the superstition ootside rather than after he’s come in the door. I take a peek tae find he’s still starin’ at me. No the antiques, no the floor, no doon the aisles wonderin’ which one tae choose, no in his pocket fae a business card. Directly at me.
I feel the panic prickle at the back ae ma neck. Do I know him and I’ve just forgotten? Mercy tae all the gods oot there that he mentions his name so I dinnae have tae ask. He doesnae look familiar.
He walks over tae the counter where Chronos and I are bent over a small monopoly board. If he notices, he doesnae react.
He asks if I’m Maya.
Ah, fuck.
I nod, still prayin’ he’ll remind me who he is.
He says that he’s Douglas, Reid’s boyfriend.
If someone’s attention span could make a noise, it was Fionn’s. I could feel, let alone hear, his ears perk up at this comment. I was honestly surprised he didnae appear fae one ae the aisles like a rabbit pokin’ it’s heid oot its warren.
Douglas takes a look at Chronos, his hand twitchin, but thinks better ae it as the wee shite’s tail whips back and forth, as if battin’ away a fly. I ask him if he’s waitin’ fae Reid, and he confirms he is.
I’m aboot tae ask somethin’ equally mundane tae fill the silence when he stares me doon and asks whit the “deal” is between Reid and I since Reid was always talkin’ aboot me. I wasnae so dense I thought the correct answer was “just pals”, even though that was the truth. I said it anyway.
Douglas rolls his eyes so far back intae his heid I think he’s gonnae lose them and then snorts derisively that he’s heard that before. Why did he fuckin’ ask then? It didnae take me long tae realise that although Fionn and I had made bets, commented on, even worried over Reid’s love life, that I didnae want tae get involved. I try no’ tae sigh loudly in exasperation, but assure Douglas that nothin’ can or will ever go on between Reid and I beyond friendship because I’m no interested in that kind ae thing.
Oh, so you’re gay then? he questions, lookin’ hopeful.
I shouldae just said yes, but instead, I replied;
“Something like that.”
This wasnae the answer Douglas wanted, and if looks could kill I’d have been deid on that monopoly board. I’ve never been so thankful tae hear the bell above the door. I’m also rarely that happy tae see Reid, but he strode in, fumbled over an apology, or excuse, I couldnae tell, and then dragged his special pal back oot the door. Douglas threw me suitably pathetic evils before both were oot ae sight.
It didnae take Fionn 5 seconds tae appear fae one ae the aisles, and although it was partly at ma expense, I couldnae help but feel a bit ae joy fae seein’ his devilish grin returned. Eventually he confessed he was surprised it hadnae happened before wi’ Reid’s queue ae relationships, but that it was hardly ma problem. There’ll probably be a new one next week anyway.
I didnae feel like it was ma place anymore tae agree, or tae judge. The entire encounter left a bitter taste in ma mouth and an apprehension settlin’ intae ma bones. I hoped it was an anomaly, rather than a portent ae things tae come.
I didnae have long tae ponder or fret, as when the bell above the door went again a large, stained grey sheet managed tae get through the door, hidin’ whoever was behind it. I didnae recognise the hands that gripped the corners fae dear life tae stop it fae fallin, but when a voice called desperately fae help I recognised Flora’s gentle lilt anywhere.
Fionn and I managed tae manoeuvre both Flora and her mysterious luggage through the door where she removed the grey sheet tae reveal a tarnished gold frame, intricately decorated wi grape vines and leaves. Inside was an oil painting ae a red brick cottage cradled by some ivy growin’ up the sides, and hens peckin’ at the land tae the front. I’ve never been one fae art, although I can appreciate a beautiful painting when I see one. But as we all know by noo, it’s beauty probably wasnae the thing that was gonnae hurt.
I asked Flora what it did, or what it was, but it was difficult tae ignore the distance Fionn and I had put between us and the large painting. Flora laughed at us and said that it wasnae dangerous, she was only givin’ it tae the shop because it was too big fae her hoose. It was a bit like an electric photo frame, the ones that show you an endless loop ae your last family holiday or event. The only difference was that the frame cycled through paintings instead ae photos.
Fionn and I nod and continue tae stare, but it doesnae change, the wee red brick cottage doesnae disappear. Maybe it’s shy. Flora thanks us and leaves and whilst Fionn goes and fetches the Madam I continue losin ma game ae monopoly tae a cat. In the midst ae bein a sore loser, I glance over at the frame tae find that, as Flora said, it’d changed.
The cottage and hens and ivy have disappeared, replaced by a baby’s cradle. Made ae dark, polished wood, the marks and fading show that it’s been well-loved by a family or two in its time. A wee girl, no bigger than 2 or 3 has her hands on the edge and is desperately tryin’ tae peer over and inside tae where, presumably, a baby lies squirming in its swaddling clothes.
This isnae a modern setting, there’s no light bulbs or electrical sockets. No’ a piece ae plastic in sight. I abandon the game and drift over tae the frame, prepared fae the next picture, the next snapshot.
The cot has disappeared, replaced by a small bed. A wee bairn is poised tae hobble its way over the wooden floorboards tae the wee girl fae the first picture who stands wi’ arms outstretched a few steps away, a bright smile liftin’ her features.
A few years have passed by the next painting. A grave looking family sit aroond a table, empty plates getting’ cold despite the fire blazin away in its place. Every lock ae hair roond that table is brown, the adults and the bairns, except fae one. The wee lassie, the one in the cot, the one who took her first steps, has a shockin’ heid full ae ginger hair. Some ae the family look disgusted, others look angry, and it’s obvious that the ginger haired bairn is not as related tae the others as she should be. Whoever painted the picture did an excellent job ae makin’ the older lookin man, presumably the patriarch, appear sheepish. But if ye look closely, just under the table, ye can see the wee girl holdin’ her half-sister’s hand tightly.
And that’s how they stay. The two girls, two sisters, grow up close, playin’ together, readin’ together, havin’ lessons together, running errands fae their family, visitin’ pals wi’ their Ma. They attend their first dinner, first ball, first assembly. Time goes on and the two girls grow intae adults. The letters tae each other pile up, and soon one box isnae enough tae contain them all.
I notice Madam Norna come and stand by me as the picture begins tae change. She says nothin’ and watches the unfolding story wi’ me.
The next one is a church. The alter is draped in bright colours, the priest or minister dressed up tae match wi’ colourful robes and golden embroidery. Two couples stand before him wishin’ tae be married. The two sisters glance at each other through the solemn ceremony and stifle a chuckle. Both sisters leave the church and their maiden names behind and start on their lives as wives and mothers.
They live close, in the town they grew up, close tae their family and friends. When one’s aboot tae give birth tae yet another bairn, the other is just roond the corner. Their bairns grow up together, walk together, learn tae talk together. The sisters share everythin’ in life, every milestone and birthday and heartbreak and loss.
Until a loss comes that puts an end tae things forever. The younger sister, the ginger haired one, grows paler and smaller. Her energy is taken fae her and there are days she can barely get up fae bed. The older sister is more frequently roond at their house, takin’ care ae the bairns and doin’ whit she can tae help the household and nurse her sister back tae health. But she knows. Knows that time is runnin’ oot.
The younger girl dies in her sister’s arms, her bairns and husband surroundin’ the bed where she breathed her last.
The last painting shows the older sister sat in front ae a canvas, paints strewn aroond her, brush poised over the surface already saturated wi’ colour in the shape ae a red brick cottage. Just before the images reset, she makes eye contact wi’ me and smiles a wistful, melancholy gesture that shows her pride and anguish like they’re two sides ae the same canvas.
There’s a few moments ae silence as I digest whit I’ve seen, and Madam Norna lets it linger before she explains whit it is, although I’m pretty sure maself. The set ae paintings were done by the older sister so no one would ever forget the younger one. It was a tribute tae the greatest relationship she ever had, and one she vowed tae never forget.
She asks me whit I want tae do wi’ it. I tell her it’d be a waste puttin’ it in storage where no one can see and admire it. even though it takes up most ae the narrow aisles, it was more important fae someone tae find it.
Together we moved it further intae the shop, proppin’ it on one ae the many wardrobes where it was difficult tae miss. It was only at that point that I realised Fionn hadnae come back doon fae fetching the Madam.
She noticed ma lookin’ aboot and explained that he’d gone intae storage. I asked her if she thought I’d done the right thing when I’d made the deal wi’ Death fae Fionn’s life. I dinnae really know where it came fae, but it’d been somewhere in ma mind, and wi’ Reid preoccupied who else was I supposed tae discuss it wi’? I’d been tryin’ no tae let it get tae me, no tae let his misery infect me, no tae look at him and hate maself fae bein’ so selfish.
The Madam paused and I could feel her eyes on me. I like tae imagine fae the first time in centuries she didnae know whit tae say, but given her reply I doubt it.
She confessed that there was no right and wrong in a situation like that. A lot ae circumstances in life can rarely be boiled doon tae black and white, right and wrong. There’s only outcomes and consequences. Fionn was alive, and that’s what I’d wanted.
Was this what I wanted? A ghost in the shop haunting me? I whispered it, uttered that I wasne sure I shouldae interfered. I felt awful and relieved that I’d said it, that I’d acknowledged those dark thoughts ae mine. Fionn wasnse Fionn anymore. Even though I’d interfered and “saved” his life it was like a part ae him died that day anyway. I hadnae saved Fionn, but a shell ae him, a shadow. All I did was make him miserable. I stole his soul and expected him tae live fine withoot it.
What if he’d have been better aff deid?
The Madam had nothing tae say, and I didnae really want her tae say anythin’. These werenae her burdens, she wasnae the one who had put their foot intae somethin’ they shouldae left alone. And she was right. There was no answer that’d make me feel better, that’d turn Fionn back tae the way he used tae be, or make me accept him fae who he was noo. There was no right because there wasnae really a wrong.
Madam Norna took ma hand and together we watched the scene ae the two sisters play oot again, fae the cradle tae the grave, and I wondered, in the same circumstances, if all ae us wouldnae make a deal wi’ Death tae save the ones we love.