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Chapter Text

200X

Sophie Brown took a deep breath, and dialled the landline number for Dun Dunbar Castle. With her father, Callum McGuinty, now far too ill to ever make the journey home to Scotland, what did she have to lose?

Beep – beep … 0 44 1674 850 XXX

A cheery man’s voice answered, and Sophie’s heart jumped.

“Hello, Dun Dunbar Castle. Thomas speaking. How may I be of assistance to you?”

“Hello. Sophie Brown here. How are you today? You know, I really am hoping that you might be able to help me out in a big way.”

Sophie swiftly outlined the unfortunate facts of the case: that her father had had to leave Dun Dunbar as a youngster, and now would never be well enough to make the journey home.

“Well, I’m very sad to hear that, Ms Brown. How upsetting for yourself, and for your father. What is it that we could do that might help you?”

~*~

Later that day, Thomas caught up with Myles, 12th Duke of Dunbar, sparks flying. Myles was tinkering in a rather antiquated electrical junction box once again. Thomas rolled his eyes, and explained Sophie Brown’s sad situation and plea for help.

“And so, since her father was last here as a boy about 50 years ago, what she asked was: could she commission us to take a few special photographs for Callum McGuinty, of the places in and around Dun Dunbar Castle which were most important to him and the McGuinty clan?”

Myles’ ripost: “Did she sound like she could pay?”

Thomas barked out a laugh. “This is Sophie Brown, she’s just published another best selling book about this Emma Gale character: of course she can pay!”

~*~

Smiling through the tears, Sophie made another costly but so worthwhile transAtlantic telephone call to Dun Dunbar Castle.

“Myles, I can never thank you enough for the joy you and Thomas brought to my father in his last few weeks. You should have seen how his face lit up at every new photograph, as all his happiest memories of childhood came rushing back.”

Myles seemed reluctant to take any credit, but Sophie insisted, “I hope you can imagine how he laughed and laughed, when we got the photograph of the edge of that huge wooden door, and I explained you’d finished carving ‘McGuinty’ into it with your own two hands and in his honour. My father said, ‘The old Duke, he must be spinning in his grave!’”.

Sophie could hear the smile in his voice as Myles responded, “Your father worked here, he’s part of the history of Dun Dunbar Castle. You know, you should come and see for yourself, one day.”

Sophie Brown sighed, wistfully, “You’re right. I should. I will do. One day.”

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201X

Sophie Brown was incandescent. Her husband had been lying, sneaking around and cheating on her with another woman behind her back for over a year! How could he do this to her? How could he do this to Lexi?

Sophie didn’t know whether to scream, break things, track him down and punch him, or … oh, hell, double and triple hell … she needed to phone the clinic for STD tests. Fuck. Literally, fuck.

She breathed through clenched teeth, to the beloved memory of her father, “OK, Dad, you were right, I should never have trusted his pretty, charming face and his sweet-talking mouth.”

And clear as day, she heard her father’s voice answer in her head, “Write it out, lass: write it out!”.

Of course. She would get her revenge through Emma Gale, upon the fictional person of Winston in her next novel! And then, not only would she avoid prison, but she would also sell the novel, and she would earn some small financial compensation for herself and for Lexi for the pain that Lexi’s father was putting them through. It would not be enough, but it would be a lot better than nothing.

Sophie Brown fairly pounced upon her laptop, violent visions swirling through her mind. Her fingers started to fly across the keys, to work them out … relatively … harmlessly.

~*~

196X

Young Callum McGuinty’s head was throbbing, as usual. Even after all these months in Queens, the incessant noise, the uncomfortable weather, the onslaught of road traffic, the throngs of people, the grim brick, concrete and tarmac – ugh, ‘asphalt’ – everywhere, the smells, the steam, the dirty rivers, it was all repellent to him. Whenever he thought of Scotland – of the clean fresh sea air, the clear water of the burns, the green-ness of the trees and glens, the deer, the birds, of Helen and his other friends from school, even of the stone and wood of Dun Dunbar Castle – he could have wept.

All that kept him going were his job – so far, just sweeping up hair, cleaning, and of course, making gallons of coffee at Jay’s Barbershop in Queens - plus listening to everyone’s fascinating and terrifying tales, and always, his dear mother and father. His mother seemed closer to forgiving his reckless escapade that had lost his father his job, and the whole family their home. But McGuinty Senior might never forgive his son for forcing their migration all the long way across the Atlantic Ocean.

Callum swore violently under his breath. Everything he’d wanted for his life, all his dreams, shattered by half-an-hour of foolish bravado. Now, he was forced to live in this awful city, and in this terrible country where he was no longer Scottish and at home, but ‘white’ and foreign and in the middle of a murderous struggle for something called ‘Civil Rights’.

Callum’s formal education had ended in Scotland, as he’d reached his 14th birthday on his home soil. But he was learning fast, from all the talk of President Kennedy – whose family, it turned out, had migrated across the Atlantic just three generations before the McGuintys – and nuclear bombs, and a fire-y Reverend called Doctor Martin Luther King Junior who wanted freedom, and right here in Queens, this Muslim who almost shared his name.

Young Callum McGuinty realised grimly, that his head was going to be throbbing for quite some time to come.

~*~

201X

After several months of writing, Sophie had the fictional Winston laying dead at the bottom of his fictional flight of stairs. Still embroiled the appalling divorce proceedings, she got some small satisfaction in sending the completed manuscript of her tenth novel, “Good Bye, Emma Gale” to her agent, Claire.

“Wonderful! So relatable!”, was Claire’s response. “Your fans will be begging to hear what Emma Gale does next, now she’s free!”.

But Sophie felt very lost once all the final page-proofs were complete. She still had a few weeks to go until the merry-go-round of the book launch publicity tour began, and nothing constructive or pleasant to do until then.

As she drifted around her apartment, the photograph card of her father as a boy at Dun Dunbar Castle caught her eye. She thought back to the kindness of the current Duke, Myles Dunbar, who never seemed to stand on ceremony, during in her father’s dying days. His calm voice over the telephone, along with the enthusiasm of his steward, Thomas, had been one of the few bright spots of those awful days.

Sophie opened up her laptop once more, and started composing a long email:

~~~
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: How is Scotland?

Dear Thomas,

Sophie Brown neé McGuinty here. I do hope all’s well with you, and Myles, and Dun Dunbar Castle. I know it’s been a while – Lexi is growing up so fast …
~~~

After she sent her email, she was delighted to hear back from Thomas the following Monday evening. “So lovely to hear from you, and that you and Lexi are well.” Over the next few weeks, Sophie and Thomas continued to exchange the odd email, whenever he had that time. Even Myles Dunbar himself sent a couple of messages. All their talk of sustainable forestry, and installing their own electricity generation capacity in the form of wind turbines, and the transition to Organic agriculture, was a breath of fresh air all the way from Scotland.

Sophie was grateful for that, most especially when she had to return to the airless divorce court room for the last time.

Chapter Text

201*

Sophie Brown frowned. In all their emails from Dun Dunbar, Myles and Thomas were clearly trying to stay up-beat. But even whilst caught up in the whirl of publicity for her soon-to-be-published latest Emma Gale book, Sophie was starting to get a little concerned.

Reading between the lines, money at Dun Dunbar must be desperately tight. Thomas was, unfeasibly, the entire household staff, and the castle tour guide too. Myles himself was working all hours on the castle and inn upkeep. Between them, they maintained the immediate castle gardens too. Their tenants helped when they could. But it seemed like Myles never paid outside experts unless it was a job that was comprehensively beyond the skills and capacity of himself and Thomas.

Yet Myles also seemed happy that their Organic farming tenants, their sustainable forestry tenants, and their electricity generation output from the wind turbines were all doing well.

So why were the Twelfth Duke of Dunbar and his steward having to struggle so very hard?

~*~

197*

Sophie McGuinty was not happy. This was unusual: school was finished for the day. She was swinging her legs, sat up on one of The Castle Barbershop chairs. One of her father’s regular customers was engaging her in a fascinating conversation. This was usually Sophie’s happiest time of day.

“What do you mean, Central Park is supposed to be a village? I don’t understand.”

“They say some of my great-grandparents cousins lived there. Seneca Village, they called it.” said Pa Williams, as Callum McGuinty finished trimming the back of his curly hair. “But City made them leave, barely paid them what their land was worth, demolished their houses and that was that.”

“But that’s not fair!” Sophie was aghast. “That was their home. How can people be forced away like that?”

“They made us leave our home at Dun Dunbar, remember.” said Callum McGuinty. “But you’re right, this sounds even worse, not just one family but dozens of people. Is that right, Pa?”

“My Grandpa said it was hundreds of people.” Pa Williams confirmed. “But it’s not the first time in New York, now is it? There were people living here when the Dutch colonised the land these streets are built over, back before there even was an America. This here is rightfully Indian land.”

Sophie’s eyes went wide. “Here? In Queens? In the city?”

Pa Williams looked straight at her, and said, “Right here. First the Dutch, then the English, they stole this land. The rent we pay, well, rightfully, we shouldn’t be paying it to any white man at all.” He stood up, and brushed through his hair. “Thank you, Mr McGuinty, here you are, see you next month!”

Sophie watched Pa Williams leave, very confused. She scrunched up her brow, trying to take it all in. Her father was busy, and Pa Williams had been teaching him, too. She wouldn’t see Pa Williams until next month. So, she was just going to have to get to the public library on Saturday afternoon, and try to get to the bottom of all these mysteries by herself.

~*~

201*

Sophie McGuinty slowly drew and released a huge breath, with great relief. Her divorce was finally done. Her slime-ball of an ex hadn’t managed to infect her with any sexually transmitted diseases. She was free.

It had been so hard on Lexi, still in Junior High. Lexi stayed in contact with her father and Whats-Her-Name, with visits during school vacations. But she seemed to want to be with her mother. For a start, her father insisted on calling Lexi’s vegan diet ‘a silly teenage fad’, and he found many other ways to fail to endear himself to his only child.

So, with Lexi’s hearty agreement, Sophie’s married name was now just her pen name. Lexi was still ‘Brown’ for now, which meant that her teachers would still stumble. But returning to the McGuinty name for herself, felt like coming home.

That evening, when they were settled after supper, Sophie decided to broach the next question with Lexi:

“Lexi, honey, I want to ask your permission for something else really important. Did you know, that because your Grandpa was born in Scotland, if we can find all the right paperwork, and enough patience, time, money and good advice, both you and I are entitled to British passports?”

Lexi’s eyes widened. “Mom, that’s great! You’ve got all of Grandpa’s things, haven’t you? You’d need his birth certificate and things like that, wouldn’t you? Have you got that – could we really? Would it be really expensive?”

“You know, I think we can – I have his full birth certificate. And you’re right, it’s scarily expensive. But thanks to Emma Gale, we can afford it. So, would you like that?”

“Mom, I would love it. Oh, but Mom, what about my name? If I’m going to get a passport thanks to Grandpa, won’t it be odd to have Dad’s name? But Dad will never agree to me stopping using ‘Brown’.”

“Honey, it’s fine. We’ll apply for you under Brown, and then when you’re 18, you will be free to decide whether you want to be Brown, or McGuinty.”

201X

One lazy Sunday morning the Spring a full year after her divorce, whilst they ate blueberry pancakes for brunch, Sophie McGuinty put a thick postal packet on the table between herself and her daughter.

“So, Lexi, look what’s come in the post this week! I wanted to wait to tell you, when we had time today to celebrate properly.”

Lexi swallowed her mouthful abruptly, and gasped at the two maroon passports, “European Union – United Kingdom” which fell out of the packet.

“One for Sophie McGuinty, one for Lexi Brown. So, once you’ve graduated from Junior High this June, what do you say that we finally take that trip to Dun Dunbar?”

“Mom, finally. Yes, please! Oh, this will be wonderful! You’re the best Mom ever!”