Grey Granite by Lewis Grassic Gibbon

Author:Lewis Grassic Gibbon
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781847678065
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 1934-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

At half past five it happened again. Running down the stairs Chris met Ake Ogilvie who’d newly letten himself in at the door. Ake, Ma Cleghorn’s ta’en ill again. Will you run for the doctor? and Ake said Eh? Oh, ay, I’ll do that, and asked the address and nodded and went stamping out into the dark, Chris glanced from the window and saw it coming down, dark early now the winter was near. Syne she turned and ran up to Ma’s room again to ease her out of her stays, poor thing, lying black-faced and gasping and swearing like a soldier.

The doctor came as he’d done before, had another look, gave another sniff, and said that Ma must be kept fell quiet. Chris told him she’d found out the relative’s address, should she send for her? The doctor pulled at his lip and said Oh no, just keep the address by handy-like. And don’t worry too much, Mrs Colquohoun. I’ll send up medicine, and off he went. Chris went down to the kitchen to get ready the tea, Ma ill or Ma well folk would need their meat.

She went to bed dead tired that night. But she couldn’t sleep, getting up every hour or so to look in Ma’s room, after midnight the breathing grew easier. It had grown cold and looking out of the window Chris saw that snow had come on, soft-sheeting, the early soft seep of November snow whitening the roofs in a spilling fall. And she stood and looked at it a little while in the still, quiet house above the stilled toun, in a cold no-thought till the clock struck three—suddenly dirling beside her head.

Far away through the snow beyond Footforthie the lighthouse winked on the verge of the morning, and a feeling of terrible loneliness came on her standing so at that hour, knowledge of how lonely she had always been, knowledge of how lonely every soul was, apart and alone as she had been surely even at the most crowded hours of her life. And she went up the stairs in a sudden fear and listened outside Ewan’s room a minute and heard his breath, low and even. In the next room the door hung open unsnecked, she’d have to see to that lock tomorrow. Closing the door she saw Ellen Johns a dim shape curled like a baby in sleep, and stood, the snow-hush upon the panes, looking at her in a kind of desperation, half-minded to waken her up to talk.

Then that daft thought went from her, she went down the stairs and into the kitchen, cold even there, the fire in the range had drooped to ash, she stirred it a little and Jock the cat purred a drowsy greeting a minute, grew silent; she sat and stared in the fading ash, alone and desperate—what would she do?

It was plain enough Ma wouldn’t last long. And then—Chris hadn’t enough money to carry on the house herself and whoever heired Ma mightn’t want to come in with her.

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