‘From when you were small?’
‘There were always whispers. The boys at school got hold of it. Christ.’
‘My God,’ said Carmen. ‘That’s … that’s … ’
‘It was a boarding school.’
‘In Edinburgh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your parents, who lived in Edinburgh, sent you to boarding school in Edinburgh?’
‘I think … I think there was a limit as to how long my father could have me around. I didn’t get a lot less blond.’
Carmen leaned over and patted him on the sleeve.
‘Oh God, that must have been so hard.’
He nodded.
‘Why didn’t you … why didn’t you move? Get away?’
‘To do what? Stupid useless bloody son of a … ’
He couldn’t even say it.
‘My mother never got over it. The shame. Everyone knew. Everyone. Bad blood. That’s what they said.’
Carmen remembered Bronagh mentioning it. Goodness. Everyone did know. This was why. This was why he hid himself away.
‘I don’t understand: why did you stay in the city?’
‘It’s still my city. I love it,’ said Mr McCredie defiantly. ‘My entire family had been stupid bloody explorers. I wasn’t going to do that just to impress my father. Who by the way could never have been impressed with anything I ever did.’
‘And … Erich?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t … I don’t care. I don’t even know his surname.’
Suddenly Carmen thought of something.
‘I … You know the people who came in the shop? The German people?’
He looked at her.
‘I don’t want to see them.’
‘But … they said they have letters. They have something! You have to see it.’
He shrugged.
‘I don’t care. I don’t want to know. This whole thing – it ruined my life. My entire life.’
Carmen thought of the confused little boy, sent off to a cold dorm while his parents were only down the road.
‘But they seem so nice … It was a long time ago, Mr McCredie. Everyone would understand. Things are … things are so different.’
‘Not if he was tossing your grandparents onto trains it isn’t.’
‘Do you know what he did?’
He shook his head.
‘No, but I can have a reasonable belief it was nothing good.’
‘I mean these people … They might be relations.’
He shrugged.
‘It can’t help me.’
She looked again at the creased photo. He was still holding it.
‘Have you seen that picture before?’
He nodded.
‘My mother … my mother kept it in her wallet.’
‘Fuck,’ said Carmen, unable to help herself.
‘Sorley – that was my dad – was a … he was a difficult man. Very famous family. Used to getting his own way. Thought my mother would be a pretty country girl he could dominate and make lots of breeding stock on.’