Port Brokeferry Policeman

ATHOL – NOT MUCH TO DO IN A DAY

Likes his tea strong enough you can almost stand the spoon up in the mug. He squeezes the tea bag, drops it into a metal bin half full of torn paper and empty envelopes. Sweet, too, his tea. Three sugars. Just a little milk.

Athol marks the days off on the calendar. He checks the book diary for Monday’s appointments. Checks ahead just in case. Looking at what the week holds in store. Helen will be in later. She keeps him mostly right. Till she comes, he mans the desk. He takes any calls and writes up reports or reads police bulletins that don’t really have much to do with Port Brokeferry.

Not a lot for him to do in the winter months. Town’s quiet then. Saturday nights there’s the street to watch. Outside ‘The Ship’ especially. Around closing time. Never much in the way of trouble, but he has to be there in case. Just to remind them all to keep it down a bit. Lachlan Davie has a loud voice when he’s a drink in him. Dodie Bredwell too, laughing fit to wake up the street. Singing sometimes. Athol smiles at them. Like they’re family. Tells them there’s kids sleeping in their beds and they should think on that with their singing. He herds them along the street to their homes. Sees their doors shut. Everything quiet again by midnight.

Then in the summer there’s the visitors. Families more often than not. Some staying in the Victoria. Some renting cottages at the front. Never any real problems with them either. They ask for directions mostly. Or for information on the sailing of ‘The Silver Herring’. Or when Mhairi’s Brokeferry Giftshop opens. Like he’s the tourist board. Not like he’s the policeman for Port Brokeferry. He smiles and hopes they’ll have a nice stay.

He keeps an eye on Martin too. He is family. His cousin on his mother’s side. Played together as boys. Close as close. Him and Martin and Colin Donaldson. The three musketeers. Sword fighting with sticks on the beach. He remembers that. Yes, he keeps an eye on Martin. Makes sure he’s eating proper food. Washing himself. Martin’s clothes he collects in a black bag and Athol gets them clean again and returns them on hangers.

And Athol sits and has a drink with him some evenings. Martin calls him ‘Mr’. Never remembers who he is. Talks about Col all the time. How things were when they were boys. Just Col and Martin. As if Athol wasn’t there. As if he had never been. Martin tells the same stories over and over. Athol listens. Like listening to music.

At the end of the day Helen’s girl, Grace, comes in and does a bit of cleaning at the station and a wee bit filing. Makes Athol tea the way he likes it. Strong with three sugars and a little milk. Washes the mugs afterwards. Never says much.