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“There’s no ‘situation’ to be dealt with,” says McTavish, sounding angrier than I’ve ever heard him. “I’m breaking down my own door, on my own property. There’s nae law against that, is there?”
“It’s no’ your door, Son,” says McTavish Senior. “Ye ken fine this is Grandpa’s barn. He made us promise never tae open it.”
“Aye, well he didnae ken we were going to have to sell the place when he said that, did he?” replies McTavish, his face red with anger — or maybe just from the effort of trying to break what looks like a very old, very strong lock on the barn door. “He didnae ken we wouldnae be able to pay the bills. It’ll be someone else’s barn soon enough; and if anybody’s going to find out what’s in it, it’s going to be me. I’ve always wondered.”
He turns back to the barn and raises the ax.
“Whatisin the barn?” Scarlett asks McTavish Senior, her curiosity piqued. Scarlett always did love a good mystery.
“I dinnae ken,” says the old farmer, shrugging. “I’ve never been in it. It’s been locked since I was a lad. Ma da’ wouldnae let anyone near it.”
“But this is brilliant,” says Scarlett breathlessly, pulling out a notebook. “McTavish, would you mind waiting until I can get a photographer here?The Gazette’sgoing to want to cover this, for sure.The Mystery of the Red Door.”
“Scarlett,” says Dylan warningly. “That’s not why I called you. Put the notebook away.”
“But—” Scarlett pouts, then grudgingly snaps her notebook closed again.
“I really don’t want to have to arrest him,” he says, turning back to me. “But there seems to be some doubt about who the barn actually belongs to, so if we can’t get him to stop attacking it—”
We all flinch as McTavish’s ax comes down on the metal lock, sending sparks flying into the air.
“If we can’t get him to stop,” says Dylan, looking worried, “I’m not going to have a choice.”
McTavish raises the ax yet again, and my heart goes out to him. I know he’s not really doing this because he wants to get into the barn. He’s just taking out his frustration and shame at losing the farm on something he knows he can’t hurt.
I take a deep breath and walk towards him.
“McTavish,” I say gently, feeling a bit like a hostage negotiator as I place a hand on his arm, gently getting him to lower it. “Don’t do this. You know it’s not going to help. And it’s just upsetting everyone; you especially.”
His shoulders slump in defeat.
“No,” he says wearily. “It isnae going to help. Nothing’s going to help. That’s the problem.”
“You don’t know that,” I say, with a conviction I don’t actually feel. “You don’t know what’s going to happen. But you do know that wrecking this old barn isn’t the answer.”
“Maybe no’,” he shrugs. “But it wouldnae half make me feel better. It’s probably worth more as firewood, anyway. That’s all this place is good for now.”
My heart contracts with pity. It’s so unlike McTavish to be so down, and I feel woefully unprepared to help him. He’s usually the one telling me to cheer up, it might never happen, or offering other words of clichéd wisdom. But now it seems itishappening, and I just wish I could do something to stop it.
“Come on,” I say, putting an arm round him. “Let’s go inside. You look like you need a drink. We’ll have a chat and see if we can come up with some kind of plan.”
“Well, I suppose I might as well,” he agrees. “No’ much point in stayin’ off the booze now, is there? It’s no’ like things can get any worse.”
“Emerald,” says a familiar voice from behind us. “I hoped I might find you here. Hi everyone. I’m Ben.”
There’s a long beat of silence.
“Well, what do you know?” says Scarlett, sounding like she’s thoroughly enjoying all of this. “Thingsdidget worse, after all.”
* * *
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at Ben a few minutes later. “How did you know where I was?”
McTavish has gone into the house with his dad, Scarlett, and Dylan. I can see them all standing at the window, watching us like we’re actors on a stage and they’re our extremely engaged audience.
“I went to your mum and dad’s house,” says Ben. “I remembered the address from when we used to send them Christmas cards. Your mum told me you might be here. She also told me I was an ‘absolute dunderheid’,” he adds, frowning. “But I wasn’t sure what she meant?”
“She meant you shouldn’t have come here,” I tell him shortly. “And she was right. I don’t want to see you, Ben. You said what you had to say yesterday, so that’s it, as far as I’m concerned. You should leave, before any more people see you. You know Dylan’s a police officer, right? I expect he’d be really interested in you and your little gambling ring. Why don’t we get him out here and you can tell him all about it?”
