The Good Provider Read Online Free

shake the dust of Dalnavert from his feet as soon as he turned eighteen, to head for Glasgow or Edinburgh. Even Lorna was not enamoured of farm life and vowed that she would never marry a farmer, not for all the tea in China.
    Craig, though, had no plan or notion in his head as to what would become of him or what he would do with himself. When he dreamed he dreamed only of Kirsty Barnes, of holding her in his arms, of being alone with her in a warm bed in a warm room. The fact that he saw little of Kirsty these days only intensified his longing and desire. But when Craig mentioned Kirsty’s name, however casually, his mother would sniff her disapproval and give him a lecture about ‘wasting himself’ – whatever that meant. Any sort of regular courtship was unthinkable at this stage.
    The tapping needles were silent. Craig tensed. Bob’s chair creaked as he reached up to the shelf for his tobacco pouch and fumbled his pipe from his waistcoat pocket.
    Dark, slender and small, and looking far younger than sixteen, Gordon spread his elbows about the book that lay open on the table before him and pretended to be absolutely engrossed in it. Lifting her shoulders like a gull before flight, Lorna shifted in her chair.
    ‘ You pair, off to your beds .’
    Gordon feigned deafness. Lorna, less adept, gave a little moan and settled her bottom stubbornly on the seat of the chair. The knitting-needles clashed like swords as Mam thrust them into the pattern bag by her side. Her shadow cut off the lamplight. Craig swung his legs to allow her to pass.
    ‘ Bed, I say, and bed I mean .’
    Aye, there would be a scene again tonight. Such petty crises had become the core of family relationships. Craig hated them. He could see no reason for them and tended to blame his dad’s lack of authority for causing them to occur.
    ‘ Did you hear me? ’ Mam shouted.
    Nobody answered her question.
    Straightening his shoulders Bob Nicholson took his thumb from the bowl of his pipe and the stem from his mouth, cocked his head to one side and, to Craig’s astonishment, said, ‘Hold your tongue a minute, Madge.’
    ‘ What did you say? ’
    ‘Ssshh, Madge,’ Bob told her mildly.
    Lorna had heard it too. Timid at the best of times she rushed from her seat and crowded against her father as if she expected a ghost to materialise through the kitchen door or robbers to break it down.
    ‘What the hell sort o’ noise is that?’ Bob asked.
    The faint plaintive sound was utterly unfamiliar.
    ‘It’s just a damned cat,’ said Madge.
    ‘No, yon’s no cat,’ said Craig.
    ‘Burglars?’ Gordon suggested.
    The latch of the outside door rattled.
    Since his father showed no signs of extricating himself from his chair, Craig took the initiative. ‘I’ll see what it is.’
    Swiftly he crossed the room, yanked open the door and vanished into the hallway.
    He let out an exclamation, asked a question.
    The answer was a sob.
    ‘Who is it?’ Madge demanded, then raised a hand to her mouth as Craig ushered in the girl, Kirsty Barnes.
    ‘Well, well, it’s just Clegg’s lassie.’ Bob Nicholson settled back, pipe stuck in his mouth again as if the whole of the mystery had been suddenly and completely solved.
    Craig guided the girl to his mother’s chair by the fire and gently pressed her down. She was in a dreadful state, hair plastered against her cheeks, dress and shoes spattered with mud. She was sobbing as if her heart would break.
    ‘Tell me what happened,’ Craig said.
    He was on his knees by the girl’s side, Madge and the family forgotten in his concern for Kirsty. He touched her shivering shoulder with a tenderness that pricked Madge Nicholson’s heart like a pin.
    ‘What d’you want here?’ Madge snapped.
    ‘Gi’e the lassie time to catch her breath, Madge,’ Bob said.
    ‘She’s been up to somethin’,’ Madge declared.
    ‘Come on, Kirsty, tell me what’s wrong,’ Craig said.
    Kirsty laid her forehead against Craig’s chest. He