Death of a Bore Read Online Free PDF Page A

clubbing in Inverness.’
    Hamish suddenly felt ancient. How old was she? Hard to tell with her neat harlequin features.
    ‘I have never been clubbing,’ he said.
    ‘You can come with me one weekend, if you like.’
    ‘That would be grand,’ said Hamish. ‘I like new experiences. More whisky?’
    ‘No, I’ve got exam papers to correct. Let’s just hope John Heppel fades away.’
    Despite the boredom of Heppel’s initial class, most who had attended were determined to write.
    Archie Maclean, banished from home as usual by his house-proud wife, was sitting on the waterfront wall, busy scribbling in a large notebook.
    Hamish called at the manse to see if the normally sensible Mrs Wellington had given up the idea of writing, only to find her seated at her kitchen table in front of an old Remington typewriter,
bashing away energetically at the keys.
    ‘What is it, Hamish?’ she asked crossly. He had walked in by the open door, the weather being still unseasonably warm.
    ‘I’m disappointed in you,’ said Hamish. ‘You don’t really think that scunner can do anything to help?’
    ‘I’ve always wanted to write. I’m starting with something easy. I am going to prostitute myself by writing one of those little romances.’
    Hamish sighed. ‘I once spoke to a writer who said you can’t write down, and if you don’t enjoy reading romances, then you can’t write them.’
    ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Mrs Wellington triumphantly. ‘I am getting along just fine.’
    Then she ignored him and began to rattle the keys busily.
    Hamish left, wondering whether he was being a killjoy. Surely it was better for the villagers to exercise their minds during the long winter months than sit every evening watching
television.
    He walked out and down from the manse. A Strathbane Electrics van was parked on the waterfront, and two men seemed to be busy delivering computers.
    He shook his head. ‘It’ll all end in tears.’
    ‘Talking to yourself, Hamish? That’s a bad sign.’
    Hamish turned round. Angela Brodie was standing there, smiling up at him, her wispy hair blowing about her face.
    ‘I’ve still got a nagging worry about Heppel.’
    ‘He’s an awful bore,’ said Angela. ‘But it’s all turned out a bit of fun. It’s a long time since Lochdubh’s been so excited about anything.’
    ‘But a lot of people left the class before he had finished.’
    ‘It’s because he said he would look at their work. Once they all got home, they began to dream about bestseller lists.’
    ‘I think a lot of them’ll be getting nervous breakdowns before they grasp how to operate a computer.’
    ‘Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I heard Jessie Currie saying that Hamish Macbeth had a computer at the police station, so he could help them.’
    Hamish stared at her in alarm. ‘I’d best be off on my beat.’
    He hurried back to the police station, collected Lugs, and got into the Land Rover.
    The mountains were shrouded in mist as he drove up into the moors and foothills. The narrow single-track road shone black in front of him. Then as he reached the crest of the hill above
Lochdubh, the mist began to roll up the mountains. He stopped the car and watched. This, he reflected, was one of the reasons he loved this part of the world so much. It was like watching a curtain
rise at the theatre. Up and up went the mist, a stiff wind sprang up, and then the sky above the mountains cleared to pale blue, the sun shone out, and the wet road in front of him turned to
gold.
    He got out of the car and lifted Lugs down. The dog scampered off into the heather. Hamish stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. He turned round and looked back down to
Lochdubh. On the other side of the loch, in front of the dark green of the fir plantation, a perfect rainbow curved down into the still black waters of the loch. As he watched, the rainbow faded
and the loch changed to deep blue.
    He gave a sigh of satisfaction. He